Sam said coldly, “I know nobody else can do it. Anybody else! Who else is there?”
A Jones with a frill of chartreuse pursed his lips. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “there’s Northside Tim Jones——”
“Northside Tim Jones,” Sam mimicked. “Eight of his jobs are in the stockade right now! Paraffin, for Jones’s sake—he still uses paraffin to mold a face!”
“I know, Sam, but after all, these people need help. If you won’t do it for them, what’s left?”
Sam shrugged morosely. “Well——” he said. Then he shook his head, sighed, and came forward to look at the three travelers. With an expression of revulsion he said, “Strip.”
Ross hesitated. “Hold it!” he said sharply to Helena, already half out of her coveralls. “Sir, there may have been some mistake. Would you mind explaining just what you propose
