“Doc!” Mack cried. “Look, Doc, it’s me—Mack!”

“Hello, Mack,” said Doc. “How much did you say?”

“You’ve already given it to me,” said Mack, and he felt like a fool the moment he’d said it.

“I need better equipment,” said Doc. “Goddam it, I can’t see without better equipment.”

“Doc, how’s about you and me stepping over and getting a half-pint of Old Tennis Shoes?”

“Fine,” said Doc.

“I’ll buy,” said Mack. “I’ve got a couple of loose bucks.”

Doc said sharply, “I’ll have to get some money. Where can I get some money, Mack?”

“I told you, I’ll buy, Doc.”

“I’ll need a wide-angle binocularscope and light. I’ll have to find out about light—maybe a pinpoint spot from across the room. No, they’d move out of that. Maybe there are new kinds of lights. I’ll have to look into it.”

“Come on, Doc.”

Doc bought a pint of Old Tennis Shoes and later sent Mack out with money to buy another pint. The two of them sat in the laboratory side by side, staring into the aquarium, resting their elbows on the shelf, and they got to the point where they were mixing a little water with the whisky.

“I got an uncle with an eye like them,” said Mack. “Rich old bastard too. I wonder why, when you get rich, you get a cold eye.”

“Self-protection,” said Doc solemnly. “Conditioned by relatives, I guess.”

“Like I was saying, Doc. Everybody in the Row is worried about you. You don’t have no fun. You wander around like you was lost.”

“I guess it’s reorientation,” said Doc.

“Well, some people think you need a dame to kind of nudge you out of it. I know a guy that every time he gets feeling low he goes back to his wife. Makes him appreciate what he had. He goes away again and feels just fine.”