"Thank him for what?" said Harvey hoarsely. "Why didn't he tell us before he signed us up?"
A clamor of supporting voices rose around him. Other immigrants leaped to their feet, trying to make themselves heard. Red Brace was bellowing something unintelligible. His wife added her indignant contralto. Carsing shouted, "Quiet!" and then gave up and stood there, scowling.
Out in the wing, on a small straight-backed chair, sat Colonel Martin E. Baker, his eyes half closed, his hands folded against his belly, as he listened to the angry tumult. This always happened. It was an unpleasantness he could count on with the arrival of every new group of homesteaders. In an instant everybody had forgotten that he had rescued them from a miserable existence on a blighted Earth. There was no thought of gratitude to him for finding this fabulous place and developing it and bringing them here. No—the only thing in their grubby minds was the thought of the oxygen pack they would have to wear, to save themselves from quick death. Of course, they gave no thought to the money and effort he had expended to develop this pack, this neat little lightweight marvel. By the time he had this perfected and had worked out all the other details involved in colonizing this place, he had spent a fortune, he was practically broke. Sometimes he found it hard to maintain a feeling of calm and good will. If he wanted to let himself go, it would be so easy to become a bitter, misanthropic old man. But there would be no sense in that. These people were young and thoughtless, the victims of their own impulsiveness, and what the situation called for was patience, understanding, and forgiveness.
Martin Baker let out a long sigh and heaved his round body out of his chair. He walked slowly toward the confused jumble of voices. He knew, even without distinguishing the sounds, that they were demanding that he appear. Baker ran a hand over his clothes to make sure they were in order, put on a broad and gentle smile, and stepped out on the stage.
He waited until the clamor quieted, and then he said, "I'm here to answer any questions."
Half a dozen of the homesteaders tried to talk at once. Baker smiled understandingly and held up his hand. "One at a time, please—every one will have his chance."
"What kind of a deal is this?" a voice bellowed from the rear. Baker recognized the big red-headed man, Brace. A bold, adventuresome man, handsome and powerfully built, but, alas, so very stupid. He would make a lot of noise, Baker knew, but actually he wouldn't be any real trouble.
"And what, may I ask, is the cause of your dissatisfaction?" Baker inquired.
"How come we travel all the way out here and find out we've got to wear oxygen masks?"