"And can't you mix another kind of shining paint? This itches. It's hell."
"I'm working on it."
Casper Craig was still dictating the gram:
"Amazing quality of longevity seemingly inherent in the locale. Climate ideal. Daylight or half-light. All twenty-one hours from Planet Delphina and from Sol. Pure water for all industrial purposes. Scenic and storied. Zoning and pre-settlement restrictions to insure congenial neighbors. A completely planned globular settlement in a near arm of our own galaxy. Low taxes and liberal credit. Financing our specialty—"
"And you had better have an armed escort when you return," said Father Briton.
"Why in cosmos would we want an armed escort?"
"It's as phony as a seven-credit note!"
"You, a man of the cloth doubt it? And us ready skeptics convinced by our senses? Why do you doubt?"
"It is only the unbelieving who believe so easily in obvious frauds. Theologically unsound, dramaturgically weak, philologically impossible, zoologically rigged, salted conspicuously with gold and shot through with anachronisms. And moreover he was afraid to play me at checkers."