There was a dead silence.
"Oh, it's all on the films the automatic cameras shot. I wasn't too
much interested myself."
The reporters frowned in disappointment but tried again.
"What do you intend to do now that you're back? Do the town, go on a
fishing trip...."
Whiteford looked at them as if they had crawled out from under a rock.
"Nonsense!" he snarled. "I'll get back to my office, of course!"
* * * * *
Maxwell looked at the president of Personnel approvingly. "I honestly
didn't think you could do it, once I heard that you had gone." He
paused and fumbled with his pipe. "Pretty tough, wasn't it?"
Whiteford knocked the ash off his cigarette and reached for the bottle
of pills on his desk. "I wouldn't say so," he said expansively. "Just a
matter of being fitted for the job."
Maxwell inspected his fingernails. "You didn't take the examinations
your own outfit rigged up. Any particular reason?"
Whiteford looked annoyed. "I was technically qualified--engineering
course in college. As for the rest, I successfully piloted the ship
which should establish something on that score."
Maxwell twirled his hat self-consciously. A half smile played on his
lips. "Oh, sure. Absolutely." He tamped his pipe. "You know, it's hard
to visualize anybody wanting to go to the moon. It must be--well, some
terrific drive that makes them do it."