eard of. Boswellister squirmed momentarily.

It was too bad there wasn't a better crowd. Most of the Boulevard's
regulars were at the Arena opening, but there were a few loiterers,
standing along the curb, watching the free show. And all he had to do
was make a beginning, Boswellister felt. He was sure that everything
would roll by itself after that. He had faith in his superstition
equation.

Dodie peeled. She seemed headed for complete nakedness at any moment,
but to Boswellister's surprise, the revealing costume contained more
pieces than he had remembered.

"Any moment now," he whispered to the solido-tech. "Now, wait ... there
... that should be the last piece. Settle the device around her head,"
he ordered. Then he groaned and countermanded the order. He had
remembered Dodie's details, not her act. For at the last moment she
slipped to the wings, dropping the last swatch of lace to slide down one
long, white, out-thrust leg.

Oh, blessed Ippling! There was his ship, floating majestically overhead,
but no one would give it a glance. He pointed to it. These men _must_
follow his excited gestures and look up; but they were busy calling
suggestions to the line of ponies who had taken over the runway.
Boswellister felt as if he were standing in a desert, surrounded by a
mob of phantoms from his own imagination.

The crying voice of the gambling-house barker rode in over the clang and
brass of jazzy music, but he couldn't turn the tip. As soon as the
line-girls left the over-the-sidewalk runway, the idlers moved on down
the street to take in the next spot's free outdoor lure show.

Boswellister leaned against the wall and watched the barker wipe his
sweat-soaked forehead. He felt kinship with the man in his failure. The
manager came out and talked to the barker for a moment. Boswellister
overheard: "Dodie didn't draw one customer. A buck ain't to be made
these days."

The barker replied, shaking his head, "They're oversold, Marve. The
give-away is all they want."

Boswellister turned away and walked towards his motel. They wanted the
give-away, but the glory of Ippling he had to give made no impression.
He felt desperate. He had to make one more try.

His family position demanded obedience from the starship officers and
crew. He stopped for a moment and gave a swift command into the lapel
pickup, then went on to his motel room.

* * * * *

The next morning, full of confidence