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Gimp chewed his lip, and signed, "Walter Hines," in a beautiful, austere script, with a touch as fine as a master scientist's. "I'll go along as far as they let me," he muttered. "I think it will be the same in my case," David Lester stammered. He shook so much that his signature was only a quavering line. "For laughs," Eileen Sands said, and wrote daintily.
The Bunch continued building equipment, they worked out in the motordrome, they drilled at donning their armor and at inflating and rigging a bubb. Gimp Hines exercised with fierce, perspiring doggedness on a horizontal bar he had rigged in the back of the shop. He meant to compensate for his bad leg by improving his shoulder muscles.
Gimp Hines and David Lester were waiting inside the stellene reception dome when Nelsen and Ramos landed lightly at the port on their own feet, with no more braking assistance than their own shoulder-ionics. Greetings were curiously breathless yet casual, but without any backslapping. "We'd about given you two up," Gimp said.
It's petticoats you ought to be wearing." The piano-player's lower lip fell away from his teeth. His wall eyes opened abnormally. "Why, what did I do to you?" he gasped. "Nothing. You couldn't do anything to anybody. You haven't the gimp. Shut up." Harty faced Baldwin. "The hell we can't help it.
For the simple house they may be made of velvet or velveteen in some neutral tone that is in harmony with the rugs and furnishings of the rooms that are to be divided. They should be double, usually, and a faded gilt gimp may be used as an outline or as a binding.
Oh, I get it living costs, off the Earth, are high. Well I've got what Helen's father paid me. Of course I have to replace the missing parts of my equipment. But I'll loan you five hundred. Wish it could be more." "Shucks, I can do better," Gimp joined in. "Pay us sometime, when you see us." "I I don't know..." Lester protested worriedly, like an honest man.
Now he made hints, inevitably. "I don't need Eileen to tell me you're a good guy, Frank," she said with a small, warm smile. "We're just entertainers. They wouldn't let us be anything else here..." It hardly mattered what else they said. Maybe it was fifteen hours later that Frank Nelsen found himself walking along a stellene-covered causeway, looking for Left Foot Gimp Hines.
Was this another, different civilization, that had risen at last in anger, using its own methods of allergy, terrible repellant nostalgia, and mental distortions? Frank felt the call of mystery which was half dread. But then he shrugged. "Uh-uh, Gimp. I'd like to go down, too. But the gravity is twice that of the Moon getting up and down isn't so easy.
Likewise, Gimp Hines went by train to Illinois. Ramos rode his scooter all the way down to East Texas and back, to see his parents and a flock of younger brothers and sisters. When he returned, he solemnly gave his well-worn vehicle to an earnest boy still in high school. "No dough," Ramos said. "I just want her to have a good home."
The whole Bunch was quite a bit like that, for a good part of the night, shouting lustily back and forth between the two trucks, laughing, singing, wise-cracking, drinking up Otto Kramer's Pepsi and beer. But at last, Gimp Hines, remembering wisdom, spoke up. "We're supposed to be under mild sedation a devil-killer, a tranquilizer for at least thirty hours.
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