But Biggs didn't show 'em. Instead, he closed the envelope again, slipped it back into his coat pocket, and his liquescent larynx bobbled frantically as he said,
"I—I'm sorry, gentlemen. I haven't anything to show you."
"Why?" I demanded. "Lanse, for gosh sakes, why? What's happened to—"
He turned to me haggardly. "The bud—" he choked—"died!"
Well, I'll hand it to that Governor. He was not only honest; he was so fair and square you could have used him for a measuring rod. He said consolingly, "That's too bad, Mr. Biggs. But accidents will happen. Is there anything further you have to say on behalf of your product?"
"I got plenty to say!" stormed the Skipper. "Just on account of one bud died don't mean we ain't got—"
"Excuse me, Skipper," interrupted Lancelot Biggs mildly. "I—I think the time for deceit has passed."
"What! What's that?"
"I think the governor should be told the truth," said Biggs. "We should confess that our seeds are not a first class product. Might not, indeed, even flourish in the soil of Iapetus."