"Right!" chorused the twain boredly.
"Sock 'em Boss!" wailed Baron Munchy, shadow-boxing on the border of the table. "Don't lettim get away with that! Splatter 'em."
"Aw, sit down," growled Link Raeburn, plucking thoughtfully at the delicate outline of a tiny mustache. "Lana yelled all right. That was her way of calling the meeting to order. The three of us constitute the majority on Uranus. And in case you're getting ideas, her virtue's safe. She's got quite a problem on her hands. Tell him, Lana."
"You seem to be doing all right," said the girl, crossing her legs nonchalantly.
"Well, to put it shortly, her mud-submarine, which was a second hand job, finally caved in from oxidation. So she came around here and demanded that I put her up with room and board for half of her take."
"Look here," demanded Lana Hilton, taking a chamois bag from her bosom, which when opened, displayed a goodly fortune of pink Uranusian pearls. "My shack begins to crumble. Any minute it'll be heading down to the muddy locker, and that dirty robber wants them all for my keep. Everything I got, I tell you."
"Nuts! The gal's buggy," said Link Raeburn coldly. "She's safe enough, I tell you, and if she weren't there's not a blasted thing you could do about it. This planet has got her brain whirling. I told her she'd better sound out an S. O. S. and take a powder for earth."
"What do you expect from me?" exploded Lonny. "I told you I would have nothing to do with that nova-skirt from the first, when she tried to play us one against the other."
"I give up!" cried Lana Hilton, spreading empty hands in a gesture of defeat. "Once I had the lead role in a chorus, and I gave all that up for this. I thought I could handle men with kid gloves, but when it comes to you, Lonny, I'll say you've cast-iron defense."
"Raeburn can have you!" snorted Lonny. "For all I care!"