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there, to his family, to things in the past. He came back presently to personal self-awareness and realized that he was happier than he had been in a long time, with no particular reason that he could place. It was a quiet happiness; he felt no desire to laugh nor even to smile, but he was perfectly relaxed and content.
    He was acutely aware of the presence of the Martians, of each individual Martian, and was becoming even more aware of them with each drifting minute. He had never noticed before how beautiful they were. ‘Ugly as a native’ was a common phrase with the colonials; Jim recalled with surprise that he had even used it himself, and wondered why he ever had done so.
    He was aware, too, of Frank beside him and thought about how much he liked him. Staunch—that was the word for Frank, a good man to have at your back. He wondered why he had never told Frank that he liked him.
    Mildly he missed Willis, but he was not worried about him. This sort of a party was not Willis's dish; Willis liked things noisy, boisterous, and unrefined. Jim put aside the thought of Willis, lay back, and soaked in the joy of living. He noted with delight that the unknown artist who had designed this room had arranged for the miniature sun to move across the ceiling just as the true Sun moved across the sky. He watched it travel to the west and presently begin to drop toward the pictured horizon.
    There came a gentle booming behind him—he could not catch the words—and another Martian answered. One of them unfolded himself from his resting stand and ambled out of the room. Frank sat up and said, ‘I must have been dreaming.’
    'Did you go to sleep?’ asked Jim. ‘I didn't.
    'The heck you didn't. You snored like Doc MacRae.’
    'Why, I wasn't even asleep.’
    'Says you!’
    The Martian who had left the room returned. Jim was sure it was the same one; they no longer looked alike to him. He was carrying a drinking vase. Frank's eyes bulged out. ‘Do you suppose they are going to serve us water?'
    'Looks like,’ Jim answered in an awed voice.
    Frank shook his head. ‘We might as well keep this to ourselves; nobody'll ever believe us.’
    'You're right.’
    The ceremony began. The Martian with the vase announced his own name, barely touched the stem of the vase and passed it on. The next Martian gave his name and also simulated drinking. Around the circle it came. The Martian who had brought them in, Jim learned, was named ‘Gekko'; it seemed a pretty name to Jim and fitting. At last the vase came around to Jim; a Martian handed it to him with the wish, ‘May you never suffer thirst.’ The words were quite clear to him.
    There was an answering chorus around him: ‘May you drink deep whenever you wish!’
    Jim took the vase and reflected that Doc said that the Martians didn't have anything that was catching for humans. ‘Jim Marlowe!’ he announced, placed the stem in his mouth and took a sip.
    As he handed it back he dug into his imperfect knowledge of the dominant language, concentrated on his accent and managed to say, ‘May water ever be pure and plentiful for you.’ There was an approving murmur that warmed him. The Martian handed the vase to Frank.
    With the ceremony over the party broke up in noisy, almost human chatter. Jim was trying vainly to follow what was being said to him by a Martian nearly three times his height when Frank said, ‘Jim! You see that sun? We're going to miss the scooter!’
    'Huh? That's not the real Sun; that's a toy.’
    'No, but it matches the real Sun. My watch says the same thing.’
    'Oh, for Pete's sake! Where's Willis? Gekko—where's Gekko?’
    Gekko, on hearing his name, came over; he clucked inquiringly at Jim. Jim tried very hard to explain their trouble, tripped over syntax, used the wrong directive symbols, lost his accent entirely. Frank shoved him aside and took over. Presently Frank said, ‘They'll get us there before sunset, but Willis stays here.’
    'Huh? They can't do