"That is a—a great relief," said Winstead. "It's been very interesting. Good-by and good luck!"
"Likewise," said the captain.
If I ever meet Aubrey again! thought Winstead.
On the surface of the planet, he met with a thriving community that lived in a peculiar milieu blended of well-being and isolation. The spaceport was a center for refueling and repair. It was supported by mines and mills, and by just enough agricultural organization to get by. The standard of living was comfortably high because of the services rendered and charged for; but some of the customs struck Winstead as being almost too informal.
"I think you're pulling my leg!" exclaimed the slim blonde at the Agency counter when Winstead was escorted in from the field. "Nobody would travel on the Leaky Dipper without being paid for it. You must have real nerve!"
She leaned uninhibitedly across the counter and planted a kiss on his cheek. He could not help noticing that she was not slim everywhere.
"I assure you, Miss—er—here are my papers."
"Oh, those! Let me see, I have a stamp somewhere in one of my drawers."
She rummaged through several hiding places under the counter. Winstead thought of the compartments on the Leaky Dipper. He leaned wearily on one elbow.