“Do you know we have only a month’s supply of food left?”
Alan looked at her in horror. “You don’t mean that, Mavis?” said he incredulously.
“My dear Alan, you are just like all men. Sufficient for the day! That’s your motto. You never enquired about the food. Since I took over the culinary department, none of you have worried a bit, while day by day I’ve seen our stock of provisions grow less and less. In a month’s time, Alan, our food will be totally exhausted.”
“What about the condensed foods?”
“Oh we still have some of them—perhaps with extreme care they would last another four weeks, and then—the end.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before, Mavis?”
“Oh I couldn’t,” hysterically. “You were all so contented. Besides I didn’t realize the seriousness of it myself until to-day. Our flour is nearly gone. You yourself said the bread wasn’t as good this morning. Of course it wasn’t. It was just mixtures of every cereal I could think of to try and make it last out.”
This news was indeed serious, and Alan walked thoughtfully to his chart. Yes, he ought to have known. It registered five hundred and fifty-five days. Over eighteen earth months they had been flying through the heavens. Their food had lasted magnificently.
“Water?” he queried.
“We finished the tank water long ago. I’m pretty well through with the cubes.”