"You know what?" Allenby said slowly. "I think it's a calendar! Just a second—thirty squares wide by twenty-two high—that's six hundred and sixty. And that bottom line has twenty-six—twenty-seven squares. Six hundred and eighty-seven squares in all. That's how many days there are in the Martian year!"
He looked thoughtfully at the metal ring. "I'll bet that ring is hanging from the peg in the square that represents today. They must move it along every day, to keep track...."
"What's a calendar got to do with my crossing the street?" Randolph asked in a pained tone.
He started to take another step. The chief squeaked as if it were a matter of desperate concern that he make us understand. Randolph stopped again and swore impatiently.
Allenby made his questioning sound again.
The chief pointed emphatically at his shadow, then at the communal calendar—and we could see now that he was pointing at the metal ring.
Burton said slowly, "I think he's trying to tell us that this is today. And such-and-such a time of day. I bet he's using his shadow as a sundial."
"Perhaps," Allenby granted.
Randolph said, "If this monkey doesn't let me go in another minute—"
The chief squeaked, eyes concerned.