There was the nerve-tingling pause which precedes an earthquake. Then the boys were on their feet, shouting all at once. It was difficult to make out words, but the motion had been passed by acclamation; the Galileo Club intended to go to the moon.

When the buzzing had died down, Cargraves noticed that Ross's face was suddenly grave. "What's the matter, Ross? Cold feet already?"

"No," Ross shook his head. "I'm afraid it's too good to be true."

"Could be, could be. I think I know what's worrying you. Your parents?"

"Uh, huh. I doubt if our folks will ever let us do it."

CARGRAVES LOOKED AT THEIR woebegone faces. He knew what they were faced with; a boy can't just step up to his father and say, "By the way, old man, count me out on those plans we made for me to go to college. I've got a date to meet Santa Claus at the North Pole." It was the real reason he had hesitated before speaking of his plans. Finally he said, "I'm afraid it's up to each of you. Your promise to me does not apply to your parents, but ask them to respect your confidence. I don't want our plans to get into the news."

"But look, Doctor Cargraves," Morrie put in, "why be so secret about it? It might make our folks feel that it was just a wild-eyed kid's dream. Why can't you just go to them and explain where we would fit into it?"

"No," Cargraves answered, "they are your parents. When and if they want to see me, I'll go to them and try to give satisfactory answers. But you will have to convince them that you mean business. As to secrecy, the reasons are these: there is only one aspect of my idea that can be patented and, under the rules of the UN Atomics Convention, it can be licensed by any one who wants to use it. The company is obtaining the patent, but not as a rocket device. The idea that I can apply it to a cheap, shoestring venture into space travel is mine and I don't want any one else to beat me to it with more money and stronger backing. Just before we are ready to leave we will call in the reporters—probably to run a story about how we busted our necks on the take-off."

"But I see your point," he went on. "We don't want this to look like a mad-scientist-and-secret-laboratory set-up. Well, I'll try to convince them."

Doctor Cargraves made an exception in the case of Art's mother, because she was his own sister. He cautioned Art to retire to his basement laboratory as soon as dinner was over and then, after helping with the dishes, spoke to her. She listened quietly while he explained. "Well, what do you think of it?

She sat very still, her eyes everywhere but on his face, her hands busy twisting and untwisting her handkerchief. "Don, you can't do this to me." He waited for her to go on.

"I can't let him go, Don. He's all I've got. With Hans gone... ."

"I know that," the doctor answered gently. "But Hans has been gone since Art was a baby. You can't limit the boy on that account."

"Do you think that makes it any easier?" She was close to tears.

"No, I don't. But it is on Hans' account that you must not keep his son in cotton batting. Hans had courage to burn. If he had been willing to knuckle under to the Nazis he would have stayed at Kaiser Wilhelm Institute. But Hans was a scientist. He wouldn't trim his notion of truth to fit political gangsters. He-"

"And it killed him!"

"I know, I know. But remember, Grace, it was only the fact that you were an American girl that enabled you to pull enough strings to get him out of the concentration camp."

"I don't see what that's got to do with it. Oh, you should have seen him when they let him out!" She was crying now.

"I did see him when you brought him to this country," he said gently, "and that was bad enough. But the fact that you are American has a lot to do with it. We have a tradition of freedom, personal freedom, scientific freedom. That freedom isn't kept alive by caution and unwillingness to take risks. If Hans were alive he would be going with me—you know that, Sis. You owe it to his son not to keep him caged. You can't keep him tied to your apron strings forever, anyhow. A few more years and you will have to let him follow his own bent."

Her head was bowed. She did not answer. He patted her shoulder. "You think it over, Sis. I'll try to bring him back in one piece." When Art came upstairs, much later, his mother was still sitting, waiting for him. "Arthur?"

"Yes, Mother."

"You want to go to the moon?"

"Yes, Mother."

She took a deep breath, then replied steadily. "You be a good boy on the moon, Arthur. You do what your uncle tells you to."

"I will, Mother."

Morrie managed to separate his father from the rest of the swarming brood shortly after dinner. "Poppa, I want to talk to you man to man."

"And how else?"

"Well, this is different. I know you wanted me to come into the business, but you agreed to help me go to Tech."

His father nodded. "The business will get along. Scientists we are proud to have in the family. Your Uncle Bernard is a fine surgeon. Do we ask him to help with the business?"

"Yes, Poppa, but that's just it-I don't want to go to Tech."

"So? Another school?"

"No, I don't want to go to school." He explained Doctor Cargraves' scheme, blurting it out as fast as possible in an attempt to give his father the whole picture before he set his mind. Finished, he waited.

His father rocked back and forth. "So it's the moon now, is it? And maybe next week the sun. A man should settle down if he expects to accomplish anything, Maurice."

"But, Poppa, this is what I want to accomplish!"

"When do you expect to start?"

"You mean you'll let me? I can?"

"Not so fast, Maurice. I did not say yes; I did not say no. It has been quite a while since you stood up before the congregation and made your speech, ‘Today I am a man-‘ That meant you were a man, Maurice, right that moment. It's not for me to let you; it's for me to advise you. I advise you not to. I think it's foolishness."

Morrie stood silent, stubborn but respectful.

"Wait a week, then come back and tell me what you are going to do. There's a pretty good chance that you will break your neck on this scheme, isn't there?"

"Well... yes, I suppose so."

"A week isn't too long to make up your mind to kill yourself. In the meantime, don't talk to Momma about this."

"Oh, I won't!"

"If you decide to go ahead anyway, I'll break the news to her. Momma isn't going to like this, Maurice."

Doctor Donald Cargraves received a telephone call the next morning which requested him, if convenient, to come to the Jenkins' home. He did so, feeling, unreasonably he thought, as if he were being called in on the carpet. He found Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins in the drawing room; Ross was not in sight. Mr. Jenkins shook hands with him and offered him a chair.

"Cigarette, Doctor? Cigar?"

"Neither, thank you."

"If you smoke a pipe," Mrs. Jenkins added, "please do so." Cargraves thanked her and gratefully stoked up his old stinker.

"Ross tells me a strange story," Mr. Jenkins started in. "If he were not pretty reliable I'd think his imagination was working overtime. Perhaps you can explain it."

"I'll try, sir."

"Thanks. Is it true, Doctor, that you intend to try to make a trip to the moon."

"Quite true."

"Well! Is it also true that you have invited Ross and his chums to go with you in this fantastic adventure?"

"Yes, it is." Doctor Cargraves found that he was biting hard on the stem of his pipe.

Mr. Jenkins stared at him. "I'm amazed. Even if it were something safe and sane, your choice of boys as partners strikes me as outlandish." Cargraves explained why he believed the boys could be competent junior partners in the enterprise. "In any case," he concluded, "being young is not necessarily a handicap. The great majority of the scientists in the Manhattan Project were very young men."