"This is Mr. Stewart Ferguson," Dr. Hamlin announced.
"Not THE Mr. Stewart Ferguson?"
"I take it then you've heard of him?"
Carl studied the man whimsically. "Yeah, I've heard of him," he said. "All the way from here to Mars and back I've heard of him."
Stewart Ferguson lit a cigarette. "Am I to understand, Mr. Keating, that you don't approve of my so-called behavior?"
Carl shrugged. "Who am I to comment on your behavior? If I had your money I'd probably act the same way you do. Who doesn't want to sleep with a video actress?"
Dr. Hamlin coughed. "There are times when perhaps the newspapers have exaggerated Mr. Ferguson's escapades. Furthermore, I hardly think his private life is any concern of ours."
"I'm not concerned," Carl said. "If I'm being paid five thousand dollars to listen to an evening's chatter I'd as soon listen to Ferguson's autobiography as anything else ... might even come down on my price a bit."
Stewart Ferguson dug into his coat pocket and came up with a sheaf of bills. He threw them across the table. "That takes care of our agreement," he said, "now suppose we get down to the business you're being paid to listen to."
Carl picked up the bills and rapped them across his knuckles. For just a moment he toyed with the idea of throwing them back in the playboy's face. He didn't. Not only was five thousand dollars a lot of money, but his curiosity was aroused. "I'm listening," he said.