Olga clapped her hand to her forehead. "And this," she cried "is what we've been praying for during the last three years."
The next day found Jonathan Fawkes hobbling around by the aid of a cane. At the portal of the space ship, he stuck out his head, glanced all around warily. None of the girls were in sight. They had, he presumed, gone about their chores: hunting, fishing, gathering fruits and berries. He emerged all the way and set out for the creek. He walked with an exaggerated limp just in case any of them should be hanging around. As long as he was an invalid he was safe, he hoped.
He sighed. Not every man could be waited on so solicitously by twenty-seven handsome strapping amazons. He wished he could carry it off in cavalier fashion. He hobbled to the creek, sat down beneath the shade of a tree. He just wasn't the type, he supposed. And it might be years before they were rescued.
As a last resort, he supposed, he could hide out in the hills or join the centaurs. He rather fancied himself galloping across the plains on the back of a centaur. He looked up with a start. Ann Clotilde was ambling toward him.
"How's the invalid?" she said, seating herself beside him.
"Hot, isn't it?" he said. He started to rise. Ann Clotilde placed the flat of her hand on his chest and shoved. "Ooof!" he grunted. He sat down rather more forcibly than he had risen.
"Don't get up because of me," she informed him. "It's my turn to cook, but I saw you out here beneath the trees. Dinner can wait. Jonathan do you know that you are irresistible?" She seized his shoulders, stared into his eyes. He couldn't have felt any more uncomfortable had a hungry boa constrictor draped itself in his arms. He mopped his brow with his sleeve.
"Suppose the rest should come," he said in an embarrassed voice.
"They're busy. They won't be here until I call them to lunch. Your eyes," she said, "are like deep mysterious pools."
"Sure enough?" said Jonathan with involuntary interest. He began to recover his nerve.