d?"

Mike the Angel thought it over. The sweep hand on the chronometer made
its rounds several times before he answered. Then, at last, he said:
"No. No, I wouldn't."

Jeffers pursed his lips, then said judicially: "In that case, you're not
doing badly at all. There's nothing wrong with you except the fact that
you're in love."

Mike downed the third drink fast and stood up. "Thanks, Pete," he said.
"That's what I was afraid of."

"Wait just one stinkin' minute," said Jeffers firmly. "Sit down."

Mike sat.

"What do you intend to do about it?" Jeffers asked.

Mike the Angel grinned at him. "What the hell else can I do but woo and
win the wench?"

Jeffers grinned back at him. "I reckon you know you got competition,
huh?"

"You mean Jake von Liegnitz?" Mike's face darkened. "I have the feeling
he's looking for something that doesn't include a marriage certificate."

"Love sure makes a man sound noble," said Jeffers philosophically. "If
you mean that all he wants is to get Leda into the sack, you're prob'ly
right. Normal reaction, I'd say. Can't blame Jake for that."

"I don't," said Mike. "But that doesn't mean I can't spike his guns."

"Course not. Again, a normal reaction."

"What about Lew Mellon?" Mike asked.

"Lew?" Jeffers raised his eyebrows. "I dunno. I think he likes to talk
to her, is all. But if he _is_ interested, he's bloody well serious.
He's a strict Anglo-Catholic, like yourself."

_I'm not as strict as I ought to be_, Mike thought. "I thought he had a
rather monkish air about him," he said aloud.

Jeffers chuckled. "Yeah, but I don't think he's so ascetic that he
wouldn't marry." His grin broadened. "Now, if we were still at ol'
Chilblains, you'd _really_ have competition. After all, you can't expect
that a gal who's stacked ... pardon me ... who has the magnificent
physical and physiognomical topography of Leda Crannon to spend her life
bein' ignored, now can you?"

"Nope," said Mike the Angel.

"Now, I figger," Jeffers said, "that you can purty much forget about Lew
Mellon. But Jakob von Liegnitz is a chromatically variant equine,
indeed."

Mike shook his head vigorously, as if to clear away the fog. "_Pfui!_
Let's change the subject. My heretofore nimble mind has been coagulated
by a pair of innocent blue eyes. I need my skull stirred up."

"I have a limerick," said Jeffers lightly. "It's about a young spaceman
named Mike, who said: 'I can do as I like!' And to prove his brigh