"Fine. Great little car. Reason I called—"
"Hey," Eddie said, "what happened to your face?"
Morrison put his hand to his forehead and felt blood. "Nothing much," he said. "I went over a dune and blew out two tires."
He turned the telephone so that Eddie could see the tires.
"Unrepairable," said Eddie.
"I thought so. And I used up all my spares crossing Devil's Grill. Look, Eddie, I'd like you to 'port me a couple of tires. Retreads are fine. I can't move the sandcar without them."
"Sure," Eddie said, "except I haven't any retreads. I'll have to 'port you new ones at five hundred apiece. Plus four hundred dollars 'porting charges. Fourteen hundred dollars, Mr. Morrison."
"All right."
"Yes, sir. Now if you'll show me the cash, or a money order which you can send back with the receipt, I'll get moving on it."
"At the moment," Morrison said, "I haven't got a cent on me."