"At a hundred an hour," Andrews said for the ninetieth time or so, scathingly.
Alice nodded soberly. "But you mustn't forget that isn't going to do him any good unless he gets us all home so that he can use it."
Reluctantly, Andrews nodded. "I suppose you're right."
Then Alice added, "And even if it weren't for the hundred per, he isn't the kind to kill himself."
Andrews grunted, "No, he isn't. But Alice, I'm not at all sure that Norton knows whether he's doing the right thing or not."
She shook her head. There was no answer to that argument. Furthermore, it was the kind of unresolvable argument that could go on and on until the answer was supplied from the outside. There could be no end to it until they were either picked up safely or died in lonely space.
She decided to drop the discussion as pointless, so headed for the bathroom. A hot shower and a quick tubbing of her underclothing were on her mind. Her garments, of course, would dry instantly. She had to smile a little. To think that a hundred years ago women thought something they called nylon was wonderful because it was fairly quick-drying! Not instantaneous, of course, as was the material of which her lingerie was made.
Anyhow, getting it clean now, and having a bath herself would make her feel better. And she would be better equipped to face the nerve-gruelling business of just sitting there watching the clock go around and around, with nothing to do but wait.
VII