The Big Front Yard and Other Stories by Clifford D. Simak Page A

representative of the United Nations.”
    â€œI’m glad to meet you, sir,” said Taine. “I wonder if you would –”
    â€œMr. Lancaster,” Henry explained grandly, “was having some slight difficulty getting through the lines outside, so I volunteered my services. I’ve already explained to him our joint interest in this matter.”
    â€œIt was very kind of Mr. Horton,” Lancaster said. “There was this stupid sergeant –”
    â€œIt’s all in knowing,” Henry said, “how to handle people.”
    The remark, Taine noticed, was not appreciated by the man from the U.N.
    â€œMay I inquire, Mr. Taine,” asked Lancaster, “exactly what you’re doing?”
    â€œI’m dickering,” said Taine.
    â€œDickering. What a quaint way of expressing –”
    â€œAn old Yankee word,” said Henry quickly, “with certain connotations of its own. When you trade with someone you are exchanging goods, but if you’re dickering with him you’re out to get his hide.”
    â€œInteresting,” said Lancaster. “And I suppose you’re out to skin these gentlemen in the sky-blue vests –”
    â€œHiram,” said Henry, proudly, “is the sharpest dickerer in these parts. He runs an antique business and he has to dicker hard –”
    â€œAnd may I ask,” said Lancaster, ignoring Henry finally, “what you might be doing with these cans of paint? Are these gentlemen potential customers for paint or –”
    Taine threw down the board and rose angrily to his feet.
    â€œIf you’d both shut up!” he shouted. “I’ve been trying to say something ever since you got here and I can’t get in a word. And I tell you, it’s important –”
    â€œHiram!” Henry exclaimed in horror.
    â€œIt’s quite all right,” said the U.N. man. “We have been jabbering. And now, Mr. Taine?”
    â€œI’m backed into a corner,” Taine told him, “and I need some help. I’ve sold these fellows on the idea of paint, but I don’t know a thing about it – the principle back of it or how it’s made or what goes into it or –”
    â€œBut, Mr. Taine, if you’re selling them the paint, what difference does it make –”
    â€œI’m not selling them the paint,” yelled Taine. “Can’t you understand that? They don’t want the paint. They want the idea of paint, the principle of paint. It’s something that they never thought of and they’re interested. I offered them the paint idea for the idea of their saddles and I’ve almost got it –”
    â€œSaddles? You mean those things over there, hanging in the air?”
    â€œThat is right. Beasly, would you ask one of our friends to demonstrate a saddle?”
    â€œYou bet I will,” said Beasly.
    â€œWhat,” demanded Henry, “has Beasly got to do with this?”
    â€œBeasly is an interpreter. I guess you’d call him a telepath. You remember how he always claimed he could talk with Towser?”
    â€œBeasly was always claiming things.”
    â€œBut this time he was right. He tells Chuck, that funny-looking monster, what I want to say and Chuck tells these aliens. And these aliens tell Chuck and Chuck tells Beasly and Beasly tells me.”
    â€œRidiculous!” snorted Henry. “Beasly hasn’t got the sense to be … what did you say he was?”
    â€œA telepath,” said Taine.
    One of the aliens had gotten up and climbed into a saddle. He rode it forth and back. Then he swung out of it and sat down again.
    â€œRemarkable,” said the U.N. man. “Some sort of antigravity unit, with complete control. We could make use of that, indeed.”
    He scraped his hand across his chin.
    â€œAnd you’re going to exchange the idea of paint for the idea of that saddle?”
    â€œThat’s