"Is it well known?" Joe asked.

Ignoring his question, Gauk read from the slip of paper.

‘The Lattice-work Gun-stinging Insect.'

"Gun-slinging?" Joe asked.

"No. Gun-stinging."

"'Lattice-work,'" Joe said, pondering. "Network. ‘Stinging Insect.' Wasp?" He scratched with his pen, stumped. "And you got this from the translation computer at Kobe? Bee," he decided. " ‘Gun,' so Gun-bee. Heater-bee. Laserbee. Rod-bee. Gat." He swiftly wrote that down. "Gat-wasp, gat-bee. Gatsby. ‘Lattice-work.' That would be a grating. Grate." He had it now. "_The Great Gatsby_, by F. Scott Fitzgerald." He tossed down his pen in triumph.

"Ten points for you," Gauk said. He made a tally. "That puts you even with Hirshmeyer in Berlin and slightly ahead of Smith in New York. You want to try another?"

Joe said, "I have one." From his pocket he got out a folded sheet; spreading it out on his desk he read from it, " ‘The Male Offspring in Addition Gets Out of Bed.' " He eyed Gauk then, feeling the warmth of knowledge that he had gotten a good one—this, from the larger language-translating computer in downtown Tokyo.

"A phononym," Gauk said effortlessly. "Son, sun. The Sun Also Rises. Ten points for me." He made a note of that.

Angrily, Joe said, "Those for Which the Male Homosexual Exacts Transit Tax."

"Another by Serious Constricting-path," Gauk said, with a wide smile. "_For Whom the Bell Tolls_."

"'Serious Constricting-path'?" Joe echoed wonderingly.

"Ernest Hemingway."

"I give up," Joe said. He felt weary; Gauk, as usual, was far ahead of him in their mutual game of retranslating computer translations back into the original tongue.

"Want to try another?" Gauk asked silkily, his face bland.

"One more," Joe decided.

"Quickly Shattered at the Quarreling Posterior."