«Is everything all right now?» Charlie wanted to know.
«OK.»
«Good.»
«Thanks,» I replied. Then, to disarm any possible suspicion, I gave him a brief report on how I averted monotony — a grim and for me humorless digest of the tricks I had used in May, by then an eternity once removed.
«Myself, I just count sheep by the millions,» Charlie agreeably said. «And before I forget it, Tractor Number One is having its coming-out party tomorrow, if weather holds good. Poulter and Demas are taking it for a short trial spin. That is, if we can muster enough hands to dig away about fifty tons of snow from the garage ramp so as to get the damn thing on the surface.»
My heart went up at that. «Have message for Poulter,» I said.
«All right. John is ready.»
Although I didn't know it then, Poulter was working in the radio shack, virtually at Dyer's elbow.
The message was brief and matter of fact. Giving as my reasons the depleted state of the expedition treasury and the consequent necessity of winding up our affairs as rapidly as possible after the arrival of the ships from New Zealand, I said that I favored a very early start of field operations and that, if it were practicable, I should probably take advantage of the base-laying trip south to return to Little America somewhat earlier than I had expected to. I ended up with the usual admonition to prepare carefully and wait for ample daylight on the Barrier.
Dyer read back the message without comment.