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The
Captain
’
s
wife
was
a
tall
,
plain
woman
with
the
calm
eyes
of
one
who
has
watched
from
the
Widow
’
s
Walk
.
She
stood
up
,
kissed
Jubal
.
"
Thou
art
God
.
"
"
Uh
,
thou
art
God
.
"
Jubal
decided
that
he
might
as
well
relax
to
the
ritual
–
hell
,
if
he
said
it
often
enough
,
he
might
lose
the
rest
of
his
buttons
and
believe
it
?
and
it
did
have
a
friendly
ring
to
it
with
the
arms
of
the
Skipper
’
s
wife
firmly
around
him
.
He
decided
that
she
could
even
teach
note
4
something
about
kissing
.
She
–
how
was
it
Anne
had
once
described
it
?
–
she
gave
it
her
whole
attention
;
she
wasn
’
t
going
anywhere
.
"
I
suppose
,
Van
,
"
he
said
,
"
that
I
really
shouldn
’
t
be
surprised
to
find
you
here
.
"
"
Well
,
"
answered
the
spaceman
,
"
a
man
who
commutes
to
Mars
ought
to
be
able
to
palaver
with
the
natives
,
don
’
t
you
think
?
"
"
Just
for
powwow
,
huh
?
"
"
There
are
other
aspects
.
"
Van
Tromp
reached
for
a
piece
of
toast
;
the
toast
cooperated
.
"
Good
food
,
good
company
.
"
"
Um
,
yes
.
"
"
Jubal
,
"
Madame
Vesant
called
out
,
"
soup
’
s
on
!
"
Jubal
returned
to
his
place
,
found
eggs
-
on
-
horseback
,
orange
juice
,
and
other
choice
comestibles
waiting
for
him
.
Becky
patted
his
thigh
.
"
A
fine
prayer
meeting
,
me
bucko
.
"
"
Woman
,
back
to
your
horoscopes
!
"
