"It isn't as though we were confined to the moon."

"You mean?"

"There's Mars--clear atmosphere, novel surroundings, exhilarating sense
of lightness. It might be pleasant to go there."

"Is there air on Mars?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Seems as though you might run it as a sanatorium. By the way, how
far is Mars?"

"Two hundred million miles at present," said Cavor airily; "and you go
close by the sun."

My imagination was picking itself up again. "After all," I said,
"there's something in these things. There's travel--"

An extraordinary possibility came rushing into my mind. Suddenly I saw,
as in a vision, the whole solar system threaded with Cavorite liners
and spheres deluxe. "Rights of pre-emption," came floating into my
head--planetary rights of pre-emption. I recalled the old Spanish
monopoly in American gold. It wasn't as though it was just this planet
or that--it was all of them. I stared at Cavor's rubicund face, and
suddenly my imagination was leaping and dancing. I stood up, I walked
up and down; my tongue was unloosened.