gimmick?"

Farrell pointed at the graduation to the extreme right of the dial. "See that line? That would be worth five thousand in duchal. The same amount the Martian bet."

Tharp smiled as he remembered how easily the Martian gambler had paid that amount of duchal. If they lost the game, he'd have no trouble paying the gambling debt.

"Five thousand," Farrell told the waiting Martian. "We'll bet duchal."

The Martian smiled happily, disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a large bag.

Without ceremony he spilled the contents on the stone floor.

Tharp gasped when he saw the golden earrings, cups, anklets, rings and bracelets studded with diamonds. They were easily worth more than eight thousand dollars.

"Why the hell are they living in dumps like this when they have that kind of stuff? They could buy—" He hesitated as if the incompleted sentence indicated an infinite list of articles.

"It means nothing to them," Farrell explained. "They have a different monetary system. Most Martians are so poor, even the rich ones can't buy anything more valuable than food, clothes and shelter. And the Martians are too stubborn to trade with Earthmen."

He reflected idly that on all of Mars the only place where the two races associated was in gambling rooms like this. Even there, the Martians' attitude was stiff and business-like.

The group of aliens shuffled about uneasily, impatient for the game to begin.

"You ready to start?" Farrell asked.

"Sure."

"The object of the game is to get those balls at the top of the cube to the bottom level. The Martian will try to get the ones at the bottom to the top. The balls are governed by the control panels. It's like three dimension Chinese checkers."

"Sasush rhakol," a Martian said loudly.

"The game has started. Push the top green button."

Tharp thrust with a grimy finger.

The game lasted several minutes. Each time it was their turn to move, Farrell told Tharp what button to push. Even while the game 

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