Don had a vague feeling that Ling was too anxious to deny the relationship but be did not pursue the thought as it did not matter to him. Ling was continuing, “You know, Don, the bank isn’t the only place where you can change Federation money.”
“What do you mean?”
Ling dipped his forefinger in a puddle of water on the table top and traced out the universal credit sign. “Of course, it’s the only legal place. Would that worry you?”
“Well… ”
“It isn’t as if there were anything wrong about changing it. It’s an arbitrary law and they didn’t ask you when they passed it. After all, it’s your money. That’s right, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“It’s your money and you can do what you please with it. But this talk is strictly on the quiet-you understand that?”
Don didn’t say anything; Ling went on, “Now just speaking hypothetically—how much Federation money do you have?”
“Uh, about five hundred credits.”
“Let’s see it.”
Don hesitated. Ling said sharply, “Come on. Don’t you trust me? After all it’s just so much waste paper.”
Don got out his money. Ling looked at it and took out his wallet, started counting out bills. “Some of those big bills will be hard to move,” he commented. “Suppose we say fifteen per cent.” The money he laid down looked exactly like that Don had placed on the table except that each note had been overprinted with VENUS REPUBLIC.
Don did a rapid calculation. Fifteen per cent of what he had came to seventy-five credits, more or less—not even half what he needed to pay for a radiogram to Mars. He picked up his money and started putting it back into his wallet.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s no use to me. I told you I needed a hundred eighty-seven fifty to pay for my radiogram.”
“Well—twenty per cent. And I’m doing you a favor because you’re a youngster in trouble.”
Twenty per cent was still only a hundred credits. “No.”
“Be reasonable! I can’t move it at more than a point or two over that; I might take a loss. Commercial money draws eight per cent now, the way things are booming. This stuff has to go into hiding, losing eight per cent every year. If the war goes on very long, it’s a net loss. What do you expect?”
Fiscal theory was over Don’s head; he simply knew that anything less than the price of a message to Mars did not interest him. He shook his head.
Ling shrugged and gathered up his money. “It’s your loss. Say, that’s a handsome ring you’re wearing.”
“Thanks.”
“How much money do you say you needed?”
Don repeated it. “You see, I’ve just got to get word to my family. I don’t really need money for anything else; I can work.”
“Mind if I look at that ring?”
Don did not want to pass it over but there seemed no way to avoid it without being rude. Ling slipped it on; it was quite loose on his bony finger. “Just my size. And it’s got my initial, too.”
“Huh?”
“My milk name, ‘Henry.’ I’ll tell you, Don, I’d really like to help you out. Suppose we say twenty per cent on your money and I’ll take the ring for the balance of what you need to send your ‘gram. Okay?”
Don could not have told why he refused. But be was beginning to dislike Ling, beginning to regret being obligated to him for a meal. The sudden switch aroused his stubborn streak. “It’s a family keepsake,” he answered. “Not for sale.”
“Eh? You’re in no position to be sentimental. The ring is worth more here than it is on Earth—but I’m still offering you much more than it’s worth. Don’t be a fool!”
“I know you are,” Don answered, “and I don’t understand why you are. In any case the ring is not for sale. Give it back to me.”
“And suppose I don’t?”
Don took a deep breath. “Why then,” he said slowly, “I suppose I’ll have to fight you for it.”
Ling looked at him for a moment, then took off the ring and dropped it on the table. He then walked out of the booth without saying anything more.