At noon a plate of coarse food was brought to him, and a cup of water. He found the food palatable and, being hungry despite the gloomy outlook, ate all of it. His guards stared at him intently all the while, evidently regarding the eating of an Earthbeing as a great curiosity. The chain, a stout-linked affair which would have weighed heavily had he been on the Earth, allowed Robert little freedom of movement. The wooden stool which he had been furnished affording no rest for his back, soon grew dreadfully tiresome. He tried every position he could conceive for relief, each of which his guards regarded with fresh suspicion. Once he tried to engage them in conversation, but he succeeded only in drawing grunts and uneasy stares from them. Sounds of activities without drifted to him. There seemed to be considerable movement of troops past the tent, all in one direction. Although he was not certain in which direction Svergad lay, Robert knew that they were in all probability moving back to the attack, now that the menace of the _Sphere_ was removed. He wondered dully what had happened to Taggert. He was just shifting his position for about the fifty-first time when the flap of the tent was raised and the pompous officer of the morning’s encounter stepped in, followed by two fellow officers. The guards came to attention stiffly. The pompous officer scowled ominously. Plainly he intended dealing with Robert as severely as possible. He strode over to him. “Well, how does it feel to be in chains, my vicious friend?” he rasped. “Quite all right, you old toad,” Robert answered pleasantly in English. “What?” “I said, ‘Quite comfortable, old chap,’” said Robert, this time in the Martian tongue, interestedly surveying a discolored lump on his captor’s right jaw where he had landed his fist that morning. The officer’s face went dark with passion. He raised his cane as if to strike Robert. Before he could do so, however, Robert jerked up his stool to protect himself. Simultaneously the two guards sprang forward to protect their superior. But the latter’s courage failed him at the menace of the stool and he let his hand with the cane fall to his side. He contented himself for the time with a murderous look at Robert, who put the chair down, but remained standing for greater freedom of action. The guards fell back, visibly relieved. “You shall be handled later, sir,” barked the officer. “Meanwhile, do you know the fate in store for your friends?” “The privilege of beating hell out of your rotten army,” Robert shot back at him. He could have sworn that he saw a brief flicker of amusement in one of the other officer’s eyes as he said this. Once more the angry officer seemed on the verge of striking Robert, but his eyes fastened upon the stool and he changed his mind. He controlled himself with an effort.