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Updated: June 19, 2025
He saw H. J. Owens get off his horse and go sneaking up to the brow of the hill, and take some field glasses out of his pocket and look all around over the prairie with them. The sight tingled the Kid's blood so that he almost forgot about the bear cub. It was almost exactly like fighting Injuns, like Uncle Gee-gee told about when he wasn't cross.
"We salute you, young Brant," Gee-Gee proclaimed. "You will be forever recorded in our annals as the first, involuntary spaceman." "Involuntary is right," Rick said, grinning. "But, nevertheless, the first. Young Brant, we wish to bestow this small token of our esteem. We regret only that the world can never cheer you with us, on account of this being a classified project." Dr.
In the jargon of the rocketeer the great missiles were called "beasts" or "birds." The former was because they sometimes acted "beastly." The latter was a tribute to their beautiful flight when they ran true. Rick thought, "How could anyone sabotage a thing like that?" Gee-Gee brought him back to earth. "Ever climb a gantry?" "No, sir." "Well, start flying, young Brant.
But she had a weakness for black furs and never used to wash her neck. So the Plimpton Mark was always there!" "Don't get bitter, Gee-Gee," announced Dinky-Dunk as he proceeded to light his pipe. And I could afford to laugh at his solemnity. "I'm not bitter, Honey Chile; I'm only glad I got away from all that Bohemian rubbish.
Pollyooly, though all the while she kept a careful eye on him, left him in the care of Emily Gibbs, till the train was actually outside London. Then she took him into her corner and pointed out objects of interest to him. She was convinced that he had made a great advance in intelligence since his journey down to Pyechurch: not once did he hail a sheep as a gee-gee.
Gee-Gee Gould came up and stood beside him. "It's a beautiful thing, Rick. And it's ours. Yours, mine, Dick's, Frank's, Charlie's it belongs to every one of the crew." Rick knew. It was his rocket. If it worked, it would be because of the care and devotion with which he had done his job. He knew others felt the same, and they were equally right.
Gerald Gould, known to the staff as "Gee-Gee," looked more like a high school football coach than a scientist. His blond hair was cropped short, and his face was boyish except for a beautifully waxed military-style mustache. His speech was a remarkable combination of slang and rocket jargon. He asked, "Do you know vector analysis?" Rick shook his head. "No, sir." "Hmmm.
Now only the ultimate steps remained, the final checks, the fueling, and at the very last, the placement of the tiny spacemonk in his specially designed carrier. "Let's go," Gee-Gee said. They mounted the elevator and were whisked upward to the final stage. Gee-Gee picked up his walkie-talkie from the rack. "Do you read me, Dick?" "Go ahead, Gee-Gee." "Tell Jerry to go through checkoff."
"The trouble is, Dinky-Dunk, I'm getting old. I'm losing my bounce!" That made him laugh a little, though it was rather a wistful laugh. "Oh, no, Gee-Gee," he announced, momentarily like his old self, "whatever you lose, you'll never lose that undying girlishness of yours!"
"The giant refreshed with wine. No gee-gee to-night. No gee-gee." "Tell his lordship." The butler went out, and Lady Holme's maid put a long black cloak carefully over her mistress's shoulders. While she did this Lady Holme stood quite still gazing into vacancy.
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