housed in a ramshackle building of ancient vintage, and sported as publicity a modest violet lobster which glowed erratically above the door.

Within, the air reeked of tobacco smoke, beer, tekla. It heaved with the beat of something which was part American jazz, part Sirian drum-music, with a flavor of strains from half a dozen other star-systems.

Behind the bar was a monstrously fat character whose hair was white as the clouds of Venus, and whose face was as black as space itself. Elby Jones had a love for wine and women which was matched only by his addiction to the music which the small band in the corner emitted.

He nodded to the pair as they entered, and waddled over to the small table where they seated themselves.

"Evenin', Joe and Mister Grey," he greeted them. "You'll have Space Punch and smokes?"

This, casually—even though never before had they been in this place.

Just as casual was Grey's reply, "Sure enough, Elby. Nice place you've got."

No need to show surprise at the fact that Jones was, himself, a telepath. The very fact that his place was the congregating point for the Canopan crowd attested to that probability.

With a goblet of warm Space Punch between his hands, Grey leaned back and absorbed the peace and relaxation which he had sensed within these walls the moment he had stepped through the door. Joe, immune to alcohol, took the first ecstatic drag from a long white cigarette—a cigarette of very ordinary tobacco.

Through the dimly-lit, smoke-laden atmosphere of the room, Grey could see the musicians at the far end, the small tables at which the Terrans sat with their Canopan partners, the few Sirians who sat alone with their tekla glasses.

Joe, performing an indescribable feat of mental recognition, happily greeted a Sirian who sat across the room. To Grey the Sirians all appeared identical, but he received the impression that this was the one they'd gone on a tear with last month in Joplin. It had been a most memorable occasion. He suddenly laughed uproariously as he recalled the picture they'd made marching down Joplin's main thoroughfare singing the Sirian national anthem in harmony—with Joe taking two of the parts simultaneously—both mentally.

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