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Stillwell goes over and sits down beside her and I’m very much on the alert, because I know where his courage comes from. But I decide it’s all right, because I see the babe is not belligerent, just confused kind of. And friendly.

And willing. Kind of a whipped-little-dog willing, and man oh man! She was sure what Stillwell needed.

They kind of went together like a hand and a glove–natural-like. And it followed–pretty natural–that when Stillwell got up and led her around a wing of the pit, out of sight, she went willing–like that same little dog.

Uhuh. No, you guys. Two’s enough. I wouldn’t rob you. Well, okay, and thanks kindly.

Well, there I was, all alone, but happy for Stillwell, cause I know it’s what the kid needs, and in spots like that what difference does it make? Yank–Ruskie–Mongolian–as long as she’s willing.

Then, you guys, Stillwell comes back out–wall-eyed–real wall-eyed–like being hit but not knocked out and still walking. I know what it is–some kind of shock. I get up and walk over and take a look at the babe where he’d left her–and I bust out laughing. I told you guys there was a yak in this. I laughed like a fool–it was that funny. As much as I had time to, before Stillwell cracked. It was enough to crack him–the little thing that pushes a guy over the edge.

He lets out a yell and screams, “For crisake! For crisake! Nothing but a bucket of bolts! Nothing but a couple of plastic lumps–“

That was when I hit him. I had to. He was for the birds, Stillwell was. An hour later we got relieved and a couple of medicos carried him away strapped to a stretcher–gone like a kite.

They took the robot too, and its clothes, but they forgot the brassiere, so I took it and I been carrying it ever since, but I’ll leave it with you guys if you want–for the coffee. Might make you think about home. After all, like the man says, we got to keep our sense of humor.

Well, so long, you guys–and thanks.