Betty came back with a pair of scissors and a roll of plaster, cut loose my undershirt, and began building a straightjacket. I averted my attention from the fact that it would have to come off some time.
"Where's your uncle and the rest of the crew?" I asked.
"Everyone but me is off on a field trip to Thule. Opposition was a week or two ago, and they're due back any time. Thule seems to be our last chance. We haven't found out a thing so far. But Thule is half-way to Jupiter from here and right on the edge of the Warp, or where the Warp ought to be. If they don't bring back some significant data from there we may begin to think you are right after all and there isn't any such thing."
"I knew it all along," I informed her. "Not that I'm likely to have a chance to prove it, with the Aspera dead and buried."
"Be still a minute—how am I going to tape you up if you keep on talking? Blow out your breath." She ripped off half a meter of tape and slapped it onto my side.
Presently she stepped back to inspect the job. "It'll do, I guess," she said, frowning critically. "For the time being, anyway. Uncle Ed will be back in a couple of days, and he can fix it right."
"Oh no he can't. When this comes off it stays off."
"Why Tom! Are you afraid of a little tape?"
"You bet I am. Give me a ray-burn any day."
"All right then." She picked up my shirt and began helping me into it. "But if you grow up lopsided or chicken-breasted, don't blame me!"