the first rays of color started up from the altar—
MIKE lay quietly on the couch and felt the springs rolling under him. He turned sideways to look at Sammy, but Sammy was lost in a maze of twisting colors that seemed to fill the room. Mike groaned.
"Oh, my head," he said. "Everything's still going around."
Sammy was emerging from the colors.
"Mike," he said, holding his temples. "Do you remember—" He fell back on the bed, the question unfinished.
"Yeah," Mike grunted savagely. "I remember. You went out with my girl, you double-crosser."
"They're my ties," said Sammy, shaking his head. "That ain't what I meant. We've been someplace, Mike. Where was it? I can't get it straight. I can't." He was looking at the vial that Mike held in his hand. "That's it," he said, puzzled. "They gave it to us. It's important. Give me that little bottle."
"Who gave it to you?" Mike demanded. "Smy bottle. You finished the other one. Went out with my girl."
"Gimme that!" Sammy said, but he couldn't get off the bed. "If you don't give me that bottle, I'm gonna take your girl out again."
Mike turned over and aimed the bottle at Sammy's head. It flew across the room and missed by a yard, striking against the wall and falling to the floor in a dozen pieces. There was a stain on the wall where the vial had smashed. Little rivulets had formed on the floor, and the liquid soaked into the old, dry rug. From the other side of the wall a voice howled a string of curses.
"Whazz he want now?" said Mike. "Whazz eating him?"
"I dunno," said Sammy. "You shouldn't have busted that bottle."
"Why not?"
"It's eating up the rug," said Sammy. "What did you have in it?"
"Poison," Mike said gloomily.
Sammy forced himself up, his feet dangling off the bed.
"Whazz that?" he said. "You taking poison?"
Mike began to sob.
"She's my girl," he cried. "I'm crazy about her and you’re taking her away."
"Well," Sammy said, hopelessly confused now. "They're my ties." He tried to think about it and gave up. "You shouldn't take poison," he said. "You can wear all my ties and I won't see your girl."
"I don't believe you," said Mike, still sobbing.
"Ah," Sammy sighed, "I can't stand her anyway. She's alla time talking about you."
"Yeah?" said Mike. He stopped crying. "Gee, thazz wonderful! Thazz marvelous! What am I getting drunk for?"
"You're alla time drunk," said Sammy. "Know what you need? A good old Turkish bath. Take away the hangover." He was thoughtful again for a moment. "Turkish bath," he mumbled, holding his aching head. "Boy, do I get them dreams when I'm high. Coulda sworn—fourth dimension—" He laughed foolishly. "Come on," he said, getting up. "I'm gonna treat you to a Turkish bath. It's all my fault."
"It's my fault," said Mike. "I oughta buy a tie."
"It's about time you bought a tie," said Sammy. "Are you ready?"
"Sure I'm ready," said Mike, getting to his feet. "I was just waiting for you. You don't look so good."
"I don't feel so good either," said Sammy, staggering to the door and opening it. "I guess maybe we overdid it again, huh?" They started down the stairs, holding on to each other. "I'm
