"Nuts!"
Andrews said firmly, "Miss Hemingway, witness this, please. Do something brilliant right this moment, Norton, and you'll collect seven times twenty-four times one thousand dollars. Now that's what I call not-hay."
Norton growled angrily, "If there was anything I could do, I'd take you up on that."
"There probably is, if you'd only try to think."
"I'm the space pilot," Norton pointed out. "And I'm telling you there is nothing we can do about it."
"All right. Forget it. Let's have something to eat."
"We don't eat for an hour, Andrews."
Charles Andrews puffed on his cigar. "Why not?" he asked softly.
"Because we've got to conserve. It's in the book of rules."