Jonathan dragged himself back from the edge of sleep. "Just tired," he mumbled. "Haven't had a good night's rest since I left Mars." Indeed it was only by the most painful effort that he kept awake at all. His eyelids drooped lower and lower. "First it's tobacco," said Olga; "now he wants to sleep. Twenty-seven girls and he wants to sleep." "He is asleep," said the green-eyed blonde. * * * * * Jonathan was slumped forward across the table, his head buried in his arms. "Catch a hold," said Billy, pushing back from the table. A dozen girls volunteered with a rush. "Hoist!" said Billy. They lifted him like a sleepy child, bore him tenderly up an incline and into a stateroom, where they deposited him on the bed. Ann said to Olga; "Help me with these boots." But they resisted every tug. "It's no use," groaned Ann, straightening up and wiping her bright yellow hair back from her eyes. "His feet have swollen. We'll have to cut them off." At these words, Jonathan raised upright as if someone had pulled a rope. "_Cut off whose feet?_" he cried in alarm. "Not your feet, silly," said Ann. "Your boots." "Lay a hand on those boots," he scowled; "and I'll make me another pair out of your hides. They set me back a week's salary." Having delivered himself of this ultimatum, he went back to sleep. Olga clapped her hand to her forehead. "And this," she cried "is what we've been praying for during the last three years." The next day found Jonathan Fawkes hobbling around by the aid of a cane. At the portal of the space ship, he stuck out his head, glanced all around warily. None of the girls were in sight. They had, he presumed, gone about their chores: hunting, fishing, gathering fruits and berries. He emerged all the way and set out for the creek. He walked with an exaggerated limp just in case any of them should be hanging around. As long as he was an invalid he was safe, he hoped. He sighed. Not every man could be waited on so solicitously by twenty-seven handsome strapping amazons. He wished he could carry it off in cavalier fashion. He hobbled to the creek, sat down beneath the shade of a tree. He just wasn't the type, he supposed. And it might be years before they were rescued. As a last resort, he supposed, he could hide out in the hills or join the centaurs. He rather fancied himself galloping across the plains on the back of a centaur. He looked up with a start. Ann Clotilde was ambling toward him. "How's the invalid?" she said, seating herself beside him. "Hot, isn't it?" he said. He started to rise. Ann Clotilde placed the flat of her hand on his chest and shoved. "_Ooof!_" he grunted. He sat down rather more forcibly than he had risen.