to stop running away from the wire. He has a stack of
messages to send, he says, but I guess he'd better wait and
take your copy first; don't you think so?"

"Yes, I do," said Gordon. "I don't want any more messages
than I've had. That's the best I can do," he said, as he
threw his manuscript down beside Stedman. "And they can keep
on cabling until the wire burns red hot, and they won't get
any more."

There was silence in the office for some time, while Stedman
looked over Gordon's copy, and Gordon stared dejectedly out at
the ocean.

"This is pretty poor stuff, Gordon," said Stedman. "It's like
giving people milk when they want brandy."

"Don't you suppose I know that?" growled Gordon. "It's the
best I can do, isn't it? It's not my fault that we are not
all dead now. I can't massacre foreign residents if there are
no foreign residents, but I can commit suicide, though, and
I'll do it if something don't happen."

There was a long pause, in which the silence of the office was
only broken by the sound of the waves beating on the coral
reefs outside. Stedman raised his head wearily.

"He's swearing again," he said; "he says this stuff of yours
is all nonsense. He says stock in the Y.C.C. has gone up to
one hundred and two, and that owners are unloading and making