'Please forgive me, said Tennyson. 'My reaction is inexcusable. As a physician…

'As a physician, there is nothing you can do about it. It is inoperable. No cosmetic surgery is possible. Nothing. I have to live with it; I have learned to live with it.

'Miss Roberts, said the captain smoothly, 'is a writer. Articles for magazines. A long shelf of books.

'If that bottle has not grown fast to your hand, said Jill Roberts to Tennyson, 'how about letting loose of it?

'Certainly, Tennyson said. 'Let me wipe it off. He scrubbed its neck on his shirt sleeve.

'It appears there are no glasses aboard this bucket, said Jill Roberts. 'But I don't really mind. Drinking out of a bottle after someone else is only another way to trade around some germs.

She took the bottle and sat down in the one remaining chair. 'Where are you putting up? she asked Tennyson. 'I recollect the captain told me all the cabins are filled. He hasn't put you down in steerage with the alien cattle, has he?

'Dr. Tennyson, said the captain primly, 'was a late show. I have nowhere to put him. He turned up unexpectedly.

She raised the bottle to her lips, lowered it, looked inquiringly at Tennyson.

'Is that true? she asked.

Tennyson grinned. 'The captain is trying to be polite. Actually, I was a stowaway. As to accommodations, neither of you should worry about it. I can curl up anywhere. I'm just glad to be aboard.

'That is not quite right either, said the captain. 'He did stow away, but now he offers to pay his passage. Technically, he no longer is a stowaway.

'You must be starved, Jill said, 'unless you brought along a lunch.

'I never thought about it, said Tennyson. 'I was in too much of a hurry. But I could do with a steak.

'You'll get no steaks on this tub, said Jill, 'but there's guck to fill the gut. How about it, Captain?