Under the barrage John Endlich's last shreds of common-sense were all but blotted out by the red murk of fury. He was small and broad--a stolid-looking thirty-two years old. But now his round and usually placid face was as red as a fiery moon, and his underlip curled in a snarl. He might have taken the savage ribbing more calmly. But there was too much grim fact behind what these asteroid miners said. Besides, out here he had thought that he would have a better chance to lick the weaknesses in himself--because he'd _have_ to work to keep his family alive; because he'd been told that there'd be no one around to distract him from duty. Yah! The irony of that, now, was maddening. For the moment John Endlich was speechless and strangled--but like an ignited firecracker. Uhunh--ready to explode. His hard body hunched, as if ready to spring. And the baiting waxed louder. It was like the yammering of crows, or the roar of a wild surf in his ears. Then came the last straw. The kids had kept on bawling--more and more violently. But now they got down to verbal explanations of what they thought was the matter: "Wa-aa-aa-a-ahh-h! Papa--we wanna-go-o-o--hom-m-mm-e!..." The timing could not have been better--or worse. The shrieks and howls of mirth from the miners, a moment ago, were as nothing to what they were now. "Ho-ho-ho! Tell it to Daddy, kids!... Ho-ho-ho! That was a mouthful.... Ho-ho-ho-ho! Wow!..." There is a point at which an extremity of masculine embarrassment can lead to but one thing--mayhem. Whether the latter is to be inflicted on the attacked or the attacker remains the only question mark. "I'll get you, Alf Neely!" Endlich snarled. "Right now! And I'll get all the damned, hell-bitten rest of you guys!" Endlich was hardly lacking in vigor, himself. Like a squat but streamlined fighting rooster, rendered a hundred times more agile by the puny gravity, he would have reached the hold-port threshold in a single lithe skip--had not Rose, despairing, grabbed him around the middle to restrain him. Together they slid several yards across the dried-out surface of the asteroid. "Don't, Johnny--please don't!" she wailed. Her begging could not have stopped him. Nor could her physical interference--for more than an instant. Nor could his conscience, nor his recent determination to keep out of trouble. Not the certainty of being torn limb from limb, and not hell, itself, could have held him back, anymore, then. Yet he was brought to a halt. It certainly wasn't cowardice that accomplished this. No. Suddenly there was no laughter among the miners. But in a body they arose from their traveler-seats aboard the ship. Suddenly there was no more humor in their faces beyond the view-ports. They were itching to be assaulted. The glitter in Alf Neely's small eyes was about as reassuring as the glitter in the eyes of a slightly prankish gorilla. "We're waitin' for yuh, Mr. Civilization," he rumbled softly. * * * * *