"There's your check, young man!" he puffed. "Now you can get your greasy ship out of here. What do you mean by waiting until the last minute to bring the asteroid?"
Bob didn't answer. He said politely, "I'd like very much to stay for the wedding, sir."
The old man looked distastefully at his dirty coveralls. "You may," he said testily. "But please view it from a distance."
He started away, then suddenly turned back. "Would you mind telling me, young man, how it is that my granddaughter was in your ship?"
"I'll be glad to, sir," Bob said politely, "after the wedding. It's a long story."
"I've no doubt, I've no doubt," Burnside said, glaring. "But if it's anything scandalous, I don't want to hear it. This is an important wedding." He stomped away, limping.
Bob whirled toward Queazy, tensely, thrust the check into his hands. He jerked it back, hastily endorsed it and thrust it at Queazy again.
"Cash it! Quick! I'll meet you in the Somers Hotel."
Queazy asked no questions, but lifted the ship, and left.
At twenty minutes of twelve, somebody having rushed Starre into a hurried preparation for the wedding, the minister climbed a ladder to the apex of the asteroid, and the wedding march sounded out. Bob saw Starre, walking slowly on her grandfather's arm, her eyes looking straight ahead.