"Because he's got a face that would scare children and the physique of
an underfed fieldmouse. Pull you out of that hero role you're in and
you'd fall so flat on your face that folks would be calling you Old
Doormat. Now snap out of it, Dusty, and be glad you've got hold of a
good thing. Stop looking for something you couldn't handle."
Angrily Dusty got up out of his chair. "I suppose you think it's fun to
have to go roaming around the country wearing this jazzed-up surveyor's
suit with a three-pound chunk of rusty iron clanking on my hip."
"To date they've sold three and a quarter million replicas of that
Dusty Britton Blaster you're so contemptuous of, and you've received
ten cents for every one that crossed the counter. What's so damned bad
about that?"
"I feel silly."
Gramer roared with laughter, then cut it to one short bark as he cooled
down to eye Britton angrily. "What's so damned silly about being a
model of honor and respect for several million kids?" he demanded.
"Did you ever think how imbecilic it sounds to be Dusty Britton of The
Space Patrol, with no space to patrol, wearing a blaster that doesn't
blast? And wearing a pack of medals stamped out in the model shop? What
does it all add up to?"
Martin Gramer tossed the stump of his cigar at the disposal chute and
faced Dusty with a hard expression. "It adds up to a lot, Dusty. It
adds up to a damned good living for you. It adds up to--maybe something
you're too dumb to understand, but I'll spiel it off anyway--being
an ideal. Damn it, man, there's millions of kids in this world that
eat, think and dream about the Space Patrol and Dusty Britton. You're
an idol as well as an ideal, Dusty. Kids follow a big name man. It's
a darned sight better that they follow an ideal rooted in virtue,
strength, honesty and chivalry than to have them trying to emulate
characters like Shotgun Hal Machin or Joseph Oregon."
"Yeah," drawled Dusty, "But do you know what it means?"
"You tell me your version, Dusty. As if I hadn't heard your gripe
before."
* * * * *
The disgruntled actor took a deep breath, opened his mouth, but then
closed it again. He let out most of the blast he was preparing and
said, quietly but disgustedly, "Why waste my breath? Dusty Britton
doesn't smoke. Dusty Britton drinks soda pop and milk. The only women
in Dusty Britton's life are his aged mother and his younger sister.
Dusty Britton's biggest gamble is when he offers to bet a Saturnstone
on this or that. Hell's Eternal Fire, Gramer, do you realize that I
can't even date a dame for a dance because 'Kids don't care for the
mush stuff!' and my private life is not my own? I can't even swear,
god-dammit!"