 Why is Doc struggling with a man at the beginning?
Confidence Game By JIM HARMON Illustrated by EPSTEIN [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I admit it: I didn't know if I was coming or going—but I know that if I stuck to the old man, I was a comer ... even if he was a goner! Doc had this solemn human by the throat when I caught up with him. The golden Moon and the silver ship, symbols of greed. "Sure," the man agreed severely, prying a little worriedly at Doc's arthritic fingers that were clamped on his collar. "No argument. I came alongside and carefully started to lever the old man loose, one finger at a time. If a half dozen winos in Seattle hadn't helped me get them loose, Doc and I would have been wanted for the murder of a North American Mountie. Doc's thin frame, layered with lumpy fat, was beginning to muscle-dance against my side. "He's my father and very old, as you can see." "'Memory Jump,' you mean. All my great-grandfathers have it. I told the human no, thanks, and walked Doc toward the flophouse three doors down. Doc was liable to say something that might nova Sol, for all I knew. They weren't men like Doc and me. I was going to have one of mine at the same time Doc was having his. It had happened a few times right after I first found him, but now it was worse. I tried not to think about it and helped Doc through the fly-specked flophouse doors. The tubercular clerk looked up from the gaudy comics sections of one of those little tabloids that have the funnies a week in advance. "Fifteen cents a bed," he said mechanically. Doc was quivering against me, his legs boneless. The clerk's hand fell on the coin and slid it off into the unknown before I could move, what with holding up Doc. "Had a quarter all along and yet you Martian me down to twenty cents." "You don't have any nickel. You don't have any quarter, not if I say so. I laid Doc out on the gray-brown cot and put his forearm over his face to shield it some from the glare of the light bulb. It stopped hurting, but I knew it would begin if I moved.
 Doc was in the throes of withdrawal and was easily upset, latching on to the closest person he saw
 The man had insulted the narrator, and he couldn't stand for that, so he attacked him  Doc was trying to get information from the man that he was refusing to share  Doc was in the throes of withdrawal and was easily upset, latching on to the closest person he saw  The other man was argumentative and didn't think Doc knew the truth about the story he was telling