“Thinking.”

“Doesn’t pay to. Just makes you discontented with what you see around you. Any results?”

“Yes,” said Duke, “I’ve decided that what Mike eats, or doesn’t eat, is no business of mine.”

“Congratulations! A desire not to butt into other people’s business is at least eighty percent of all human wisdom . . . and the other twenty percent isn’t very important.”

“You butt into other people’s business. All the time.”

“Who said I was wise? I’m a professional bad example. You can learn a lot by watching me. Or listening to me. Either one.”

“Jubal, if I walked up to Mike and offered him a glass of water, do you suppose he would go through that lodge routine?”

“I feel certain that he would. Duke, almost the only human characteristic Mike seems to possess is an overwhelming desire to be liked. But I want to make sure that you know how serious it is to him. Much more serious than getting married. I myself accepted water brotherhood with Mike before I understood it—and I’ve become more and more deeply entangled with its responsibilities the more I’ve grokked it. You’ll be committing yourself never to lie to him, never to mislead or deceive him in any way, to stick by him come what may—because that is just what he will do with you. Better think about it.”

“I have been thinking about it, all day. Jubal, there’s something about Mike that makes you want to take care of him.”

“I know. You’ve probably never encountered complete honesty before—I know I hadn’t. Innocence. Mike has never tasted the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil . . . so we, who have, don’t understand what makes him tick. Well, on your own head be it. I hope you never regret it.” Jubal looked up. “Oh, there you are! I thought you had stopped to distill the stuff.”

Larry answered, “Couldn’t find a cork screw, at first.”

“Machinery again. Why didn’t you bite the neck off? Duke, you’ll find some glasses stashed behind The Anatomy of Melancholy up there—”

“I know where you hide them.”

“—and we’ll all have a quick one, neat, before we get down to serious drinking.” Duke got the glasses; Jubal poured and held up his own. “The golden sunshine of Italy congealed into tears. Here’s to alcoholic brotherhood . . . much more suited to the frail human soul, if any, than any other sort.”

“Health.”

“Cheers.”

Jubal poured his slowly down his throat. “Ah!” he said happily, and belched. “Offer some of that to Mike, afterwards, Duke, and let him learn how good it is to be human. Makes me feel creative. Front! Why are those girls never around when I need them? Front!!”

“I’m still ‘Front,’” Miriam answered, at the door, “but—”

“I know. And I was saying: ‘—to what strange, bitter-sweet fate my tomboy ambition—’”

“But I finished that story while you were chatting on the telephone with the Secretary General.”

“Then you are no longer ‘Front.’ Send it off.”

“Don’t you want to read it first? Anyhow, I’ve got to revise it—kissing Mike gave me a new insight on it.”

Jubal shuddered. “‘Read it?’ Good God, no! It’s bad enough to write such a thing. And don’t even consider revising it, certainly not to fit the facts. My child, a true-confession story should never be tarnished by any taint of truth.”

“Okay, Boss. And Anne says if you want to come down to the pool and have a bite before you eat, come on.”

“I can’t think of a better time. Shall we adjourn to the terrace, gentlemen?”

At the pool the party progressed liquidly with bits of fish and other Scandinavian high-caloric comestibles added to taste. At Jubal’s invitation Mike tried brandy, somewhat cut with water. Mike found the resulting sensation extremely disquieting, so he analysed his trouble, added oxygen to the ethanol in an inner process of reversed fermentation and converted it to glucose and water, which gave him no trouble.

Jubal had been observing with interest the effect of his first drink of liquor on the Man from Mars—saw him become drunk almost at once, saw him sober up even more quickly. In an attempt to understand what had happened, Jubal urged more brandy on Mike—which he readily accepted since his water brother offered it. Mike sopped up an extravagant quantity of fine imported liquor before Jubal was willing to concede that it was impossible to get him drunk.

Such was not the case with Jubal, despite his years of pickling; staying sociable with Mike during the experiment dulled the edge of his wits. So, when he attempted to ask Mike what he had done, Mike thought that he was inquiring about the events during the raid by the S.S.—concerning which Mike still felt latent guilt. He tried to explain and, if needed, receive Jubal’s pardon.