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"We're supposed to have known long ago that these things happen, and to have adjusted ourselves to our chances." "Ninnies that get scared first thing, when the facts begin to show!" Tiflin snarled. "Cripes let's don't be like soft bugs under boards!" "You're right, Tif," Frank Nelsen agreed, feeling that for once the ne'er-do-well the nuisance might be doing them all some good.
As likely as not, he'd start hitchhiking across the country, to try to get away from himself... Somewhere the test instruments which had seemed so lenient had tripped him up, spotting the weakness that he had tried to fight. Temper, nerves emotional instability. So there was no green card for Tif, to whom space was a kind of Nirvana... The Bunch worked on with their preparations.
Well at least since Tif flunked his emotional I've been getting the idea that possibly I've been playing on a third-rate team. No offense, please I don't really believe it's so, and if it isn't so you're tough enough not to be hurt. Far worse I'm a girl. So why am I trying to do things in a man's way, when there are means that are made for me? I'm all of twenty-two.
"All right thanks. Thank you, sir..." Nelsen felt somewhat numb. But a faint, golden glow was increasing inside his mind. Tiflin hadn't gone up to Tech. He was still waiting on the street corner. "What the hell, Frank?" he said. "I think we've got the loan, Tif. But he wants to see all of us.
"Hi, Art and Joe it's us," Ramos almost apologized. "Yeah we don't quite know yet what Tiflin is pulling. But here we are if it's you we're talking to..." There was the usual long wait as impulses bridged the light-minutes. Then Art Kuzak's voice snarled guardedly. "I hear you, Ram and Nel. Come in, if you can...! Tif, you garbage! Someday...! This is all. This is all..." The message broke off.
Binns' office is situated, and we are waited upon by several of his business acquaintances; among them a member of the celebrated celebrated in Asia Minor Tif- ticjeeoghlou family, whose ancestors have been prominently engaged in the mohair business for so long that their very name is significatory of their profession Tifticjee-oghlou, literally, "Mohair-dealer's son."
But Ramos wasn't unkind. He checked himself in time. "No sweat, Tif," he muttered. "Hey, Gimp are you going to sit in that Archie all night?" Joe Kuzak, the easy-going twin, boomed genially. "How about the rest of us?" "Yeah how about that, Gimp?" Dave Lester put in, trying to sound as brash and bold as the others, instead of just bookish.
So it was, until, near the end of a long ride, a cluster of bubbs was in view in the near distance, and Ramos and Nelsen could contact Art Kuzak themselves. "We've got Tiflin and his Tovie pal with us, Art," Frank Nelsen said. "They showed us the way, more or less because we made them. But Tif did give us the right position at the start. A favor, maybe. I don't know.
Nelsen felt a tingle in his nerves very cold. "Hi what cooks, Tif?" he said mildly. "To you it's which?" Tiflin snapped. Nelson led him on. "Sometimes I think of all the dough in that bank," he said. "Yeah," Tiflin snarled softly. "That old coot, Charlie Reynolds' grandpa, sitting by his vault door. Too obvious, though here. Maybe in another bank in another town. We could get the cash we need.
Hell, though be cavalier it's just a thought." "You damned fool!" Nelsen hissed slowly. It was harder than ever to like Tiflin for anything at all. But he did have that terrible, star-reaching desperation. Nelsen had quite a bit of it, himself. He knew, now. "Get up to Tech, Tif," he said like an order. "If you have a chance, tell my math prof I might be a little late..."
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