"Naturally not. Work _with_ this thing and you'll come out all right. But you've got to revise your thinking as well as the rest of the world has had to revise theirs, or you'll fall by the wayside. Now good day, Reverend, and I wish you luck." "Your argument may have merit," said the reverend, "though it is against the nature of things to fall in with any scheme without considerable thought." "Think it over, then, and see if I'm not correct. I don't expect any immediate change, though, until you find that your former doctrines do not fit the people's wants now." The reverend left, and as the door closed, a wave of pain swept through Keg Johnson's body. He reached for the telephone painfully and put a call through for the doctor. "It's here again," he said. "O.K., Keg. You're it." "I'm licked, all right. Can I be back in seven days?" "Make it three days with no mention of work. In five days you can have official visitors for three hours. In seven you may be up and around the hospital. You'll not be back there for eleven days." "I'll have to put it off." "Put it off another day and you'll not be back at all," snapped Dr. Hansen. "Take it or leave it!" "How do I pay?" "We'll take it out of your hide," said Hansen. "You're under the same rules as the rest of us. You do your day's work, and you receive the same medical blessing. Do you want to hoe the garden, or will you wash my car?" "I'll wash the car." "That's what you say. Get over here in an hour--and bring Linna with you." "What for?" "Someone's got to drive--and it shouldn't be you!" "That an order?" "Nothing else but. Official order from the medical council. You'll play or else we'll have an interne take out that appendix." Keg realized the sageness of the doctor's order by the time he reached the hospital. He was doubled over with pain and they did not permit him to walk from the car to the front door, but came out and got him on a stretcher. He was whisked inside, leaving Linna to straighten out the details at the incoming desk. He went up to the operating room immediately, and the anaesthetic blacked him out from both pain and consciousness. The days that followed were hazy; they kept him drugged because his energetic nature would have prevented rapid healing. It was four days after the operation that they gave him a quick shot of counter-drug that brought him out of the fog immediately. There were people there. Don Channing, Walt Franks, Wes Farrell, and Dr. Hansen. "Hello," he said, looking up with a wry smile. "How many car washings do I owe you?" "Plenty, brother. I tinkered for three hours over that frame of yours. Why did they have to run through an engineering change when they got to hanging your appendix in? I had to dig for it." "That's the trouble with this system," Keg mumbled to Don. "He'll get the same credit for tinkering with me as he would for removing the cat's appendix." "Well, you're worth the same as any cat," grinned Walt.