beast." He said it slow and hard, and he left no room forargument.
When she had got the huge boots over his shrunken feet, the magnasolesclanged against the iron bedframe and clung there, and she rolled him upso that he could look at them, and Old Donegal chuckled inside. He feltwarm and clean and pleasantly dizzy.
"The whiskey, Martha, and for God's sake, make them stop the noise tillafter the firing. Please!"
She went to the window and looked out for a long time. Then she cameback and poured him an insignificant drink.
"Well?"
"I don't know," she said. "I saw Father Paul on the terrace, talking tosomebody."
"Is it time?"
She glanced at the clock, looked at him doubtfully, and nodded. "Nearlytime."
The orchestra finished a number, but the babble of laughing voicescontinued. Old Donegal sagged. "They won't do it. They're the Keiths,Martha. Why should I ruin their party?"
She turned to stare at him, slowly shook her head. He heard someoneshouting, but then a trumpet started softly, introducing a new number.Martha sucked in a hurt breath, pressed her hands together, and hurriedfrom the room.
"It's too late," he said after her.
Her footsteps stopped on the stairs. The trumpet was alone. Donegallistened; and there was no babble of voices, and the rest of theorchestra was silent. Only the trumpet sang--and it puzzled him, hearingthe same slow bugle-notes of the call played at the lowering of thecolors.
The trumpet stopped suddenly. Then he knew it had been for him.
A brief hush--then thunder came from the blast-station two miles to thewest. First the low reverberation, rattling the windows, then the risinggrowl as the sleek beast knifed skyward on a column of blue-white hell.It grew and grew until it drowned the distant traffic sounds anddominated the silence outside.
_Quit crying, you old fool, you maudlin ass ..._
"My boots," he whispered, "my boots ... please ..."
"You've got them on, Donny."
He sank quietly then. He closed his eyes and let his heart go up withthe beast, and he sank into the gravity padding of the blastroom, andCaid was with him, and Oley. And when Ronald Keith, III, instructed theorchestra to play Blastroom Man, after the beast's rumble had waned, OldDonegal was on his last moon-run, and he was grinning. He'd had a goodday.
Martha went to the window to stare out at the thin black trail thatcurled starward above the blast-station through the twilight sky. Guestson the terrace were watching it too.
The doorbell rang. That would be Ken, too late. She closed the windowagainst the chill breeze, and went back to the bed. The boots, theheavy, clumsy boots--they clung to the bedframe, with his feet half outof them. She took them off gently and set them out of company's sight.Then she went to answer the door.
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ March 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
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