rce hurled Tom back in his seat.

Tom grinned. He hadn't meant to sound so tough. He leaned over and
apologized. "I'm looking for an old friend. Someone told me he drives a
truck and he might be there."

"Forget it, kid," said the driver. "I wouldn't want you in my cab if you
couldn't take care of yourself. We pay taxes to teach guys like you how
to protect us. A lot of good it would do if you were scared of a taxi
driver."

Tom laughed and settled back in his seat to watch the city flash past.

A half hour later the curly-haired cadet became aware of the change from
the magnificent crystal buildings to the dirty and streaked buildings of
the poorer section of the city. And with the change, Tom noticed a
difference in the people who walked the streets. Here were men who wore
their coat collars high and their caps pulled low, and who would duck
into the shadows at the approach of the cab and then watch it with dark,
silent eyes.

"Here ya are, Cadet," the driver announced, stopping in front of a
small, dirty building. "Sloppy Sam's."

Tom looked out. The door was open and he could see inside. Sawdust
covered the floor, and the tables and chairs were old and rickety. The
men inside were the same as those he had seen on the street,
tough-looking, hard, steely-eyed. Tom looked at the faded sign over the
door. "That says _Bad_ Sam's," he protested.

[Illustration: _The men inside were tough-looking and steely-eyed_]

"Used to be called Bad Sam's," replied the driver. "As a matter of fact,
I think it's still officially Bad Sam's. You see, Sam used to be a real
tough fella. Then one day a fella came along that was tougher than he
was and beat the exhaust out of him. Sam went to pot after that. He got
fat and lazy, and his place here got dirtier and dirtier. Finally
everybody started calling him Sloppy Sam and it stuck."

"Quite a story." Tom laughed. "What happened to the fellow that took Sam
over the hurdles?"

"He's got a joint on the other side of town called Bad Richard's. But
they're friends now. Get along fine."

Tom paid the driver and stood on the sidewalk, watching the silver cab
shoot away into the darkness. Then he took a deep breath and slowly
moved toward the open door of Sloppy Sam's.

Inside, Tom saw that most of the customers were lined up at the bar,
drinking rocket juice, a dark foul-tasting liquid that Tom had sipped
once and vowed he would never try again. But as he looked around, he
didn't t