Dr. Duerkes shuddered. "How can these people like your hashy thoughts?" he asked. "This mystery would startle the world of science and you dismiss it with the words, 'slick arrangement.'"
"Well, maybe it ain't so slick. I'm sort of tired of it. I'd give a lot for a ham sandwich, with mustard."
In front of Hawes' eyes a ham sandwich on rye bread, dripping with mustard, appeared. Hawes reached out to grab it, but a green cloud swooped from behind a bush and seized it.
"Tut, tut!" chided the green cloud. "You mustn't eat your own thoughts. That's cannibalism."
"But I'm hungry," said Captain Hawes.
"Then have a ham sandwich on me," said the cloud.
In the air in front of Hawes appeared another sandwich, exactly like the first. Hawes reached and seized it. He tasted it. It had a slightly sour taste, as if it were impregnated with ozone, but it was better than nothing.
"Swell!" said the captain.
"I can't understand it," Duerkes, who also was supplied with a sandwich, moaned. "It's beyond comprehension. This is a different world from ours. There isn't a single law of the universe applicable to it."
"It looks pretty logical to me," Hawes said. "These people think concrete thoughts, instead of abstract ones." He turned to the green cloud. "Could you think up an airplane—a stratosphere ship, like the one we rode to get here?"