Wrong Analogy

Out in the wing, on a small straight-backed chair, sat Colonel Martin E. Baker, his eyes half closed, his hands folded against his belly, as he listened to the angry tumult. This always happened. It was an unpleasantness he could count on with the arrival of every new group of homesteaders. In an instant everybody had forgotten that he had rescued them from a miserable existence on a blighted Earth. There was no thought of gratitude to him for finding this fabulous place and developing it and bringing them here. No—the only thing in their grubby minds was the thought of the oxygen pack they would have to wear, to save themselves from quick death. Of course, they gave no thought to the money and effort he had expended to develop this pack, this neat little lightweight marvel. By the time he had this perfected and had worked out all the other details involved in colonizing this place, he had spent a fortune, he was practically broke. Sometimes he found it hard to

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