"I've got to sit down, Jim!" he choked out.
He reeled to the bulkhead chronometer, sat down and started tugging at his chin. After a moment he whipped his hand from his face.
"You're an educated man, Jim," he said. "I'm not! If you tell me we're headin' straight for Saturn, I won't call you a liar!"
"You won't?"
"No, Jim. Say a guy brings you a watch. The hands go in the wrong direction, the tickin's so loud it drives you nuts. 'Buddy,' he says, 'if you want to know what time it isn't, this watch will tell you.'
"Well, say you've got to know the time, say your life depends on it. What do you do, Jim? Lift him up by his seat and toss him out the door? Shucks, no! You listen while he talks. You ask him to take the watch apart and show you what makes it tick."
"Fine!" I said. "So I'm the man with the watch! I put Saturn outside the viewpane just to torture you!"
He looked so miserable I felt sorry for him. "I didn't mean it that way, Jim," he apologized. "But I'm plumb scared! Somethin's happenin' to space! Somethin' ghastly awful! You must have some idea what's causin' it!"
"Don't kid yourself!" I told him. "A wild guess isn't an idea."
"Let me be the judge o' that, son!"