Emsul’s inspection convinced him that all that was amiss was a broken wing and shock, and that with care Portheris would entirely recover, so a huge litter was improvised. Then came the question of getting the enormous creature onto this litter. He was too weak to be of very much assistance; but, by dint of great effort, and much prying by means of poles, and some kicking by the bee’s own legs, they finally got him on. Then six men grasped each end of each handle, and bore the striped creature in triumph to headquarters, where he excited the wonder of the entire staff, and not a little fear. To appreciate the situation fully, we must use an earthly analogy. Imagine a party of British officers hunting in the jungles of India in the company of a near-human creature from another planet—say Mars, for instance—and coming upon a wounded man-eating tiger. Imagine the man from the skies talking in apparent silence with the tiger, and then informing the astonished hunters that the tiger is a friend of his, and must be brought into camp and treated for his wounds. How could they know that the ferocious beast would not turn and devour them, when cured, or even during the process? Only a supreme confidence in the man from the other planet would induce them to go through with the program. But the Cupians had just such a trust in Myles Cabot, and so they dared to risk befriending the bee. Emsul set the wing-joint in a splint, and several green cows were driven in for the bee’s delectation. After that he slept. * * * * * When Portheris had rested, Cabot called in Toron, Hah Babbuh, Poblath and Buh Tedn, and—alternately tuning to the two ranges of speech—broached to them his plan. “Portheris,” he asked the bee, “how is it that you know our language although your range is so different from ours?” “That question has oft been discussed among us,” Portheris replied, “and we have always regarded the other inhabitants of Poros as either stupid or rude. Do you remember shouting to me after the fight at Saltona, ‘Don’t! Was it for this that I saved you from the spider?’ I heard you, and stayed my sting. Yet, when I answered you, you gave no heed. It has always been thus. Cupians and Formians alike have never replied when spoken to by Hymernians, or ‘bees’ as you call us. Why is it, I ask you in turn?” “Stop this whistling,” interjected Poblath, “and tell us what it is all about.” Cabot, being tuned to another wave length, did not hear him. The bee, however, heard and informed Cabot, who obligingly shifted his controls and explained.