"That will do, Mr. Wade!" Colonel Travers was under orders to treat his passenger as a guest; there was no obligation that he like the ore scout. The glint in his eye, the set of his jaw, indicated the direction in which his sympathy lay. "I am quite capable of handling this. Ah—Good day, sir! Mr. Wilkes, I presume?"
"Howdy, Skipper. Yeah, I'm Sam Wilkes." The rival settler glanced around swiftly, sensed the overtones of enmity, glared at Pop suspiciously. "What's wrong here? Has Moseley been squawkin' about—?"
"Dr. Moseley informed us that you and he were both claimants to Eros. Therefore I shall immediately visit your two establishments in order to determine which, if either of you, has the better justified his claim.
"Lieutenant Thrainell, you will serve as my aide. We will first inspect Dr. Moseley's habitation."
Thus it began. Pop took the two Patrolmen and the civilian critic to Delta Port, pointed out with pride the many things accomplished within the past months. He met, in Col. Travers, an admiring audience. The commander was outspokenly delighted with what he saw.
"Gad, man! You did all this without power? This is the pioneering feat of the decade! Look, Lieutenant! Running water ... chinaware ... that furniture! Marvelous! You deserve a wealth of credit, Doctor."
"But," pointed out Wade caustically, "you mentioned the biggest fault yourself."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Wade?"
"Without power!" snapped Wade. "Moseley, where are your lights? Where's your power plant? How about heat? And this cooking equipment—it's aboriginal!"