ublic fully clothed, which doesn't help
them either. But covering their faces would. They buy their dresses at
a place called Kress-Worth and look like Paris _nouveau riche_.

There are four separate nations there, though nation is hardly the
word. It is more accurate to say there are four separate clans that
don't like each other, though how they can tell the difference is
beyond us. They are known as the East Side, West Side, North Side and
Gas House gangs.

Each stays in its own back-yard. Periodic wars are fought, a few
thousand of the enemy are dissolved with ray guns, after which the
factions retire by common consent and throw a banquet at which the
losing country is forced to take the wives of the visitors, which is a
twist not yet thought of on Earth.

Martian language is unlike anything ever heard below. It would baffle
the keenest linguist, if the keenest linguist ever gets to Mars.
However, the Mafia, which is a world-wide blood brotherhood with
colonies in every land and clime, has a universal language. Knives and
brass knucks are understood everywhere.

The Martian lingo seems to be somewhat similar to Chinese. It's not
what they say, but how they say it. For instance, _psonqule_ may mean
"I love you" or "you dirty son-of-a-bitch."

The Mafistas soon learned to translate what the natives were saying by
watching the squint in their eyes. When they spoke with a certain
expression, the mobsters let go with 45s, which, however, merely have
a stunning effect on the gent on the receiving end because of the
lesser gravity.

On the other hand, the Martian death ray guns were not fatal to the
toughs from Earth; anyone who can live through St. Valentine's Day in
Chicago can live through anything. So it came out a dead heat.

Thereupon the boys from the Syndicate sat down and declared the
Martians in for a fifty-fifty partnership, which means they actually
gave them one per cent, which is generous at that.

Never having had the great advantages of a New Deal, the Martians are
still backward and use gold as a means of exchange. With no Harvard
bigdomes to tell them gold is a thing of the past, the yellow metal
circulates there as freely and easily as we once kicked pennies around
before they became extinct here.

The Mafistas quickly set the Martians right about the futility of
gold. They eagerly turned it over to the Earthmen in exchange for
green certificates with pretty pictures engraved thereon.

III