The girl stared at him, startled. Perhaps the way he held her hands, or the look of earnestness in his gaze, did something to her. She suddenly smiled, murmuring, "Yes, Bill. I'm with you. What's the company?"
"I'll sound crazy," Bill grinned. He turned to Olé and collared the little man. "Listen, Olé," he explained quickly. "You go back to the square and find my office. Open it up. Put a sign in front—Uvan Caviar Import Company. You'll be sales manager."
"Caviar!" The little Uvan's face brightened.
Bill tied a couple of strings to Ole's fingers and shoved him out the door. "Those strings are to remind you what to do when you get to the office. I'll be over there in a minute. I've got work to do now." He faced Webster. "Where's your transmitter?"
"Bill, have you gone mad?" Kitty demanded.
"Not yet, honey!" He kissed Kitty briefly but effectively, adding, "Get the money transferred to my Import Company. Then you go out to the square and keep Castlebottom happy for a half hour. He's on the pillory again. I'll see you at the office."
A half hour later Bill Petrie stepped from the residence transmitter room with a smile of triumph on his lips. Webster, Kitty and Olé were nowhere about so he walked briskly through the fantastically laid out streets of Uva to the market-place. There the smile faded from his mouth.
As his eyes swept the square, he knew something had gone wrong. Castlebottom was still on the pillory, sweating in the muggy heat, but the Uvans no longer crowded around him. The entire mass of resin-bodied grape heads were clamoring around Bill's office.
Bill pushed through the crowd until he came to the door where Webster stood, white faced and worried.