welcome voice. "Can
you swim, Jerry?"

"A little. One arm's working."

* * * * *

The hands fumbled over him quickly, and his good arm was drawn over
the other's back. "Hang on," Winslow told him. "I can swim. I'm half
fish."

Jerry clung to the folds of the coat. He was light in the water, he
felt--riding high--and the man beside him was swimming with strong
strokes. He released his hold on the other as he felt strength ebbing
back into his body.

"I can paddle," he said: "but stick around. Where are we going?"

"In a circle, probably," was the reply, "though I'm trying to hold a
straight course. How big is this lake, I wonder?"

They swam slowly, saving their strength, but it was a time that seemed
like endless hours before the answer to Winslow's question was found.
Jerry was fighting weakly, exhausted, and the hand supporting him was
failing when they felt sharp rocks against their dragging feet. The
hand that had held him still clung tightly to his shoulder as they
struggled upward and fell together where great rocks gave safety in
the darkness. In his arm the sharp pain had dwindled to numbness;
Jerry Foster asked only for sleep.

There was light about him when he awoke. In his stupor he had found
again the surroundings he knew so well--the clash and clatter of a
distant city--the roaring traffic--signals, and glowing lights. He
came slowly back to unwelcome reality. The light was there, but it
shone in luminous lines along the wall to illumine the hateful
familiarity of the honeycombed rock that composed the moon.

* * * * *

It showed, too, a familiar figure, breathing heavily where it lay on
the far side of the small room. Winslow's face was pale in the dull
light, and his eyes were closed. He was on a thick pallet of soft
fibers and across his body a cloth was spread, shot through with gold
in strange designs.

Jerry Foster threw aside a robe of the same material that covered him.
He stifled an involuntary word as a twinge of pain shot through his
arm, then crossed noiselessly to shake softly at the shoulder of the
sleeping man. Winslow, too, came slowly from his sleep of complete
exhaustion, but his eyes were clear when they opened.

"Where are--" he began a question, but Jerry's hand was pressed
quickly against his lips.

They stared slowly about. The room that held them was in the natural
rock, but whether hewn out by hands or