"Sure thing, Ace." There was no use fretting about Ace; his world was as narrow as the hole between his ears, no deeper than his own hog wallow. Two girls came in; I served them c.o.kes while Ace's malt was in the mixer. He leered at them. "Ladies, do you know Commander Comet here?" One of them t.i.ttered; Ace smirked and went on: "I'm his manager. You want heroing done, see me. Commander, I've been thinking about that ad you're goin' to run."

"Huh?"

"Keep your ears open. 'Have s.p.a.ce Suit-Will Travel,' that doesn't say enough. To make money out of that silly clown suit, we got to have oomph. So we add: "Bug-Eyed Monsters Exterminated-World Saving a Specialty-Rates on Request.' Right?"

I shook my head. "No, Ace."

"S'matter with you? No head for business?"

"Let's stick to the facts. I don't charge for world saving and don't do it to order; it just happens. I'm not sure I'd do it on purpose-with you in it."

Both girls t.i.ttered. Ace scowled. "Smart guy, eh? Don't you know that the customer is always right?"

"Always?"

"He certainly is. See that you remember it. Hurry up that malt!"

"Yes, Ace." I reached for it; he shoved thirty-five cents at me; I pushed it back. "This is on the house." I threw it in his face.