As he started throwing shirts into his bag, Norman knew it was against his better judgment. But after all, Johnny could take care of himself. Spike's hamburger face proved that.
It was with this thought that he picked up the plump Senator and left for the platinum comet. When the sleek private cruiser nosed into the little world's artificial air three days later, the mine foreman met them with a radiogram in his hand.
Silently cursing the static that had interfered with space reception on the way over, cold fear clutched at Norman's heart as he read the message. "The platinum's yours," he told the astonished mine foreman. "Show the Senator around."
As their bewildered faces stared after him, he took off for Earth again immediately.
The trip back was maddening and he ignored all speed laws as he roared full-throttle into the bright mountain range that was New York City. Newsboys were still shouting the headlines on the street when he reached the hospital.
"FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH IN TRAGIC REVERSE! JOHN GORDON FOUND IN DRIFTING SPACE BOAT! INVENTION MISSING!"
Norman shoved a bill at the driver, jumped out of the taxi and ran up the hospital steps. The girl at the desk recognized him. "Room 947, Mr. Norman. Dr. Smyth is expecting you."
He hurried to the elevator where a mob of reporters were also waiting. "What do you think happened to him, Mr. Norman? Do you think he reached Vulcan? What do you think became of his cruiser with the anti-gravity invention?"
"Later, boys," Norman said, his familiar smile a little shaky now. "I've got to see Johnny first."
A black-bearded doctor opened the door at his knock. From within the room came an odd babbling sound like a child talking to itself. Looking over the doctor's shoulder, Norman saw an old man lying on the white bed. He stepped past the doctor into the room.