Dr. Dale, the art expert, had a full, graying beard that covered half his face, and a large shock of graying hair. He might have been a muscular man, but the cut of his clothes made his six and a half feet of body seem fat and clumsy. He gave the impression of a man who could neither fight nor run, but who depended on superior pomposity to stare down his opponents.
The flitter pilot strapped himself down and said: "Not much money on Apfahl. Still, I hear there's something stirring." He adjusted Dr. Dale's seat. "Something about art, eh?" He looked at his passenger as if expecting some comment.
He was not disappointed. Dr. Dale cleared his throat and said: "Yes. There has been some excitement in artistic circles of late. Of course, the news only came out a few weeks ago, and it takes time for anything like that to spread around the galaxy, even among the civilized planets."
The pilot twiddled switches and control knobs as he eased the little ship into a landing orbit. "Well, whatever it is, it must be important for a man to lay out all the extra cash it costs to get Captain Gremp to stop the Belvedere and drop you off." Again he glanced at his passenger.
"Young man," said Dr. Dale, "if you are trying to pump me for information, that is no way to go about it; on the other hand, if you are merely trying to keep a conversation going, there is no need to be coy. I am not on a secret mission for the Interstellar Police, nor am I normally a close-mouthed man. If you are curious, say so; I can give you a full explanation before we land."
The pilot reddened a little. "Well—uh—yes. I was sort of wondering what's supposed to be so important about a piece of wood." Gingerly, he applied power as the ship dropped toward the cloud-flecked surface of Apfahl.
"Piece of wood!" Dr. Dale seemed in agony. His gray beard bristled in indignation. "Young man, I presume you have heard of R. Philipp Dachboden?"
The sarcasm in his voice was light, but even so the pilot reddened more deeply. A hundred years ago, the brilliant genius of Dachboden was perhaps not quite as widely appreciated as it is today, but even then, two centuries after his death, the name of R. Philipp Dachboden ranked with those of Da Vinci and Matisse.
"You are aware, I think," continued the pompous doctor, "that Dachboden did all his sculpture in the wood of the dynak tree, which is native to Apfahl?"
"Sculpture?" asked the pilot. "I thought he was a painter."