"Yes ... I tell him!"
Dr. Smith had many questions to ask, on many and diverse subjects. At first, communication between the two was very difficult; but both were highly intelligent and understanding men, and before long they became fairly successful in exchanging ideas. Blumberg paced constantly about the room. Occasionally he went out, but always returned quickly.
The catechism went on for hours; and ended only to be resumed early the next day.
And so it continued on the following day, and on the day after. The Martian was puzzled. They seemed to want to know so many things! Dr. Smith had questioned him on every subject—mechanics, electricity, magnetism, chemistry, colloids, catalysts, transmutation of metals—everything. He feared that they were wasting time, but did not think it proper to object when they were going to so much trouble on his account. Nevertheless, he could not help worrying; and that night, when the pale young man brought him his food, he asked timidly:
"Do they make the ship?..."
The pale young man looked at the floor, biting his lips. Then he went to the door, opened it, and looked out into the hall. He closed the door softly, and came near the couch. He looked straight into the Martian's eyes.
"There is no ship!"
"No ship?"
"No." The young man was flushed and angry. He spoke very fast: "That fat crook is not helping you.... But you are helping him—you bet!..."
"Does—does he not think—think I am the Martian?..."