Horrocks * * * * * ROCKET MAIL (Postage Due) Mr. H. E. Horrocks Dear Jellyhead: What do you mean lucky? We _are_ in jail. Right after we got here, the boys decided they had been cramped in that local spaceship and needed a workout to limber up. As soon as they got started, they were surrounded by a bunch of scrawny males, all sniffing hollyhocks. Their spokesman, a bald bird with rosebuds in his whiskers, touched me with a gold-headed cane and said that apparently we were not yet attuned to the high mental plane of the planetoid, and would we mind going into protective custody while they worked over our egos and cured our kineticism. I said suppose we wouldn't. He looked shocked and waved his flower and said that then, although it had never happened before, he supposed he would have to call the space patrol and have us thrown into the hoosegow on Ganymede. I translated that into basic wrestler for the boys and we agreed we'd better go along. We'd heard about the jail those tough space patrol babies operate on Ganymede. The flower lovers took us to an old erydnium pit and asked us to please go down. Now they're perfuming us every hour and feeding us flower bulbs to make us gentle. We could climb out of this rat-hole whenever we wanted, but that would be climbing straight into a striped spacesuit. I think about you all the time. And if you think they're beautiful thoughts, you're as crazy as I've always suspected. Michaels P.S. The boys asked that I enclose this note from them: Dear Mr. Horox: We do not like it here Mr. Horox. The Grub is no good. You come get us. Plese Mr. Horox. Come soon. Gorilla Man Thorpe Choker Jonas R. Z. Zbich, light-heavyweight champion of the Moon, Mercury and the inner rings of Saturn Gorgeous Gordon Barefoot Charles Anya X, the Faceless Wonder * * * * * ROCKET MAIL (First Class) Mr. Jed Michaels Mr. Michaels: Don't think you can sit around doing nothing and collect pay from the Interplanetary Amusement Corp. You're suspended until you get out of there. Horrocks * * * * * SPACEGRAM (Collect) Mr. H. E. Horrocks, Cosmopolis, Earth MY RESIGNATION IS A MISTAKE. I WITHDRAW IT. YOU ARE BEST OF ALL POSSIBLE BOSSES. IMPROBABLE AS IT SEEMS, I LOVE YOU. JED * * * * * SPACEGRAM Mr. Jed Michaels, Ryttuk, Eros ONLY ONE POSSIBLE CAUSE FOR YOUR LAST SPACEGRAM. HAS SHE A SISTER? HANK * * * * * ROCKET MAIL (Second Class) Mr. H. E. Horrocks My dear employer and pal: Eros is a _wonderful_ asteroid! Toward the end of the second day in the pit, the wrestlers limbered up. Zbich and the Gorilla Man worked out on headlocks, Gorgeous Gordon did calisthenics, and Barefoot Charley, Choker Jonas and the Faceless Wonder got themselves into a grunting free-for-all.