The martian servant stopped at my desk, coughed faintly to attract my attention. I looked up and he handed me a calling card on which was printed "Slane O'Graeme." It was a limp, thumb-marked and discouraged-looking emissary. "'E wishes to see Mr. Ames," the wedge-faced servant told me. The high disdain in his tone of voice revealed more clearly than words his opinion of the visitor. I shrugged and dropped the card on my desk. "Oh, well, send him in. I'll give him the brush-off." The Martian fad