The mayor nodded indecisively, looking at the radio with agonized longing. "How much do you want?" he asked unhappily.
"One thousand buckos, and no haggling. I am not in the mood."
Johnson opened his mouth to argue; then, seeing Harvey's set features, paid with the worst possible grace.
"Don't you think we ought to tell him about the batteries, Harv?" Joe asked.
"What about the batteries?" demanded Johnson with deadly calm.
"A very small matter," Harvey said airily. "You see, we have been analyzing these broadcasts for three years. In that time, of course, the batteries are bound to weaken. I estimate these should last not less than one Terrestrial month, at the very least."
"What do I do then?"
Harvey shrugged. "Special batteries are required, which I see Joseph has by chance brought along. For the batteries, the only ones of their kind left in the system, I ask only what they cost—one hundred and ninety-nine buckos, no more and, on the other hand, no less."
Johnson was breathing hard, and his hand hovered dangerously near his gun. But he paid the amount Harvey wanted.
Moreover, he actually shook hands when the two panacea purveyors collected their six-armed prize and said goodbye. Before they were outside, however, he had turned on the radio and was listening tensely to a woman's highly cultured, though rather angry voice, saying: