At the bottom of it was a number which looked like one of those serial numbers you find on the underside of stereo sets which always takes so long to copy on to the registration form. He had, after all, been in the bar all day, he had been drinking a lot of stuff with bubbles in it, and he had bought an awful lot of rounds for all the pimps, thugs and record executives who suddenly couldn’t remember who he was.
He cleared his throat rather quietly and patted his pockets. There was, as he knew, nothing in them. He rested his left hand lightly but firmly on the half-opened flap of his satchel. The disembodied hand renewed its pressure on his right shoulder.
You see, said the barman, and his face seemed to wobble evilly in front of Ford’s, I have a reputation to think of. You see that, don’t you?
This is it, thought Ford. There was nothing else for it. He had obeyed the rules, he had made a bona fide attempt to pay his bill, it had been rejected. He was now in danger of his life.
Well, he said quietly, if it’s your reputation…
With a sudden flash of speed he opened his satchel and slapped down on the bar top his copy of The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and the official card which said that he was a field researcher for the Guide and absolutely not allowed to do what he was now doing.
Want a write-up?
The barman’s face stopped in mid-wobble. The bird’s talons stopped in mid-furrow. The hand slowly released its grip.
That, said the barman in a barely audible whisper, from between dry lips, will do nicely, sir.
在账单底部是一串数字，那串数字就好像你在立体声音响底部经常能看到的需要花好一阵子才能抄到登记表上的序列号。他至少，在酒吧里待了一整天，喝掉了不少冒着泡沫的东西，并且为那些马上就把他忘掉的所有皮条客、强盗和唱片公司主管请了一轮酒。
他悄悄地清了一下嗓子，然后拍了一下他的兜。那里，就他所知，什么都没有。他把左手又轻又稳地搁在半开的背包上。而那只飘忽的手重新调整了一下施加在福特右肩膀上的压力。
“你明白吧，”吧主说道，那张脸阴险地在福特面前晃着，“我得考虑信誉。你明白的，是吧？”
就这样了，福特想。没辙了。他照规矩来了，他诚心诚意地想要付账，但最后被拒绝了。他现在小命不保了。
“呃，”他小声地说，“如果是您的信誉嘛......”
在电光石火间，福特把包打开，将自己的《银河系漫游指南》和官方证件甩在吧台上，那张证显示他是银河系漫游指南的职业调查员，并且完全不能做任何他不愿做的事。
“想要我增补点什么？”
吧主的脸晃到一半，停了。鸟爪划到一半，也停了。飘忽的手逐渐松了下来。
“这个嘛，”吧主从干燥的嘴唇间挤出难以听清的耳语，“一定会妥善处理的，尊敬的先生。”