"And that ain't all," said Moe, warming to the subject. "Those crates you guys got wouldn't last out the first chukker. Most of them would just naturally fall apart the first sharp turn they made. You can't play polo in ships tied up with haywire. Those broomsticks you ring-rats ride around on are so used to second rate fuel they'd split wide open first squirt of high test stuff you gave them." The inner locks grated open and a man stepped through into the room. "You're prejudiced," Gus told Moe. "You just don't like space polo, that is all. You ain't got no blueblood in you. We'll leave it up to this man here. We'll ask his opinion of it." The man flipped back his helmet, revealing a head thatched by white hair and dominated by a pair of outsize spectacles. "My opinion, sir," said Oliver Meek, "seldom amounts to much." "All we want to know," Gus told him, "is what you think of space polo." "Space polo," declared Meek, "is a noble game. It requires expert piloting, a fine sense of timing and...." "There, you see!" whooped Gus, triumphantly. "I saw a game once," Meek volunteered. "Swell," bellowed Gus. "We'll have you coach our team." "But," protested Meek, "but ... but." "Oh, Mr. Hamilton," exulted Miss Perkins, "you are so wonderful. You think of everything." "Hamilton!" squeaked Meek. "Sure," said Gus. "Old Gus Hamilton. Grow the finest dog-gone radiation moss you ever clapped your eyes on." "Then you're the gentleman who has bugs," said Meek. "Now, look here," warned Gus, "you watch what you say or I'll hang one on you." "He means your rock bugs," Moe explained, hastily. "Oh, them," said Gus. "Yes," said Meek, "I'm interested in them. I'd like to see them." "See them," said Gus. "Mister, you can have them if you want them. Drove me out of house and home, they did. They're dippy over metal. Any kind of metal, but alloys especially. Eat the stuff. They'll tromp you to death heading for a spaceship. Got so I had to move over to another rock to live. Tried to fight it out with them, but they whipped me pure and simple. Moved out and let them have the place after they started to eat my shack right out from underneath my feet." Meek looked crestfallen. "Can't get near them, then," he said. "Sure you can," said Gus. "Why not?" "Well, a spacesuit's metal and...." "Got that all fixed up," said Gus. "You come back with me and I'll let you have a pair of stilts." "Stilts?" "Yeah. Wooden stilts. Them danged fool bugs don't know what wood is. Seem to be scared of it, sort of. You can walk right among them if you want to, long as you're walking on the stilts." Meek gulped. He could imagine what stilt walking would be like in a place where gravity was no more than the faintest whisper. III The bugs had dug a new set of holes, much after the manner of a Chinese checker board, and now were settling down into their respective places preparatory to the start of another game.