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Updated: June 18, 2025
The walls were decorated with murals photographic reproductions of a famous artist's conception of other planets. "This is nice," Rick said appreciatively. "Best place I've seen since Callisto Connie's joint on Jupiter," Scotty agreed whimsically. A waiter, not much older than they were, wandered down the counter. He was dressed in a loose tunic that glittered. "Howdy, fellas," he greeted them.
"A waiter can drink up all the champagne those fellas leave in bottles," suggested Rose with some relish, and then added as an afterthought, "Oh, boy!"
Or was it a leg pull on a highly elusive proposition, where big sums and the vastness of space seem to match? Hell I'm getting mixed up again..." Dave Lester had wandered off embarrassedly, there in the warehouse. But now he returned, clearing his throat for attention. "Fellas," he said. "Helen and I want you to come out to our apartment, now, for dinner."
"I run 'round back of the station and snook up and crawled under the platform in front. I could see everybody hoppin' 'round and I figured I was safer on the job, expectin' they'd be lookin' for me to beat it out of town. Then you fellas come up and stood talkin' right over me head.
"I know more about everything and less about anything than anybody exceptin' po'try and cookin'. But gettin' along ain't jest what you know. It's more like what you do. They's fellas knows more than I could learn in four thousand eight hundred and seventy-six years, but that don't help 'em get along none. It's what you know inside what counts." He lapsed into silence and slouched in the saddle.
She joined heartily in the shrieks of laughter, for Miss Cotton loved a joke on herself, as well as on another. "O' course, they all went at it again, with a bang," she continued, "but them fellas heard, o' course, an' they started to shake. An' this tall chap in the middle, I'm tellin' you about, was the worst of all.
He toiled on, listening for the expected gunshot hearing it, too, and the yawp of a wounded dog, in spite of a mitten clapped at each ear. "That's the kind of world it is! Do your level best, drag other fellas' packs hundreds o' miles over the ice with a hungry belly and bloody feet, and then Poor old Nig! 'cause you're lame poor old Nig!"
I don't see as anything comes of it, but just to get a passal of wo'thless fellas afta you that think you'a going to have money. There's such a thing as two sides to everything, and if the favas is goin' to be all on one side I guess there'd betta be a clear undastandin' about it.
Six fellas and the wife of one of them a Bunch from Baltimore were just drying shreds that drifted in the wreckage. Big Joe, though he had a rocket chip through his chest, had been able to beat off the attackers, with the help of a few asteroid-hoppers and his novice crew which turned out to be more rugged than some people might have expected.
A rider, leaning against the bar and puffing thoughtfully at a cigar of elephantine proportions, suddenly took his cigar from his lips, held it poised, examined it with the eye of a connoisseur of cattle and remarked slowly: "Now, why didn't I think of it? Wonder you fellas didn't think of it. They need a cook bad! Been without a cook for a year and everybody fussin' 'round cookin' for himself."
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