ssile banging against my
flaming ears....

Well, it was a dream. It probably wasn't like that at all--and if it
had been, I wasn't there to see it, because I was tucked away safe
under a hundred and twenty fathoms of Atlantic water. All of us were
on the _Sea Sprite_.

But it was a bad dream and it bothered me, even when I woke up and
found that the banging explosions of the missile were the noise of
Arthur's typewriter carriage crashing furiously back and forth.

He peeped out of the suitcase and saw that I was awake. He demanded:
HOW CAN YOU FALL ASLEEP WHEN WERE IN A PLACE LIKE THIS Q Q ANYTHING
COULD HAPPEN SAM I KNOW YOU DONT CARE WHAT HAPPENS TO ME BUT FOR YOUR
OWN SAKE YOU SHOULDNT

"Oh, dry up," I said.

Being awake, I remembered that I was hungry. There was still no sign
of Engdahl or the others, but that wasn't too surprising--they hadn't
known exactly when we would arrive. I wished I had thought to bring
some food back to the room. It looked like long waiting and I wouldn't
want to leave Arthur alone again--after all, he was partly right.

I thought of the telephone.

On the off-chance that it might work, I picked it up. Amazing, a voice
from the desk answered.

I crossed my fingers and said: "Room service?"

And the voice answered amiably enough: "Hold on, buddy. I'll see if
they answer."

Clicking and a good long wait. Then a new voice said: "Whaddya want?"

There was no sense pressing my luck by asking for anything like a
complete meal. I would be lucky if I got a sandwich.

I said: "Please, may I have a Spam sandwich on Rye Krisp and some
coffee for Room Fifteen Forty-one?"

"Please, you go to hell!" the voice snarled. "What do you think this
is, some damn delicatessen? You want liquor, we'll get you liquor.
That's what room service is for!"

* * * * *

I hung up. What was the use of arguing? Arthur was clacking peevishly:

WHATS THE MATTER SAM YOU THINKING OF YOUR BELLY AGAIN Q Q

"You would be if you--" I started, and then I stopped. Arthur's
feelings were delicate enough already. I mean suppose that all you had
left of what you were born with was a brain in a kind of sardine can,
wouldn't you be sensitive? Well, Arthur was more sensitive than you
would be, believe me. Of course, it was his own foolish fault--I mean
you don't get a prosthetic tank unless you die by accident, or
something like that, because if it's disease they usually can't save
even