to planks, gather creepers and braid
them into ropes, and generally do all they can to further the common
purpose. But the fourth, Walter--and this is the point--the fourth does
nothing. He eats the food--Company food, mind you!--so urgently needed
to keep up the strength of the--"

"Why do you keep picking on me? I do all I can." Walter Pellinger got
out of his chair.

"_You?_" said Jason Tarsh, affecting amazement. "Who said anything about
_you_? Why, you're the last person I'd criticize. But I see you wish to
leave the lovebirds to themselves, so let's finish our little chat
outside. It's a fine night." He steered the unwilling Pellinger out onto
the veranda.

"Well, shall we take a hint and move over to the settee?" Gillian Murray
suggested.

Delman watched with admiration as she crossed the room, clean-limbed and
graceful, her long red hair falling from the crown of her head in a soft
cascade.

"Never be discourteous to the cook," he replied. "That was one of my
earliest lessons. And, heaven knows, you're an unusually attractive
cook. It gives one an appetite just to look at you." He got up to join
her--a bearded giant, tall and deep-chested, like the heroes of the
Viking sagas.

"What will you do when we get back?" she asked.

"Marry and get some job that won't take me away from you. Does that meet
with your approval?"

"Yes," she said. "If that's a proposal, it will do nicely."

They kissed with all the intensity of young love, losing in their
embrace the dread of time which swept them toward their childhood.

"Curtis," she said quietly, "have we any hope? Please be honest!"

* * * * *

His fingers brushed the back of her neck lightly, up and down, not
altering their tender rhythm.

"Not much," he said without emotion.

"Jason was right about the food. There's very little left; the supplies
were on the lifeboat. You're all hungry. I know you are."

"It's not only that, darling. Sleep is just as important. But we can't
spare the time. Every day now, we'll be growing physically weaker and
the same job will soon take us twice as long. There's so much to do. And
we've got to plan all of it in advance, while our minds are still
adult."

"Is that why you've got the recording machine down here?"

"It may sound idiotic," he said, "but I can't remember my boyhood--it
was four hundred years ago. Today, I'm twenty-five, you're twenty, and
Walter is somewhere between the