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ONE CAME BACK By GEORGE WHITLEY The freighter's crew was ready to rescue the survivors of the first two-way rocket trip to the moon, until— IT WAS one of those distressing meals. Personally, I can sympathize with the Old Man. We all have our pet aversions (mine is snakes, real ones) and to find such an object in one's food makes one inclined to take the ship apart with one's bare hands. In the Old Man's case it was insects. And he found a cockroach in his soup. The Mate didn't improve matters. He suggested that it would have been worse, much worse, if he'd found only half a cockroach. I thought that Pop was going to be literally, physically sick. A greenish pallor overspread his usually ruddy features, and he gulped once or twice. But he regained control. "Tell the Chief Steward I want him. At once!" he barked at Watson, who was waiting at table. Just then the News came on. The speaker on the after-bulkhead had been ladling out music, dreamy, Viennese waltzes that had formed merely a pleasant background to the |
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