so
low as to offer appeasement. Then he laughed uproariously.

"Why, I'd be delighted, Mr. Pun'kins," he said in a poisonous-sweet
tone. "Let bygones be bygones. Hey, Charlie! Hear what Pun'kins says?
The drinks are all on him! And how is the Little Lady, Mrs. Pun'kins?
Lonesome, I bet. Glad to hear it. I'm gonna fix that!"

With a sudden lunge Neely gripped Endlich's hand, and gave it a savage
if momentary twist that sent needles of pain shooting up the
homesteader's arm. It was a goading invitation to battle, which grim
knowledge of the sequel now compelled Endlich to pass up.

"Don't call him Pun'kins, Neely!" somebody yelled. "It ain't polite to
mispronounce a name. It's Mr. Tomatoes. I just saw. Bet he's got a
million of 'em, out there on the farm!"

* * * * *

The whole crowd in the bar broke into coarse shouts and laughs and
comments. "... We ain't good neighbors--neglecting our social duties.
Let's pay 'em a visit.... Pun'kins! What else you got besides tamadas?
Let's go on a picnic!... Hell with the Boss Man!... Yah-h-h--We need
some diversion.... I'm not goin' on shift.... Come on, everybody!
There's gonna be a fight--a moider!... Hell with the Boss Man...."

Like the flicker of flame flashing through dry gunpowder, you could feel
the excitement spread. Out of the bar. Out of the rec-dome. It would
soon ignite the whole tense camp.

John Endlich's heart was in his mouth, as his mind pictured the part of
all this that would affect him and his. A bunch of men gone wild,
kicking over the traces, arcing around Vesta, sacking and destroying in
sheer exuberance, like brats on Hallowe'en. They would stop at nothing.
And Rose and the kids....

This was it. What he'd been so scared of all along. It was at least
partly his own fault. And there was no way to stop it now.

"I love tomatoes, Mr. Pun'kins," Neely rumbled at Endlich's side,
reaching for the drink that had been set before him. "But first I'm
gonna smear you all over the camp.... Take my time--do a good job....
Because y'didn't give me any tomatoes...."

Whereat, John Endlich took the only slender advantage at hand for
him--surprise. With all the strength of his muscular body, backed up by
dread and pent-up fury, he sent a gloved fist crashing straight into
Neely's open face-window. Even the pang in his well-protected knuckles
was a satisfaction--for he knew that the damage to Neely's ugly features
must be many times