“Mr. Meek! Mr. Meek!” “Here,” said Meek.
“What about that story?” demanded Billy Jones, but Meek didn’t hear him.
A man was tearing his way through the crowd. It was one of the men from Twenty-three.
“Mr. Meek,” he panted, “you got to come right away. It’s Gus. He’s all tangled up with rheumatiz!”
GUS stared up with anguished eyes at Meek.
“It sneaked up on me while I slept,” he squeaked. “Laid off of me for years until just now. Limped once in a while, of course, and got a few twinges now and then, but that was all. Never had me tied up like this since I left Earth. One of the reasons I never did go back to Earth. Space is good climate for rheumatiz. Cold but dry. No moisture to get into your bones.”
Meek looked around at the huddled men, saw the worry that was etched upon their faces.
“Get a hot water bottle,” he told one of them.
“Hell,” said Russ Jensen, a hulking framed spaceman, “there ain’t no such a thing as a hot water bottle nearer than Titan City.”
“An electric pad, then.”