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Spaceways, v. 4, issue 2, January 1942
Page 9
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SPACEWAYS 9 THE LOG OF THE FOOFOO SPECIAL rebelled. Tears flooded down my face, and my lids absolutely refused to stay open more than a few seconds at a time. So I was forced to pull off the road and quit. After dozing a quarter of an hour, I tried it again, but when we caught up with the storm once more, it was no use. The others awakened at the second stop and after some consultation, I moved over and Rusty took the wheel. After a few moments, satisfied that he was a competent driver, I went out like a light, and did not waken until the gray of early morning showed us to be in Indianapolis. July 10th--When we stopped for gas we had a bad turn. The tank appeared to be leaking--dribbling away on the ground at a great rate from between one of the seams. We were completely baffled at this turn ofevents. The only thing we could do was drive on a bit, and repeat observations. This we did, consuming a bit of breakfast meanwhile. Said breakfast consisted of milk or coffee and a doughnut, for we were all harboring our practically non-existent resources. When we finished, we again inspected the gas tank and everything seemed all X. We concluded that the attendant must have overflowed the tank a trifle, and some gas had evidently dribbled down the outside of the fill pipe to the tank, collected, and dripped off a small projection. So--only 100 miles to Cincinnati! It took us about three hours to get there and about an hour to find Tarr's place--he wasn't home--then Ross Rocklynne's. Ross was the only one home and he welcomed us in royally--and at last we had a chance to compare the much-discussed resemblance between him and Rusty. For a while we sat around looking stupid from fatigue, as Ross plied us with questions about the Denvention and received unintelligible replies filtered thru iced tea and bananas, which was all that happened to be in the larder. Seeing how bedraggled we were, Ross suggested we take a bath sort of to revive ourselves before we went to see Charlie Tanner. One by one, we trooped into the Rocklynne bathroom and duly deposited five rings in the tub. That helped a bit, but we were still tired and hungry, and asked for the nearest good restaurant, but Ross insisted we have supper there when the rest of the family came home. You see, Ross is an author, and the others work for a living. Off we went, and after what seemed to be interminable twistings and turnings, we finally emerged from a woody hillside to arrive at the hospital where "Tumithak" is giving the old TB bug a terrific beating. He was pickled tink to see us, and got a great kick out of the story of our trip and the Denvention. In the middle of all the hilarity and Chicon reminiscences, the hospital smell, lack of food, etc., became too much for Milty, and he slid down the side of the wall like an old dishrag. I had never seen a faint before, and I was afraid for a moment that only four fans were going to leave Cincinnati. I had visions of a shallow grave and a crude cross, carved: "here lies Milty, scientifiction's first martyr. Perished bravely of starvation on the Widner Expeditionary Force of '41." To steal a phrase from Schmarje: "Gad!" But Ross grabbed a passing nurse, who shoved some smelly salts under the Tree Toad's beezer, and he was okay in a few minutes. All too soon Charlie's stern-faced nurse came and forcibly ejected us, and back we went to the Rocklynne roast. By that time his brother, sister and mother were home and were introduced all around. Once more we tried to leave, but Ross told us if we didn't stay for supper we could never darken his bathtub again. That quip stayed us, and shortly the feed bag was put on. Our last good meal had been somewhere in Missouri, more than twenty-four hours ago, but we still couldn't make away with the bounty that was placed before us: one of those picnic suppers that make a full-fledged banquet look like small potatoes. A dozen different kinds of cold cuts, potato salad, lettuce, tomatoes, gallons of iced tea, varieties of cake and cookies--I can't remember half of it, but there was such a profusion of good things to eat that we half-starved galoots didn't know where to begin. According to Mrs. Swisher, I am the satingest fan there is, and I tried to
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SPACEWAYS 9 THE LOG OF THE FOOFOO SPECIAL rebelled. Tears flooded down my face, and my lids absolutely refused to stay open more than a few seconds at a time. So I was forced to pull off the road and quit. After dozing a quarter of an hour, I tried it again, but when we caught up with the storm once more, it was no use. The others awakened at the second stop and after some consultation, I moved over and Rusty took the wheel. After a few moments, satisfied that he was a competent driver, I went out like a light, and did not waken until the gray of early morning showed us to be in Indianapolis. July 10th--When we stopped for gas we had a bad turn. The tank appeared to be leaking--dribbling away on the ground at a great rate from between one of the seams. We were completely baffled at this turn ofevents. The only thing we could do was drive on a bit, and repeat observations. This we did, consuming a bit of breakfast meanwhile. Said breakfast consisted of milk or coffee and a doughnut, for we were all harboring our practically non-existent resources. When we finished, we again inspected the gas tank and everything seemed all X. We concluded that the attendant must have overflowed the tank a trifle, and some gas had evidently dribbled down the outside of the fill pipe to the tank, collected, and dripped off a small projection. So--only 100 miles to Cincinnati! It took us about three hours to get there and about an hour to find Tarr's place--he wasn't home--then Ross Rocklynne's. Ross was the only one home and he welcomed us in royally--and at last we had a chance to compare the much-discussed resemblance between him and Rusty. For a while we sat around looking stupid from fatigue, as Ross plied us with questions about the Denvention and received unintelligible replies filtered thru iced tea and bananas, which was all that happened to be in the larder. Seeing how bedraggled we were, Ross suggested we take a bath sort of to revive ourselves before we went to see Charlie Tanner. One by one, we trooped into the Rocklynne bathroom and duly deposited five rings in the tub. That helped a bit, but we were still tired and hungry, and asked for the nearest good restaurant, but Ross insisted we have supper there when the rest of the family came home. You see, Ross is an author, and the others work for a living. Off we went, and after what seemed to be interminable twistings and turnings, we finally emerged from a woody hillside to arrive at the hospital where "Tumithak" is giving the old TB bug a terrific beating. He was pickled tink to see us, and got a great kick out of the story of our trip and the Denvention. In the middle of all the hilarity and Chicon reminiscences, the hospital smell, lack of food, etc., became too much for Milty, and he slid down the side of the wall like an old dishrag. I had never seen a faint before, and I was afraid for a moment that only four fans were going to leave Cincinnati. I had visions of a shallow grave and a crude cross, carved: "here lies Milty, scientifiction's first martyr. Perished bravely of starvation on the Widner Expeditionary Force of '41." To steal a phrase from Schmarje: "Gad!" But Ross grabbed a passing nurse, who shoved some smelly salts under the Tree Toad's beezer, and he was okay in a few minutes. All too soon Charlie's stern-faced nurse came and forcibly ejected us, and back we went to the Rocklynne roast. By that time his brother, sister and mother were home and were introduced all around. Once more we tried to leave, but Ross told us if we didn't stay for supper we could never darken his bathtub again. That quip stayed us, and shortly the feed bag was put on. Our last good meal had been somewhere in Missouri, more than twenty-four hours ago, but we still couldn't make away with the bounty that was placed before us: one of those picnic suppers that make a full-fledged banquet look like small potatoes. A dozen different kinds of cold cuts, potato salad, lettuce, tomatoes, gallons of iced tea, varieties of cake and cookies--I can't remember half of it, but there was such a profusion of good things to eat that we half-starved galoots didn't know where to begin. According to Mrs. Swisher, I am the satingest fan there is, and I tried to
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