1) With respect to the acquittal of Finch Arthur Poet on the charge of advertising, Decreed: that the decision of the House Court was correct and is affirmed.
2) With respect to the refusal of the Strawberry House Court to take action in the civil complaint of Orange v. Finch, Decreed: that the Strawberry House Court was in error, and that the said Finch is hereby ordered to give the said Orange and his family and friends one orgy, at the expense of the said Finch, whereat the said Finch shall recite one sonnet of his authentic composition, in praise of the said Orange, not later than September the first of the current year.
3) With respect to the acquittal of the said Finch on the charge of indolence, Decreed: That the decision of the Strawberry House Court was correct and is affirmed without right of further appeal in view of the frivolous nature of the charge.
4) With respect to the intention of Sullivan Michael Politician to trade the said Orange to another House, Decreed: that the rule giving House Politicians control over the movements of their constituents was established on the presumption that the said Politicians were elected because they knew best the needs of their Houses, and that this Court will not interfere in the local administrative decisions of the Strawberry House Politician; with the exception that the said Orange shall not be removed from, his present House before September the second of the current year.
It did not strike Finch that Terry was exactly the person to whom he wished to look for advice about this prospective orgy, but he could think of no one else to ask, and ended by seeking out the pseudo-Tiridat. The athlete was whistling cheerfully, his room littered with sweatshirts and similar equipment which he was stuffing into a bag.
"Hiyah, Arthur!" Terry greeted him. "You is jest in time to see me off to the match at Highland Park House. Afterwards there's gonna be a orgy there to give us a chance to th'ow away our winnings. They got a really swell gambling room—best I ever see. Why don't you come on over this evening?"
Finch grinned: "The only time I like gambling is when I'm running the roulette wheel."
"You cain't buy more than what your status allows you anyway, so why not get rid of it in style?"
"Apparently I'm going to get rid of some of it in more style than I want to. What do you think of this?" He produced the copy of the Louisville District Court's decrees.
When he had finished reading it Terry snickered. "Looks like they done found out where you live, Arthur."
"No doubt. But I'm certainly not going to give an orgy for that ill-conditioned specimen if I can help it."
The athlete's mouth fell open. "You mean you're gonna th'ow down that District Court's decree? Boy!"
"Well, I'm not going to defy the court, naturally. But I want to know how I can get out of it without getting myself into more trouble."
Terry scratched his head; then his vulpine face took on a naughty expression. "Looky here, Arthur, how it reads. Orange kin be transported any time after the first of September, but it don't say nothin' about what ef something has slipped up so you couldn't give the orgy in the meantime. Now, sp'ose you got ordered to go away some-wheres to study up on genealogies and couldn't git back in time. ... I reckon you see what I mean. Gee whillikins, it would be funny! Orange would be sittin' around waitin' for his orgy and tellin' everybody about it, and by time you got back he'd be way up there in Alaska where he couldn't file no more complaints on you." Terry heaved up a long arm and smote Finch between the shoulder-blades.
Finch staggered a little and recovered, turning Terry's suggestion over in his mind suspiciously, but failing to find any flaw.
"I suppose," he mused aloud, "the way to do it would be to leave as soon as possible, and make reservations that would bring me back here on September first. Then I can stage a last minute accident that will make me miss a boat or train by about ten minutes. Terry, will you do me a favor over there at Highland Park House? See if the library has anything you can borrow about Ireland, especially about Irish genealogy. Everything in the library here is as old as Uranus."
"I'll look," said Terry, "but I don't think there'll be nothing. Most all the libraries outside the big city ones got pretty near the same books. But I'll look, just to prove to you what a good and faithful friend you got."
Finch suppressed the comment that came to his mind. He was looking at the dresser where Terry had spread out his minor possessions, stuffing some of them into his pockets and some into his bag. The odd thing about it was that there seemed to be two key-rings in the collection, each containing half a dozen keys that were apparently identical. Without more than a flash of wonderment as to why the athlete should have duplicate sets, the thought crossed Finch's mind that if he could get one of these it would be possible to continue uninterrupted the search for the carnelian cube he had begun once before. No doubt everything in this dream-experience was very rational and reasonable; but now that the charm of un-familiarity had worn off, it was beginning to be irritating, and if that were the escape ...
Terry stuffed one key-ring into his pocket. "Say, Arthur," he said: "I bet I know what you're up to. Goin' to Ireland to look up old Sullivan's family tree, ain't you?"
"That was my intention," said Finch, standing up and walking over to the dresser to lean his back against it.
"Don't guess you'll find much you couldn' git right here," said Terry. "Whups! Forgot my shavin' lotion."
He dived into the bathroom to get it and as he did so Finch casually slipped the extra key-ring into his pocket.
Six:
Finch had no flashlight but as the door was without a transom, there seemed no particular objection to putting on the lights. He started at the dresser, going over every inch with a thoroughness known only to archaeologists and customs inspectors, but there was no little red cube of carnelian, incised with Etruscan characters. Now, let's see—it might be in the stuffing—
"Hello, Arthur. How's burglary?"
Finch whirled. Eulalie, very fetching in blue and with her best smile glued to her face, was standing with her back to the door.
Finch felt his smile was a trifle sickly. "Not very good, though what makes you think of burglary?"
She did not give him a direct answer. "You know," she said, "when a man becomes too much of a liability to a House, being hauled up all the time for advertising, indolence, burglary, and a lot of other things, the Courts may decide that it's no use trading him off and they might as well fertilize him"
"What him?"
"You know—convert him to fertilizer. Oh, well. I don't think you'll ever get into anything like that. By the way, I'm going to be a single woman soon."
"You are?"
"Precisely. I am certainly not going to Fairbanks; the climate wouldn't be good for my complexion. Besides, I don't like the way Bill orders me around, and as I'm only a second-class wife, I can divorce him without proceedings, just as easily as he could me. But it would make a scandal, wouldn't it, after he showed he was so jealous of you, and you practically told everyone in public that you were in love with me by reading that sonnet?"
"Well—" Finch tugged at an ear-lobe.
"You wouldn't want people to talk about me, would you? And I don't think you'd like to be fertilizer; it's so unpleasant,"
Finch said: "Eulalie, do you honestly think I'm going to be blackmailed into marrying you?"