They let it run away with them. It went to their heads. The warmth of intoxication, the feel of stomachs filling out. All the things long missing now returning in full force, all at one time. Almost it was too much. Almost death from excessive joy. They went on and on like that, the most happy men ever. They wanted it to go on for ever, but the feast had started late and it ended late. After the two hours they felt like sleeping. In fact, they felt a more relentless urge to sleep than they ever had before. The result of a full stomach, they supposed, or the aftermath of months of hardship let in by the sudden relaxation. It certainly wasn't a matter of choice. Who wanted to sleep at a time like this, a time for staying up all night and celebrating? But the sandman said no, and right now he had the advantage. One by one they yawned, stretched and drifted off to bed like carefree children, and to hell with cleaning up. That could wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow! It was wonderful to have one to think about. Tomorrow was a golden day. The last to turn in was Captain McBride, just as sleepy but not so carefree. He alone, perhaps, was not completely satisfied. Underneath the powerful urge to sleep was a question, and that question needed answering. Or did it? In one way it didn't really matter. He went in and found his bed in the darkness and decided to forget the question. * * * * * Fifteen minutes later McBride lay awake. The great urge to sleep was still there, but sleep wouldn't come. No, that was not it exactly. He wouldn't let it come. He was fighting it. The question wouldn't go away, and it really did need answering after all. Moving around quietly in the darkness he made sure that the men were sleeping. Then he returned to the bed next to his, the one in which Flaunders slept. "Flaunders," he said softly. The question grew in his mind. "Flaunders," he called more urgently. He jostled the quiet form. "What's wrong?" said Flaunders, half asleep. "Nothing exactly. I want to talk a bit." "Better sleep. The time is--" "Go on," McBride said intently. Flaunders fought himself awake. "Nothing. Half asleep. Didn't know what I was saying. What do you want?" McBride lay down on his own bed, hardly able to keep his eyes open. "Maybe I want to talk about the Garden of Eden, about the pair who were told that a certain fruit was death to them, and about a serpent who told them it wasn't." Flaunders said nothing.