* * * * *
Lucy shook her head. "Too bad. I chew, drink, smoke, brawl, swear, lie,
steal, eat with my knife, and throw things. All in the specifications.
I do everything except drink Vinth. Too bad you don't. We could have
so much fun together, chewing and drinking and lying and stealing and
fighting and throwing things."
"But I didn't mean all those things."
"Of course you didn't, darling! And I'm so sorry you put them in. But
what's done is done, and there's no use worrying about it. Take another
drink and brace up."
Cornith took another drink and returned the flask. He felt better now.
The Martian Vinth had both a soothing and exhilarating effect. The
things that had seemed so stupid a moment before now seemed reasonable.
"All right," he said. "If you do all of those things, you qualify.
Let's have a specimen lie to see how good you are."
"I hate you!"
"Now wait! Don't fly off the handle."
"But darling! I was merely giving you a sample lie."
"You mean, you love me?"
"No."
"Then why do you want to marry me?"
"I don't."
"Oh! I see. You're lying."
"Of course."
"Tell the truth. Do you love me?"
"Now, now, Mr. Cornith! There's nothing in the specifications about
telling the truth about anything at any time whatever."
"Oh, my Gawd!" The full realization of the awful truth shook Cornith,
froze the mellow glow the Martian Vinth had instilled. "I didn't
include any good qualities at all in the specifications!"
"And I'm so sorry," Lucy said tenderly. "Because I could very easily
have trained myself to be good, to be all of the things you wanted.
But I had to follow the specifications. It was the only way I could
qualify. Maybe I can change--in five or ten years."
Cornith shook his head sadly. "In five or ten years it won't matter one
way or another."
"Then you're going to marry me and get used to me?"
"No."
"But Herb, darling! I've worked so hard making myself all of the silly
things your specifications demanded. Nobody else will want a woman like
that. Besides, I've been in love with you ever since you worked out the
formula for canning cosmic rays."
"You remember that?"
"Of course. Saw you for the first time then, in teleview. You reminded
me of something I'd been dreaming."
"What?"
"Tell you after we're married."
"I'm not going to marry you."
"You'll have to. I can pass all the requirements. Here's your wallet I
stole out of your pocket ten minutes ago. And the law says--"
"But you're an ounce underweight."
"Are you going to let a little thing like that--?"
* * * * *
Lucy halted abruptly and Cornith smiled serenely. "Sure," he said. "The
specifications require the female to weigh a hundred and twenty-three
pounds, dripping wet, and she may not change her weight consciously by
eating or drinking. Now, I'll give you a sporting chance. You weigh a
hundred and twenty-two pounds and fifteen ounces, or maybe a little
less. You can weigh yourself and see. If you gain an ounce, or enough
to make you weigh one twenty-three, within an hour, and without eating
or drinking, or thinking about your body, I'll marry you and not even
ask your name."
"There are certain absorptions--"
"Nope. That's out. You'd have to think about your body."
Lucy's smooth brow puckered. She stepped quickly to the desk and spun
the globe resting there.
"Nope. No luck there. We're almost at sea level. You can't get any
lower than that. And if you went to higher altitude you'd weigh less."
Suddenly Lucy smiled, snatched up a pencil and began figuring on a pad,
and Cornith mused reflectively: "She's a good sport. And a beauty.
By George! I hope she figures it out." Then he frowned. "But it's
impossible."
Lucy dropped the pencil and clapped her hands. "I have it," she
exclaimed. "Time me now."
"I'll have to weigh you first," Cornith said. "Dripping wet."