"Please go away," he said. "Grow up in someone else's tourist haven, Norma, like a good girl. If you hadn't decided to see what was in the sponge grottoes of Callisto I'd still have my business there. If you hadn't—"
"Bygones are bygones, Smitty. That's a good boy. But not quite. I see your good friend Percival Farquhart is back—"
"Is that what the P. stands for? Percival, hah-hah."
"I wouldn't talk, Socrates. I wouldn't talk at all."
"Okay, okay. But look—there's a liner for Ceres tonight. I'll buy you a ticket. The Interplanetary Fair—"
"I already saw it. Stinks. Besides, I have a roundtrip ticket good for two years, so you don't have to buy me anything. You just mind your business, and I'll mind mine. All I want to do is ride the rings."
"Well, I'll take you up tonight. Then will you leave?"
"Hell, no. You're not taking me anywhere. Didn't you know I got my pilot's license?"
"Oh, no. Don't tell me it's come to that. They didn't give you a license!"
"Oh yes they did. Fifth try this year, and I finally made it. Nice young inspector, took me out to dinner afterwards. First they set his arm, but it wasn't my fault. Those damn asteroids can really pop up out of nowhere. Well, Smitty, which is my domette?"