sit down for a month."

She pursed her lips hotly, but made no reply. He screwed the helmet on,
and unfastened her arms. For a second, she tensed, while he waited,
grinning down at her. Then she slumped back and lay quiet as he
unfastened her legs.

He tossed her over his shoulder, and started down the rickety stairs.

There was a little light in the sky. Five minutes later, it was full
daylight, which should have been a signal for the workers to start for
their jobs. But today they were drifting out unhappily, as if already
sure there would be no jobs by nightfall.

A few stared at Gordon and his burden, but most of them didn't even look
up. The two men trudged along silently.

"Prisoner," he announced crisply to the guard, but there was no protest
this time. They went through, and he was lucky enough to locate a
broken-down tricycle cab.

Mother Corey let them in, without flickering an eyelash as he saw his
granddaughter. Bruce Gordon dropped her onto her legs. "Behave
yourself," he warned her as he took off his helmet, and then unfastened
hers.

Mother Corey chuckled. "Very touching, cobber. You have a way with
women, it seems. Too bad she had to wear a helmet, or you might have
dragged her here by her hair. Ah, well, let's not talk about it here. My
room is more comfortable--and private."

Inside, Sheila sat woodenly on the little sofa, pretending to see none
of them. Mother Corey looked from one to the other, and then back to
Gordon. "Well? You must have had some reason for bringing her here,
cobber."

"I want her out of my hair, Mother," Gordon tried to explain. "I can
lock her up--carrying a gun without a permit is reason enough. But I'd
rather you kept her here, if you'll take the responsibility. After all,
she's your granddaughter."

"So she is. That's why I wash my hands of her. I couldn't control myself
at her age, couldn't control my son, and I don't intend to handle a
female of my line. It looks as if you'll have to arrest her."

"Okay. Suppose I rent a room and put a good lock on it. You've got the
one that connects with mine vacant."

"I run a respectable house now, Gordon," Mother Corey stated flatly.
"What you do outside my place is your own business. But no women, except
married ones. Can't trust 'em."

Gordon stared at the old man, but he apparently meant just what he said.
"All right, Mother," he said finally. "How in hell do I marry her
without any rigmarole?"

Izzy's face seemed