perate shape. We have nine thousand, four hundred and
twenty dollars in the payroll account. That leaves it over five thousand
short. There is only about two thousand in General Disbursements, but
that isn't enough to cover invoices due tomorrow. I'm afraid--"

"Don't be afraid, Lucy. That's negative. If we waste our time sitting
around shivering, we won't make any progress at all."

"I didn't mean it that way, Mr. Lake. I'm not shivering. I was merely
stating that we haven't got enough money."

"Then I'll go to the bank and get some more."

"Of course, Mr. Lake. Is that all?"

"Yes, that's all, Lucy. You run on to lunch."

"You aren't going out?"

"No. I'm not hungry today."

Her bun bobbed in disapproval as she left the office. Joshua Lake stared
at the closed door and sighed. Lucy knew exactly how things were. She
wasn't one to be fooled. But Joshua hoped the rest of the personnel were
not so perceptive. The engineers and the draftsmen particularly. They
could all walk out at noon and be working somewhere else by one o'clock,
what with the huge current industrial demand.

He walked again to the window; an old man; bone-weary, with the weight
of his sixty-odd years bending his shoulders like a brick-carrier's hod.

"_Then I'll go to the bank and get some more._" He hadn't even fooled
himself this time. His chances at the bank were nil. Less than nil. His
very presence there could tip the balance of their decision. Loans could
be called; the doors locked before nightfall.

At the window, he lowered his eyes from the sky and looked to the gate
that led into the horseshoe sweep of low buildings and back to the
great, bulking hangar where precious work was being done.

A man and his dream, Lake mused.

He could see only the back of the sign hanging over the gate, but he was
quite familiar with the other side. _Lake Interstellar Enterprises_ in
bold, brave letters; and in the lower right-hand corner--barely
discernible--_Joshua Lake--President_.

* * * * *

A visitor looking closely at the sign could see that it had been done
over--that a discarded legend lay beneath a coat of white paint. The old
name of the firm was still faintly visible: _Lake and Gorman--Castings
and Extrusions_.

It wasn't difficult for Joshua to conjure up Lee Gorman's craggy,
hostile face. Nor his words. Lee had a voice like gravel being ground
to powder. A voice to remember....

"Of course I won't