I felt cold, suddenly, between the shoulders. Somebody scraped a chair
back. It sounded like he'd ripped the floor open, it was so quiet. I
got my brassies on, and my hands were sweating. Bucky Shannon sighed,
and let his fist start traveling, a long, deceptive arc.
Then I saw what the little guy was holding in his hand.
I yelled and knocked the table over into Bucky. It made a lot of noise.
It knocked him sideways and down, and the little dark men jumped up,
quivering and showing their teeth. The Martian girl screamed.
Bucky heaved the table off his lap and cursed me. "What's eating you,
Jig? I'm not going to hurt him."
"Shut up," I said. "Look what he's got there. Money!"
The little guy looked at me. He hadn't turned a hair. "Yes," he said.
"Money. Quite a lot of it. Would you gentlemen permit me to join you?"
Bucky Shannon got up. He grinned his pleasantest grin. "Delighted. I'm
Shannon. This is Jig Bentley, my business manager." He looked down at
the table. "I'm sorry about that. Mistaken identity."
The little guy smiled. He did it with his lips. The rest of his face
stayed placid and babyish, almost transparent. I realized with a start
that it wasn't transparent at all. It was the most complete dead-pan I
ever met, and you couldn't see into those innocent blue eyes any more
than you could see through sheet metal.
I didn't like him. I didn't like him at all. But he had money. I said,
"Howdy. Let's go find a booth. These Marshies make me nervous, looking
like hungry cats at a mouse-hole."
The little guy nodded. "Excellent idea. My name is Beamish. Simon
Beamish. I wish to--ah--charter your circus."
* * * * *
I looked at Bucky. He looked hungrier than the Marshies did. We didn't
say anything until we got Beamish into a curtained booth with a fresh
pitcher of _thil_ on the table. Then I cleared my throat.
"What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Beamish?"
Beamish sipped his drink, made a polite face, and put it down. "I have
independent means, gentlemen. It has always been my desire to lighten
the burden of life for those less fortunate...."
Bucky got red around the ears. "Just a minute," he murmured, and
started to get up. I kicked him under the table.
"Shut up, you lug. Let Mister Beamish finish."
He sat down, looking like a mean dog waiting for the postman. Beamish
ignored him. He went on, quietly,
"I have always held that entertainment, of the right sort, is the most
valuable aid humanity can have in its search for the alleviation of
toil and boredom...."