"One twentieth of the take," said Loring.
"There are four of us. One full quarter-share, nothing less," drawled
Roger.
"One-fourth to Shinny and one-fourth to him," whined Mason. "That only
leaves us a fourth apiece!"
"That's more than you've got now," snapped Loring. "All right, Manning,
you're in!"
Roger smiled for the first time. "When do we blast off?"
"As soon as we get that space wagon in shape we hit the deep!" said
Loring.
"I think I need a drink on that," said Shinny. He yelled for the
bartender, who brought rocket juice and Martian fizz.
Roger picked up the glass of the sweet water and glanced around the
table.
"What's the name of that space wagon you've got buried in the jungles,
Mr. Shinny?"
"Ain't got no name," said Shinny.
Roger paused, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Then
I propose we name her after the hearts of each of us here at the table."
"What's that?" asked Loring.
"_Space Devil_," said Roger.
Shinny grinned, his frail body trembling slightly from his silent
laughter. He held up the glass of rocket juice.
"I propose a toast to the _Space Devil_!"
"To the _Space Devil_," said the others together.
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