Jubal had puzzled over this bit, after he had demanded the “Martian Anthem.” If the demand was met, what should Mike do while it was played? It was a nice point, and the answer depended on just what role Mike was playing in this comedy—

The music stopped. On Jubal’s signals Mike then stood up, bowed quickly, and sat down, seating himself about as the Secretary General and the rest were seated. They were all back in their seats much more quickly this time, as no one could have missed the glaring point that Mike had remained seated through the “anthem.”

Jubal sighed with relief. He had gotten away with it. A great many years earlier he had seen one of that vanishing tribe of royalty (a reigning queen) receive a parade—and he had noticed that the royal lady had bowed after her anthem was played, i.e., she had acknowledged a salute offered to her own sovereign self.

But the political head of a democracy stands and uncovers for his nation’s anthem like any other citizen—for he is not a sovereign.

But, as Jubal had pointed out to LaRue, one couldn’t have it two ways. Either Mike was merely a private citizen (in which case this silly gymkhana should never have been held; Douglas should have had the guts to tell all these overdressed parasites to stay home!)—or, by the preposterous legal theory inherent in the Larkin Decision, the kid was a sovereign all by his little lonesome.

Jubal felt tempted to offer LaRue a pinch of snuff. Well, the point had not been missed by at least one—the Papal Nuncio was keeping his face straight but his eyes were twinkling.

Douglas started to speak: “Mr. Smith, we are honored and happy to have you here as our guest today. We hope that you will consider the planet Earth your home quite as much as the planet of your birth, our neighbor—our good neighbor—Mars—” He went on at some length, in careful, rounded, pleasant periods, which did not quite say anything. Mike was welcome—but whether he was welcome as a sovereign, as a tourist from abroad, or as a citizen returning home, was quite impossible to determine (Jubal decided) from Douglas’ words.

Jubal watched Douglas, hoping to catch his eye, looking for some nod or expression that would show how Douglas had taken the letter Jubal had sent to him by hand immediately on arrival. But Douglas never looked at him. Presently Douglas concluded, still having said nothing and said it very well.

Jubal said quietly, “Now, Mike.”

Smith addressed the Secretary General—in Martian.

But he cut it off before consternation could build up and said gravely: “Mr. Secretary General of the Federation of Free Nations of the Planet Earth—” then went on again in Martian.

Then in English: “—we thank you for our welcome here today. We bring greetings to the peoples of Earth from the Ancient Ones of Mars—” and shifted again into Martian.

Jubal felt that “Ancient Ones” was a good touch; it carried more bulge than “Old Ones” and Mike had not objected to the change in terminology. In fact, while Mike had insisted on “speaking rightly,” Jubal’s draft had not required much editing. It had been Jill’s idea to alternate, sentence by sentence, a Martian version and an English version—and Jubal admitted with warm pleasure that her gimmick puffed up a formal little speech as devoid of real content as a campaign promise into something as rollingly impressive as Wagnerian opera. (And about as hard to figure out, Jubal added.)

It didnt matter to Mike. He could insert the Martian translation as easily as he could memorize and recite the edited English version, i.e., without effort for either. If it would please his water brothers to say these sayings, it made Mike happy.

Someone touched Jubal on the shoulder, shoved an envelope in his hand, and whispered, “From the Secretary General.” Jubal looked up, saw that it was Bradley, hurrying silently away. Jubal opened the envelope in his lap, glanced at the single sheet inside.

The note was one word: “Yes,” and had been signed with initials “J.E.D.”—all in the famous green ink.

Jubal looked up, found that Douglas’ eyes were now on him; Jubal nodded ever so slightly and Douglas looked away. The conference was now over; all that remained was to let the world know it.

Mike concluded the sonorous nullities he had been given; Jubal heard his own words: “—growing closer, with mutual benefit to both worlds—” and “—each race according to its own nature—” but did not listen. Douglas then thanked the Man from Mars, briefly but warmly. There was a pause.

Jubal stood up. “Mr. Secretary General—”

“Yes, Dr. Harshaw?”

“As you know, Mr. Smith is here today in a dual role. Like some visiting prince in the past history of our own great race, traveling by caravan and sailing across uncharted vastnesses to a distant realm, he brings to Earth the good wishes of the Ancient Powers of Mars. But he is also a human being, a citizen of the Federation and of the United States of America. As such, he has rights and properties and obligations.” Jubal shook his head. “Pesky ones, I’m sorry to say. As attorney for him in his capacity as a citizen and a human being, I have been puzzling over his business affairs and I have not even managed a complete list of what he owns—much less decide what to tell tax collectors.”