I took the check and examined it carefully.
"Ummm," I told him. "But I wouldn't be very surprised if a good deal of that profit is going to be melting away."
"Eh? What do you mean?" he snapped.
I told him, "The other boys up on Mars are still well equipped with peach pits. They're all making pets too. The next few rockets from Mars are going to be loaded with zloors, Westley, old man. You're going to have a flock of bets to pay off—and, besides that, I'm wondering if the government is going to want that many zloors. As I understand it, two is all that they contracted for with you. Of course, you'll have to pay the boys for them—"
He didn't say anything as I left, fanning the check to dry it, but he looked as though he'd met his Waterloo.