edouin. Beyond that, he has the same dream we have--of
developing this continent of our racial background."

"But he doesn't believe in your methods, Homer, and we're forcing him
to follow El Hassan's road in spite of his beliefs."

Moroka had been peering at the two of them narrowly. "You don't make
omelets without breaking eggs," he said, his voice on the overbearing
side.

She spun on him. "But the omelets don't turn out so well if some of
the eggs you use are rotten."

The South African's voice turned gentle. "Miss Cunningham," he said,
"working in the field, like this, can have its rugged side for a young
and delicate woman--"

"_Delicate!_" she snapped. "I'll have you know--"

"Hey, everybody, hold it," Cliff injected. "What goes on?"

Dave Moroka shrugged. "It just seems to me that Isobel might do better
back in Dakar, or in New York with your friend Jake Armstrong.
Somewhere where her sensibilities wouldn't be so bruised, and where
her assets"--his eyes went up and down her lithe body--"could be put
to better use."

Isobel's sepia face had gone a shade or more lighter. She said, very
flatly, "My assets, Mr. Moroka, are in my head."

Homer Crawford said disgustedly, "O.K., O.K., let's all knock it off."

His eyes flicked back and forth between them, in definite command. "I
don't want to hear any more in the way of personalities between you
two."

Moroka shrugged again. "Yes, sir," he said without inflection.

Isobel turned away and took up some paperwork, without further words.
She suppressed her feeling of seething indignation.

Homer Crawford, under his pressures, was changing. Possibly, she had
told herself before, it was change for the better. The need was for a
_strong_ man, perhaps even a ruthless one.

The Homer Crawford she had first known was an easier going man than
he who had snapped an abrupt order to her a moment ago. The Homer she
had first known requested things of his teammates and friends. El
Hassan had learned to command.

The Homer she had first known could never have ridden, roughshod, over
the basically gentle Dr. Smythe.

The Homer she had first known, when the El Hassan scheme was still
aborning, had thought of himself as a member of a team. He was quick
to ask advice of all, and quick to take it if it had validity. Now
Homer, as El Hassan, was depending less and less upon the opinions of
those surrounding him, more and more upon his own decisions which he
seemed to som