But Amos Sealilly had had troubles of his own. It was the evening after Wellesley had taken leave of Ophir forever. Sealilly dreaded the coming night, as he always did, and had fortified himself against it. He was drunk, but not drunk enough.
The warehouse was locked for the day. He was walking toward the house, lurching a little, and mumbling curses as he did so. Then he spied Joseph.
Joseph, a small figure in the dusk, had just climbed out of the rusty old peak-tank at the edge of the swamp. He had furnished it with a bunk, as befit a well-found spaceship, and often slept there.
The fact was that he had been sleeping there all day, having been up all night. Joseph did not go to school. He yawned and stretched.
Amos Sealilly went on to the house, and started to shut the door behind him, but Joseph, coming up behind him, pushed it open and came in. He was breathing hard, having hurried to catch up with his father. He asked:
"What about the spaceman?"
"What about him?"
"Was he lost in the swamp?"
"Where did you get that idea?" Sealilly said. "He made it. Took off before you were up this morning, just before dawn."