too sure of you ... yet ... because
you were a cadet. Oh, we know," as Hanlon started to protest hotly, "all
about your being kicked out. We can see how all that might well have
soured you enough so you will really do anything you can to get ahead,
even if only to show the Corps. But you can understand our hesitation, I
think."

"Of course, sir. But you needn't worry." He made his voice as bitter and
hard as he could. "I've had my fill of all that law and order stuff. I
was an innocent young punk, full of high ideals and the romance of the
Corps and all that bunk. But those mangy slime-snakes knocked all that
out of me. Anything I can do that'll give 'em a kick in the teeth I'll
do with joy and gusto!"

"Fine words," snapped the leader, "but can you take it if the going gets
tough?"

Hanlon was learning fast. Now he stared straight back into those hard
eyes.

"Can you dish it out, Mister?" his tone was almost, but not quite,
insolent.

Chapter 11

A black look suffused the leader's face at Hanlon's impertinent "can you
dish it out, Mister?" He half-rose from his seat, while the other four
men reached quick hands towards their weapons.

Then slowly the man sank back, relaxed, and smiled--an open, friendly
smile of genuine cordiality, and his men also relaxed.

"You'll do, Hanlon, by the great ... uh ... Zeus, you'll do! But," he
added significantly, "I think you will find that I can 'dish it out', as
you call it, if the need ever arises. You had better pray it never
does."

"Fair enough," Hanlon shrugged indifferently.

"The boys will take you out and show you the town, if you like," the
leader smiled engagingly. "They will get word to you when I have a job
ready, which may be in a day or two."

Hanlon thanked him, and felt it policy to go out with "the boys," even
though he did not particularly care to do so. Nor did he especially
enjoy the night that followed.

He had left a ten o'clock call with the hotel's visiphone operator when
he got back to the hotel at last. When she called he groggily opened one
eye half way, and fumbled for the toggle-switch.

"H'lo."

"Ten o'clock of a fine morning, Mr. Hanlon."

"Oh, no!" he groaned.

"Oh, yes," she giggled. "That bad, is it?"

"Worse'n that. But thanks anyway ... I guess."

She was laughing heartily as she disconnected.

Hanlon groaned with the utter misery of a hugely-distorted, throbbing
head. The sunlight pouring through an open window