"Yes, that's what I said—one hundred thousand. If we could afford it, we'd pay you ten times that. Actually, you see, the stone is priceless. The check will be sent to you. You can go now, Timkin."
Timkin drove the rocket truck back, in a dream, and passed a red light. The traffic cop wrote a ticket.
"That'll cost you twenty-five dollars, bud," he growled.
Timkin burst out laughing and kept laughing all the way back to the garage. He was fined 25 dollars. It would have been an economic tragedy before. Now it was a joke. He could pay a hundred fines like that and still laugh.
The next day, when the check arrived at his room, Timkin knew it was not a dream. The amount was 150,000 dollars. They had even upped the price voluntarily.
Timkin went out, with the check in his pocket, and headed for the Spaceman's Nook. He had one more piece of unfinished business to do. He knew he would find Huck Larsoe there and saw him at a corner table. Strangely he seemed depressed, not at all like a man who had just brought in a fortune in gold.
"Hello, Huck!"
Larsoe looked up sourly as Timkin sat down cheerfully.
"Listen, punk, you got nothing on me," he growled.
"I know," said Timkin. "But why so glum? What did you get for my—pardon me, your—gold bonanza when you cashed it in?"