_The slovenly wub might well have said: Many men
talk like philosophers and live like fools._
They had almost finished with the loading. Outside stood the Optus, his
arms folded, his face sunk in gloom. Captain Franco walked leisurely
down the gangplank, grinning.
"What's the matter?" he said. "You're getting paid for all this."
The Optus said nothing. He turned away, collecting his robes. The
Captain put his boot on the hem of the robe.
"Just a minute. Don't go off. I'm not finished."
"Oh?" The Optus turned with dignity. "I am going back to the village."
He looked toward the animals and birds being driven up the gangplank
into the spaceship. "I must organize new hunts."
Franco lit a cigarette. "Why not? You people can go out into the veldt
and track it all down again. But when we run out halfway between Mars
and Earth--"
The Optus went off, wordless. Franco joined the first mate at the bottom
of the gangplank.
"How's it coming?" he said. He looked at his watch. "We got a good
bargain here."