"Then we'll sit somewhere and wait. Since this isn't an office, we'll find some refreshment."
They asked for a table and got one near the swimming pool. And Babs wore her office manner, all crispness and business, until they were seated. But this swimming pool was not like a pool on Earth. The water was deeply sunk beneath the pool's rim, and great waves surged back and forth. The swimmers—.
Babs gasped. A man stood on a board quite thirty feet above the water. He prepared to dive.
"That's Johnny Simms!" she said, awed.
"Who's he?"
"The playboy," said Babs, staring. "He's a psychopathic personality and his family has millions. They keep him up here out of trouble. He's married."
"Too bad—if he has millions," said Cochrane.
"I wouldn't marry a man with a psychopathic personality!" protested Babs.
"Keep away from people in the advertising business, then," Cochrane told her.
Johnny Simms did not jounce up and down on the diving board to start. He simply leaped upward, and went ceilingward for easily fifteen feet, and hung stationary for a full breath, and then began to descend in literal slow motion. He fell only two and a half feet the first second, and five feet more the one after, and twelve and a half after that.... It took him over four seconds to drop forty-five feet into the water, and the splash that arose when he struck the surface rose four yards and subsided with a lunatic deliberation.