"What?"
"Methioprane! Don't you get it? We went beddy-bye, Lord knows how long ago. Nobody else knew nothing about that gas we was working on. All they knew was that when they come in and found the three of us laid out colder than herring, we had evidently sniffed it. The medicos examined us, and found out we was still alive, only in a state of coma, or suspended animalation, or whatever you call it. So—"
"You're right, Chuck! You must be right! They must have moved us here to Fort Knox, left a message to succeeding generations that our glass tomb was to be kept inviolate till one day we should waken. But—how long? Mother, surely you must know? How long have we slept?"
The Mother nodded sagely.
"Yes, O Dwain, I know. When they advised me of your wakening, I performed the magic of Numbers. Your sleep began in the year One-Nine-and-Four-Two. It is now the year Three-Four-and-Eight-Eight—"
"The Thirty-Fifth Century!" cried Steve. "Chuck, we have slept for more than fifteen hundred years!"
But if he had expected Chuck Lafferty to be dismayed by this revelation, he had another thing coming.
Chuck just grunted. "That," he said, "ain't hard to believe. I been wondering why I'm so confounded hungry. Now I know. It's been a helluva long time since breakfast, pal!"
The Mother, Maatha, stirred anxiously at his words.
"But I neglect my duty!" she exclaimed. "Beth, send for food. The gods are an-hungered."