Bannerman snorted. "If I take so much for granted, and, mark you, I have no right to assume that out of hundreds you alone have managed to cure yourself. Medics or no, I must still ask what means of subsistence you have. We cannot tolerate relief cases here on Mars, Captain," he added, sternly.
A dull red flush stained Thorne's worn features. "I have never been on your rolls, sir."
"Granted. But can you keep off them? Do you have a job?"
"Who will hire me now?"
"Have you money?"
"All I possess lies on Captain Martineau's desk yonder, sir. When I found I had unwittingly carried off a scrap of the petrified oil in my torn boot, I felt I had no true right to it under the circumstances in which I made the discovery."
"Highly commendable," rasped Bannerman, rubbing his chin in exasperation. "Didn't you think it would leave you as flat as you have been the last year or so, man? What shall you live on? Will you go back to the natives, shaming us all?"
"They are good people, sir. I could do worse."
"You could, by hang! And have, sir! You have no hope of relocating the main bulk of this treasure?"