"Jesus," said Louis, "this is book-keeping?"
"Cash from Mrs. Consolini," said the Professor, at last surmounting his confusion, "fifteen hundred dollars. Cash from Mrs. Stewart-Bates, five hundred. Jewellery from Mrs. Stewart-Bates, eighteen hundred dollars. Total—" "Eighteen hundred?" broke in Louis, angrily. "How in hell do you figure that?"
"Fifty per cent of valuation," answered the Professor, suddenly more confident because he had fastened upon a phrase written down in his notebook. "That is what we are likely to get, when the jewellery is disposed of."
"Well, of course if you're going to louse up the figures like that—"
"He's not lousing up any figures," said Diane. "He's trying to work out exactly what you're worth. It's not likely to take him all day, either."
"Total for Louis, three thousand, eight hundred," said the Professor, unheeding. "Grand total for everyone, twenty-three thousand, eight hundred dollars. A most substantial—"
Carl broke in. "I make that twenty-Ztvo thousand, eight hundred, Professor. Just check again."
There was silence while the old man, breathing hard, fiddled his way through the addition again. Everyone in the room knew, without any reference to the figures, that he had made a mistake. It was, sadly and brutally, that sort of occasion, and Carl, the questioner, was that sort of man.
"Well, bless my soul," said the Professor at last. "I must have transposed—" he caught Carl's eye, and checked his explanation in mid-sentence. "You are quite right," he said humbly. "The grand total is twenty-two thousand, eight hundred."
"Not bad, not bad at all," said Louis. "Even if my stuffis marked down like it was a fire-sale." He looked at his watch. "Carl, if it's O.K. with you, I must run, right now. I have a date."
"You run," said Diane. "Or Mommy spank."
"Now cut that out!" said Louis furiously.
"You can both cut it out," said Carl, with an edge on his voice. "I haven't finished yet." He looked round them; when his eyes turned towards Kathy, they did not change expression. "We're half-way through the trip," he went on, "and we still haven't made the price of the tickets. I—"
"Very nearly," said the Professor, almost to himself.
|'What was that?"
"I beg your pardon, Carl," said the Professor, reacting to the sudden sharpness in the voice. "I must have been thinking aloud. But it's only fair to say that we havevery nearly covered our outlay. In fact, we are only some three thousand dollars short of the target."
"So?"
The Professor looked away, deeply embarrassed. "Pray proceed."
'As I was saying," said Carl, with cruel emphasis, "we still haven't made the price of the tickets. Of course, it's pretty well pure profit from now on, but we've got to make sure that the profit matches the effort, that it's worth all this planning. That means that we've got to take every single chance that's offered, and see that each prospect really pays off, for every cent we can squeeze out of it."
He paused, and his glance went slowly round the table.
"Don't look at me," said Diane cheekily. "I've been doing just that."
"I wasn't looking at anyone. ... I think, Louis, that you will probably have to break away from—from your present situation. Of course it's an agreeable arrangement, and in ordinary circumstances it would be ideal. But at the moment it does limit you. Don't you agree?"
"Hell," said Louis, sulkily, "I don't know about that. I worked hard enough to set it up. I work hard enough now, God knows. And after all, it's money coming in, every week. What's the matter with that?"
"There could be more money coming in. Perhaps with less time spent on earning it."
The suggestion echoed Louis's own thoughts very closely, but he was not yet ready to acknowledge them in public. "It needs thinking out—" he began.
"You heard what the man said," interrupted Diane. She was in a difficult mood; Louis's earlier remarks about "store prices" still rankled; she was not missing any chances at evening-up the score. "Don't think—do! Five hundred a week for playing footsie with Grandma isn't work\ You want to get out and about, Junior. Use those rippling muscles, make with the body-urge. This isn't a soft-shoe routine."
"O.K., I'll figure something out," said Louis. The answer was addressed only to Carl; he ignored Diane as if she did not exist, as if her voice were inaudible against the continuous ship's noises. He looked at his watch again. "I guess that's it for me," he said. "I have to keep that date."
"He must have to punch a clock, or something," said Diane, looking after him as the cabin-door closed. "I wonder he's strong enough."
Carl glanced round the room, suppressing a sigh. The Professor, his task done, was already dozing off; his head nodded jerkily as it settled on his chest. Kathy, he knew, would not break her long silence; she had nothing to break it with, and in that lay the seeds of conflict—the conflict he knew was coming. He could sense it in Diane's manner, in her reaction to Louis, in the stubborn self-confidence that overlaid the pretty face. She had done well; they had all had to accept it. Now she was going to make some comparisons.
He wondered how she would begin, and he did not have long to wait.
Diane was lighting a cigarette, unhurried, perfectly sure of herself. She had no worries; worries were for people who didn't measure up, who fell down on the job, who perhaps thought they were a shade too good for the situation. All she wanted was a few straight answers.
"Look," she said finally, "there are a couple of things I just don't understand."
"Such as?" asked Carl. He pitched his tone midway between indifference and a polite show of attention. He did not want to give Diane any more latitude than was strictly necessary, but in all fairness she had earned her say. "What's on your mind?"
"The whole set-up." She turned slowly in her chair, so that she was face to face with Kathy. "For instance, is she in on this, or isn't she?"
It was Kathy who answered. "Of course I'm in on it," she said. "You know that perfectly well. I just haven't started yet. We've talked about that already."
"Sure we've talked about it," said Diane tartly. "We talked about it a fortnight ago. So what happened?"
"Nothing."
Diane waited for her to add to the answer, but no further word broke the silence. Annoyed, she said:
"Nothing? What's that mean, for God's sake? Here am I, working like a blonde in a nigger whore-house, and you donothing! What sort of a deal is that? Have I got to finish the trip with round heels, just because you're too lazy to pitch in?"
Carl said: "That has nothing to do with you, Diane. I make the rules, and I'm the only one who has to be satisfied."
Diane eyed him. "Are you satisfied?"
"Yes."
"Lucky you! Well, I'm not." Her voice suddenly changed, to a strident malevolence. "What sort of a deal is this, Carl?" she repeated. "You're working, I'm working, even Louis is working. The Prof—" she looked at the ancient nodding figure, "—well, at least he does the chores and keeps the books up to date. But Kathy.... This was meant to be a team, remember? No wonder we haven't made the price of the tickets, when all she does is sit around reading books and getting herself a tan. If that is all she does!"
"What's that meant to mean?" asked Kathy, in the silence that followed.
"Take it whichever way you choose," said Diane, with spiteful carelessness. "You may not be bringing in any money, but you're certainly keeping that kid officer happy!"
"I haven't even seen—" began Kathy impetuously, and then broke off. To identify was to acknowledge; toknow that Diane was referring to Tim Mansell meant that Tim Mansell must be figuring actively on the scene. He did not do so. No one figured on the scene. There was no scene. ... On an impulse she got up, and stretched, and said curtly: