The tanned face of Bill Bradley took on the rose hue of a blush.
"Well, Moahlo carved a statue and they've put it in front of league headquarters—that's their city hall," he admitted uncomfortably. "It doesn't look much like me. I've got six arms because they wanted me batting, pitching and catching a ball all at the same time."
Candy slipped a hand into his.
"Is there a place around here," she asked in a small tone, "where a culture god can take a girl and—well, talk to her?"
"Is there!" said Bill. "You just come with me ..."
A heavy object bumped into him. He whirled at the touch.
"Oh! Hi, Ratakka," Bill said in a flat voice.
Montgomery's king had returned to his subjects. He was alone—his captives having escaped off the ride over—and he was in vile temper. Glaring evilly, he motioned at the baseball players. He was recalling an advice of Montgomery: "Whatever your subjects like to do most, do it better than they can. In that way, you will get their respect and find it easier to take over."
"What that fool doings-on?" snarled Ratakka. "Ratakka do, too."
Bill's already sagging spirits sank again. With Ratakka's strength and reflexes, the great brute undoubtedly would become the star of stars, gathering admirers to himself and destroying all the pleasant prospects now so happily started. Still, it was Bill's duty to give him every chance ...