Page:Stirring Science Stories, February 1941.djvu/53

 from the bowels of the craft behind him. Presently a leather-clad man stumbled and squirmed through the narrow way, into the too-small control room.

The newcomer was several inches shorter than Congreve. "You can stretch, now," he exulted. "You can stretch that scarecrow frame of yours to your heart's content once we get that door open. Earth at last! And what a trip!"

Congreve hunched over to peer through the quartzite front port. His blue eyes took in the scene outside, the blue sky, the green foliage, multicolored flowers, and the colonial mansion reposing in the midst of it. His eyes took in the scene again hungrily. "No," he whispered, as if in answer to a question, "there isn't another place in the universe as beautiful as Earth."

"Right!" boomed the voice behind him. "So let's open the door and get out onto beautiful Earth while its still here." Congreve nodded. "You first, Dave."

Preceded by Mitchell, he made his way back into the depths of the ship again; casting a passing glance at the tiny cabin in which the two men had lived and slept, the past three months, he squeezed his way to the door of the lock. They got the first door open and Mitchell went inside the small space of the air-lock to swing the heavy outer door open, shouting gaily as it gave outward and he swung himself to the ground below.

Congreve pushed through after him, burst out laughing at the sight of the little man rolling about on the soft dirt like a puppy which had just had a bath. He felt like doing the same, but after all, Mitchell was the cut-up. The papers would not expect such doings from him.

The chief pilot and captain of the two-man ship let himself down on the newly upthrown soil and essayed a step. He staggered a bit, unused to the gravity he had missed these many weeks. Then he threw up his arms, indulged in a good long stretch, filling his lungs with the clean, fresh air. "It's good," he proclaimed to no one in particular.

HAT'S GOOD? You've ruined the best tulip beds on Long Island, thrown dirt and rocks all over the place, nearly scared me and my guest to death, then you stand there and say 'it's good'!" came an infuriated voice a few feet distant. "What a crust you rocket bums have! Just because you're crazy and think you can fly to the moon, don't think that you can get away with destroying an honest man's property. You may be a hero to kids, but you're a pain to me! And you'll pay for every bit of damage that infernal contraption of yours has done to my estate!" Staunton had arrived upon the scene.

Congreve looked up, startled; Mitchell scrambled to his feet, wiped away some of the dirt that was smeared on him. Neither one knew quite what to say. They had been prepared, mentally, to answer reporters or newsreel men mayors, or any other similar forms of welcoming committee. But this was totally unexpected.

Congreve cleared his throat. "I sincerely regret, sir, if we have damaged your property, and assure you that we can pay for any destruction the ship has caused."

Staunton bristled. "Pay!" he wailed. "That won't restore my grounds; that won't replace my flowers. It'll take years before anything will grow here again! You've burned