"Ummm," I told him. "But I wouldn't be very surprised if a good deal of
that profit is going to be melting away."
"Eh? What do you mean?" he snapped.
I told him, "The other boys up on Mars are still well equipped with
peach pits. They're all making pets too. The next few rockets from Mars
are going to be loaded with zloors, Westley, old man. You're going to
have a flock of bets to pay off--and, besides that, I'm wondering if
the government is going to want that many zloors. As I understand it,
two is all that they contracted for with you. Of course, you'll have
to pay the boys for them--"
He didn't say anything as I left, fanning the check to dry it, but he
looked as though he'd met his Waterloo.