Monk paced the floor. "But if I did pass it—"
"Impossible!"
"But if I did," Monk insisted. "Would my chances for living be better on Mars?"
"I suppose so. Your heart wouldn't have to work nearly so hard. You'd weigh less than ninety pounds...."
"Then it's worth a try, isn't it?" He grasped the physician by the shoulders and shook him. "Isn't it?" he shouted.
"Mr. Monk, I can't let you even consider it!"
"You can't?" Monk looked at him threateningly. "Are you dictating my affairs now, Doctor? Are you forgetting who I am?"
"The Mars Colony is a working organization," the doctor said, desperately. "The life there is hard, rugged—"
"Hard?" Monk roared. "Hardness and Monk are synonymous words, Doctor Rostov. Don't you read the papers? Don't you know what they call me? The Iron Millionaire!" He laughed. "And there's something else you're not aware of. I own a lot of this country. But I also own a good piece of the Mars Colony. Just let 'em try and stop me!"