Silly of him to think over the matter at all.
So he put out his light again and went to bed.

But he had no great desire to sleep.

It was pleasant to lie there, flat on his back, with the soothing movement of the ship under him, listening to the musical thrum of it.

And it was pleasant to think of the fact that he was going home.

How infernally long those seven months had been, down in the States! And how he had missed everyone he had ever known--even his enemies! He closed his eyes and visualized the home that was still thousands of miles away--the endless tundras, the blue and purple foothills of the Endicott Mountains, and "Alan's Range" at the beginning of them.