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But the other thing they put it down under the broad general head of shock. In the lovely English garden they set him to weaving and painting as a means of soothing the shattered nerves. He had made everything from pottery jars to bead chains, from baskets to rugs. Slowly the tortured nerves healed. But the doctors, when they stopped at Chet's cot or chair, talked always of "the memory center."
And, through the black night, faint flashes of light marked the fleet of swift guardians of the skies that closed in, then swept downward and out an impregnable convoy about the speeding, roaring ship. And there was that in Chet's face as he handled the controls that brought Anita Haldgren to his side that she might lift his free hand in wordless comfort and press it to her face.
Early the first morning of a two-week job on the new plant of the Western Castings Company, Chet Ball, glancing down from his dizzy perch atop an electric-light pole, espied Miss Anastasia Rourke going to work. He didn't know her name or anything about her, except that she was pretty. You could see that from a distance even more remote than Chet's.
She moved slowly across the smooth table of rock toward the three or four beasts who had gained its level. Her head was bowed in utter dejection; Chet sensed it as plainly as if she had spoken. She held out her hands helplessly toward the creatures and in that instant Chet's pistol spoke. Tiny shells, those of a detonite pistol, and the grain of explosive in the tip of each bullet is microscopic.
Chet sat back, indifferent, negatively acquiescent. And Miss Kate began to read in her clear young voice, there in the sunshine and scent of the centuries-old English garden. It marked an epoch in Chet's life that letter. It reached out across the Atlantic Ocean from the Chester Ball of his Chicago days, before he had even heard of English gardens.
There were many who passed Chet's hiding place before a cautious whisper came to him and he saw a hand that thrust a roll of clothing around the edge of the bulletin board. "Put 'em on!" was the order of Spud. "And smear your yellah hair with the grease! Work fast, me bhoy!"
On feet that seemed too weak to hold her she crept into Chet's room luckily there was a connecting door between and softly turned the key in his door also. Evidently she was just in time, for as she listened the stealthy noise began again and it was coming toward the very door she had just locked. She uttered a little involuntary sound, and Chet sat up in bed with a start.
The master pilot had shown him the flare release lever; he moved it now, and the place of darkness was suddenly blinding with light. There were rocks close at hand; the crater had narrowed to a funnel throat that was cut and terraced as if by human hands. Below, it ended in a smooth stone floor where the lava had sealed it shut. From a terrace came the gleaming reflection of Chet's suit.
Say the word and I'll lose myself so bad we'll be over the Pole and half-way to the equator again!" "Not that bad," was Chet's assurance. "Just spot this ship over 82:14 north, 93:20 east, and I'll give you local bearings from there." Then to himself: "'Cold storage, Walt said; he meant our old shop, of course. Probably had a hunch we would need it."
"So here come the concert, with every seat sold and the hall draped pretty with flags and cut flowers. Some of the boys was down from the ranch, and you bet I made 'em all come across for tickets, and old Safety First Chet's father I stuck him for a dollar one, though he had an evil look in his eyes. That's how the boys got so crazy about this here song. They brought that record back with 'em.
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