Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 19, 2025
I'm sure I'm sorry if the Dinkmans' house is swallowed up as Gootes suggests, but it hasnt been and I'm sure the possibility is exaggerated. The authorities will do something or the grass will stop growing. I don't see any point in looking at the blackest side of things." Gootes opened his mouth in pretended astonishment. "Wal, I swan. Boy's a philosopher."
The sun where we were was dazzling, I say, but in the hole where Gootes was now tying Slafe's paraphernalia to the ladder, the shadow of the walls darkened it into twilight. I squinted, telepathically urging him to hurry; he seemed slow and fumbling. And then ... And then the walls collapsed. Not slowly, not with warning, not dramatically or with trumpets.
Gootes and I yelled and waved our arms frenziedly, while Slafe, exhibiting faint excitement for the first time, contorted himself to aim the camera at the machine's belly. Evidently the pilot spotted us without difficulty for the ship came to a hovering rest over the mouth of the well and a jacobsladder unrolled its length to dangle rope sides and wooden rungs down to us.
Theoretical, you know." "As far as I know," said Miss Francis, "it cannot be stopped." Consequences of a Discovery "But it's got to be stopped," exclaimed Gootes. Miss Francis turned silently back to her flowerpot as though she'd forgotten us. Gootes coursed the kitchenfloor like a puzzled yet anxious hound. "Damn it, it's got to be stopped."
To conclude, he unstopped a glass vial and sniffed at it. All the while Gootes hovered over him, solicitously deluging him with friendly queries in one accent or another. I lost interest in both fellowpassengers, for the plane, after shaking us violently, started forward, and before I was clearly aware of it had left the ground.
I hung back from the groundglass door inscribed in shabby, peeling letters in distinction to its neighbors, newly and brightly painted W.R. Le ffaçasé. Gootes, noting my trepidation, put on the brogue of a burlesque Irishman. "Is it afraid of Himself you are, me boy? Sure, think no more of it.
"No soap, Chief. O K. O K. All right put the rewrite man on." And for the next ten minutes he went over the events at the Dinkmans', carefully spelling out all names including the napoleonic firechief's. I began to suspect Gootes wasnt so inefficient a reporter as he appeared. The story given in, he hung up and turned to me. "Well, so long, little man been nice knowing you."
Then, apparently satisfied for the moment, he applied himself once more to the nasalsyringe and the pillboxes. On Gootes, however, the consequence of the landing must have been much the same as on me. He too capered and sang and his dialect renderings reached a new low, such as even a burlesqueshow comedian would have spurned. "Tis the old sod itself," he kept repeating, "Erin go bragh.
So buck up, me boy, and come in and view the biggest faker in journalism." But Gootes' flippancy reassured me no more than did the bare sunlit office behind the door. I had somehow, perhaps from the movies, expected to see an editor's desk piled with copypaper while he himself used halfadozen telephones at once, simultaneously making incomprehensible gestures at countless underlings.
From the snuffbox on his desk, which I'd imagined a pretty ornament or receptacle for small objects, he scooped with a flat thumb a conical mound of graybrown dust and this, with a sweeping upward motion, he pushed into a gaping nostril. "Chief, this is Albert Weener." "How do, Mr Weener. Gootes, who the bloody hell is Weener?" "Why, Chief, he's the guy who put the stuff on the grass." "Oh."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking