"I wouldn't have missed this for anything," said Bernard. He smiled, lit
a cigar of fine Mercurian leaf tobacco and settled back comfortably.
"And now," he said, "let me explain why I was so anxious to have dinner
with you. I'm in the import-export business. Ship to Mars, mostly. But
all my life I've wanted to be a spaceman."
"Well, what was the trouble, Mr. Bernard?" asked Roger.
The man in black sighed. "Couldn't take the acceleration, boys. Bad
heart. I send out more than five hundred cargoes a year, to all parts of
the solar system; but myself, I've never been more than a mile off the
surface of the earth."
"It sure must be disappointing--to want to blast off, and know that you
can't," said Tom.
"I tried, once," said Bernard, with a rueful smile. "Yup! I tried." He
gazed thoughtfully out the window.
"When I was your age, about twenty, I wanted to get into Space Academy
worse than anybody I'd ever met." He paused. "Except for one person. A
boyhood buddy of mine--named Kenneth--"
"Excuse me, sir," cut in Roger quickly, "but I think we'd better get
back to our car. With this big liberty in front of us, we need a lot of
rest."
"But, Roger!" exclaimed Tom.
Bernard smiled. "I understand, Roger. Sometimes I forget that I'm an old
man. And when you've already tasted the excitement of space travel, talk
like mine must seem rather dull.
Pages:
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132