s lips. "What do _you_ do?"

"Gamble. I'm in the upper brackets, though. As I say: some of us have
the knack. I doubt if your brother does, though. After nine years he
wouldn't still be working the Atlas if he had any dough."

Alan shrugged that off. "How do we get there? I'd like to go right away.
I----"

"Patience, lad," Hawkes murmured. "There's plenty of time for that. When
does your ship leave?"

"Couple of days."

"Then we don't need to rush right over to the Atlas now. Let's get some
food in ourselves first. Then a good night's rest. We can go over there
tomorrow."

"But my brother----"

"Your brother," Hawkes said, "has been in York City for nine years, and
I'll bet he's spent every night for the last eight of them sitting in
the Atlas. He'll keep till tomorrow. Let's get something to eat."

_Chapter Eight_

They ate in a dark and unappealing restaurant three blocks from the
Central Directory Matrix Building. The place was crowded, as all Earth
places seemed to be. They stood on line for nearly half an hour before
being shown to a grease-stained table in the back.

The wall clock said 1732.

A robowaiter approached them, holding a menu board in its metal hands.
Hawkes leaned forward and punched out his order; Alan took slightly
longer about it, finally selecting protein steak, synthocoffee, and
mixed vegetables. The robot clicked its acknowledgement and moved on to
the next table.

"So my brother's a gambler," Alan began.

Hawkes nodded. "You say it as if you were saying, _so my brother's a
pickpocket_, or _so my brother's a cutpurse_. It's a perfectly
legitimate way of making a living." Hawkes' eyes hardened suddenly, and
in a flat quiet voice added, "The way to stay out of trouble on Earth is
to avoid being preachy, son. This isn't a pretty world. There are too
many people on it, and not many can afford the passage out to Gamma
Leonis IV or Algol VII or some of the nice uncluttered colony-worlds. So
while you're in York City keep your eyes wide and your mouth zippered,
and don't turn your nose up at the sordid ways people make their
livings."

Alan felt his face go red, and he was happy to have the trays of food
arrive at that moment, causing some sort of distraction. "Sorry, Max. I
didn't mean to sound preachy."

"I know, kid. You lead a pretty sheltered life on those starships. And
nobody can adjust to Earthside life in a day. How about a drink?"

Alan started to say that he did