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To leave no stone unturned, however, Mr. Sclater wrote to Mr. Withrop.
You're now qualified cadets of Space Academy," said a redheaded lad about twenty-one. "My name is Al Dixon," he turned to his left and right, "and these are cadets Bill Houseman and Rodney Withrop." "Hiya," replied Tom. "Glad to know you. I'm Tom Corbett. This is Astro and Roger Manning." Astro shook hands, the three senior cadets giving a long glance at the size of the hand he offered.
Roger came forward smartly and shook hands with a smile. "We're sorta like a committee," began Dixon. "We've come to sign you up for the Academy sports program." They made themselves comfortable in the room. "You have a chance to take part in three sports. Free-fall wrestling, mercuryball and space chess." Dixon glanced at Houseman and Withrop.
Sclater, but seemed himself nowise humbled by the disgrace he recognized, indeed almost claimed. The brother who had taken to business, was the senior partner in a large ship-building firm at Greenock. This man, William Fuller Withrop by name Wilful Withrop the neighbours had nicknamed him was a bachelor, and reputed rich. Mr. Sclater did not hear of him what roused very brilliant hopes.
Bonniman, and cast, as is, I fear, the rude habit of not a few husbands, not a few stolen glances, as he ate, over the morning paper, his eye fell upon a paragraph announcing the sudden death of the well-known William Fuller Withrop, of the eminent ship-building firm of Withrop and Playtell, of Greenock. Until he came to the end of the paragraph, his cup of coffee hung suspended in mid air.
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