The truth of her statement was exhibited very soon. That very
afternoon, in fact. The dim Titanian sun was settling toward the
westward hilltops, and Greg was just putting the finishing touches to
a crude grist-mill he was rigging for the women, when there came the
scrape of hesitant footsteps up the rocky pathway.
Hannigan had been away since breakfast time, making a survey of the
natural resources within easy distance of their cave. Greg thought it
was the radioman returning.
"Hi!" he shouted over his shoulder, without looking back. "Any luck?
What did you find?" Then, as no voluble, profane, fantastic answer
was forthcoming, he turned around. His eyes momentarily betrayed his
astonishment. "Oh! Hello, Andrews!" he said.
Bert Andrews shuffled uncomfortably. His gaze held a curious mixture
of wistfulness, reluctance and expectancy. He said, in a voice that
was a trifle too breathlessly nonchalant, "Hello, Malcolm. Just taking
a little stroll, so I thought I might drop up and see--see how you're
making out." He glanced about him, obviously impressed. "Not so bad,"
he said. "Not bad at all! That's the cave, I suppose? See you have
things pretty well straightened out. What's that?"
Greg's gaze followed his nod to the crosswork which was suspended
directly above the cave-mouth; a latticework of steel, firmly
wire-lashed, secured by a rope, the stretch of which dipped into the
cave itself.
"Barrier-shield," explained Greg. "Hangs on a pulley. We can drop it
from inside. In case of attack, you see. Slides down that groove into
the channel cut in the ground, holds tight there." He grunted. "That's
one of the reasons we don't have any honest-to-John furniture in our
home. We had too many other important uses for the metal."
"Clever," said Andrews. "Ingenious. I--er--got to thinking over what
you said this morning, Malcolm, after you left. You were right. For a
group of civilized people we let ourselves get into sorry shape."
He rubbed his chin reflectively. Greg noticed for the first time that
his face was no longer dark with beard; that though his clothes were
still dirty, he had made an effort to straighten them, dust them. The
skin of his face, though, was pink and sore; chafed.
Greg said, "What in the world did you shave with, Bert? A cross-cut
saw?"
Andrews said defensively, "The electric razor won't work. The dry-cells
are exhausted, and we can't use D. C. without wasting fuel. There
wasn't a honed blade aboard the skiff. I used my pocket-knife. It--" he
confessed ruefully, "It wasn't very sharp."
Greg said, "Hannigan mounted carborundum sheets on a lathe wheel and
put edges on a couple steak knives for us. I'll let you have one before
you go back. Hey, there he is now! What's the story, Sparks?"
Hannigan came into the clearing at a trot. He was excited. He said,
"Sweet Christmas cow, Greg, you know what I run across? A--What's this?
Company?"
The eager, interested look fled from Bert Andrews' eyes. He said
stiffly, "I--I guess I'll be running along now, Malcolm. See you again."
* * * * *
He turned, his shoulders very stiff. Too stiff to be convincing. Greg
glanced at him appraisingly, motioned the radioman to keep his mouth
shut, called after the young Andrews.
"Don't go yet, Bert. We're just getting ready for dinner."
"Dinner?" The young man spun like a top. Then he recalled his dignity.
"Oh--dinner! Why, I guess ours is almost ready, too. 'Bye--"
"We'd be glad to have you stay," said Greg levelly, striving to keep
the amusement out of his voice. "I think there's a roast tonight.
Something that looks like a young suckling pig, can't exactly tell,
though, till we taste it. These Titanian animals are different. Then
there's a salad and potatoes and beans, a fruit compote, and I think
'Tina baked a pie today."
Andrew's eyes widened as his lips twitched. "I--I wouldn't want to be
any trouble," he said faintly.
"No trouble at all," said Greg. Then, unable longer to restrain
himself, "But of course if you think they'll be expecting you--?"
"No, I'll stay!" blurted Andrews hastily. "Thanks. I can wash up
somewhere?"
"Inside. Ask Aunt Maud for soap. She's the custodian of that." Then,
as the young man disappeared into the cave hurriedly, Greg grinned at
Hannigan. "One!" he said.
"You want to hear about what I seen?" demanded the redhead. "Listen, it
was terrific! Great big marsh, full of the damnedest life-forms and
craziest vegetation anybody ever met up with. Hot, too! Steamy, like
the Grand Marshes of Venus, only not quite as stinking--"
He stopped, annoyed. "One what? You ain't listening to a word I'm
saying. Don't you want to hear?"
"Later, Sparks," said Greg. "Right now I'm wondering how long it will
take the others to fall in line."
* * * * *
It didn't take long. The citadel of stubbornness had been undermined
the night of the attack, it toppled with Bert Andrews' "friendly
visit"--from which, some time later, he staggered home glassy-eyed with
an overdose of wild roast, hot vegetables, crisp greens and luscious
fruits, succulent berry pie--and it crashed, violently, the next day.
Bert Andrews brought his dad up the hill, presumably to confer with
Malcolm on a future mutual defensive system; the two of them lingered
for lunch--and after lunch old J. Foster, with the blunt directness
which accounted for his success in Earth's business world, sat back,
grunted comfortably, and said, "That's the first meal I've enjoyed
since I was a pup in Service! Malcolm, you win! I'm sick and tired of
this squabbling, and of our hand-to-mouth existence down there. Is
there room for me in this cave of yours?"