Arden stood up, shook herself, and then looked at Channing with a strange light in her eyes. "I feel sort of dizzy," she admitted. "And everything irritates me." She passed a hand over her eyes wearily. Then, with a visible effort, she straightened. She seemed to throw off her momentary ill feeling instantly. She smiled at Channing and was her normal self in less than a minute. "What is it?" she asked. "Do you feel funny, too?" "I do!" he said. "I don't want that beer. I want to snooze." "When Channing would prefer snoozing to boozing, he is sick," she said. "Come on, fellow, take me home." Slowly they walked down the long hallway. They said nothing. Arm in arm they went, and when they reached Arden's door, their goodnight kiss lacked enthusiasm. "See you in the morning," said Don. Arden looked at him. "That mug was a little flat. We'll try it again--tomorrow or next week." * * * * * Don Channing's night sleep was broken by dreams. He was warm. His dreams depicted him in a warm, airless chamber, and he was forced to breathe that same stale air again and again. He awoke in a hot sweat, weak and feeling--well, lousy! He dressed carelessly. He shaved hit-or-miss. His morning coffee tasted flat and sour. He left the apartment in a bad mood, and bumped into Arden at the corner of the hall. "Hello," she said. "I feel rotten. But you have improved. Or is that passionate breathing just a lack of fresh air?" "Hell! That's it!" he said. He snapped up his wrist watch, which was a chronograph, equipped with a stop-watch hand. He looked about, and finding a man sitting on a bench, apparently taking it easy while waiting for someone, Channing clicked the sweep hand into gear. He started to count the man's respiration. "What gives?" asked Arden. "What's 'It'? Why are you so excited? Did I say something?" "You did," said Channing after fifteen seconds. "That bird's respiration is better than fifty! This whole place is filled to the gills with carbon dioxide. Come on, Arden, let's get going!" Channing led the girl by several yards by the time that they were within sight of the elevator. He waited for her, and then sent the car upward at a full throttle. Minutes passed, and they could feel that stomach-rising sensation that comes when gravity is lessened. Arden clasped her hands over her middle and hugged. She squirmed and giggled. "You've been up to the axis before," said Channing. "Take long, deep breaths." The car came to a stop with a slowing effect. A normal braking stop would have catapulted them against the ceiling. "Come on," he grinned at her, "here's where we make time!" Channing looked up the little flight of stairs that led to the innermost level. He winked at Arden and jumped. He passed up through the opening easily. "Jump," he commanded. "Don't use the stairs!"