of every interplanetary vessel.

"... Haw-haw-haw! Drop over to our camp sometime for a little drink, and
a little game, eh, pantywaist? Tain't far. Sure--just drop in on us when
the pressure of domesticity in this beootiful country gets you down....
When the turnips get you down! Haw-haw-haw! Bring the wife along....
She's kinda pretty. Ought to have a man-size fella.... Just ask for
me--Alf Neely! Haw-haw-haw!"

Yeah, Alf Neely was the loudest and the ugliest of John Endlich's
baiters. He had gigantic arms and shoulders, small squinty eyes, and a
pendulous nose. "Haw-haw-haw!..."

And the others, yelling and hooting, made it a pack: "Man--don't he wish
he was back in Podunk!... What!--no tomatas, Dutch?... What did they
tell yuh back at the Homestead office in Chicago?--that we were in
de-e-esperate need of fresh vegetables out here? Well, where are they,
papa?... Haw-haw-haw!..."

* * * * *

Under the barrage John Endlich's last shreds of common-sense were all
but blotted out by the red murk of fury. He was small and broad--a
stolid-looking thirty-two years old. But now his round and usually
placid face was as red as a fiery moon, and his underlip curled in a
snarl. He might have taken the savage ribbing more calmly. But there was
too much grim fact behind what these asteroid miners said. Besides, out
here he had thought that he would have a better chance to lick the
weaknesses in himself--because he'd _have_ to work to keep his family
alive; because he'd been told that there'd be no one around to distract
him from duty. Yah! The irony of that, now, was maddening.

For the moment John Endlich was speechless and strangled--but like an
ignited firecracker. Uhunh--ready to explode. His hard body hunched, as
if ready to spring. And the baiting waxed louder. It was like the
yammering of crows, or the roar of a wild surf in his ears. Then came
the last straw. The kids had kept on bawling--more and more violently.
But now they got down to verbal explanations of what they thought was
the matter:

"Wa-aa-aa-a-ahh-h! Papa--we wanna-go-o-o--hom-m-mm-e!..."

The timing could not have been better--or worse. The shrieks and howls
of mirth from the miners, a moment ago, were as nothing to what they
were now.

"Ho-ho-ho! Tell it to Daddy, kids!... Ho-ho-ho! That was a mouthful....
Ho-ho-ho-ho! Wow!..."

There is a point at which an extremity of masculine embarrassment can
lead to but one