“Wait,” he said.
“Wait?”
“Of course. We shall have to wait until our air gets warm again, and
then this glass will clear. We can’t do anything till then. It’s night
here yet; we must wait for the day to overtake us. Meanwhile, don’t you
feel hungry?”
For a space I did not answer him, but sat fretting. I turned
reluctantly from the smeared puzzle of the glass and stared at
his face. “Yes,” I said, “I am hungry. I feel somehow enormously
disappointed. I had expected--I don’t know what I had expected, but not
this.”
I summoned my philosophy, and rearranging my blanket about me sat down
on the bale again and began my first meal on the moon. I don’t think
I finished it--I forget. Presently, first in patches, then running
rapidly together into wider spaces, came the clearing of the glass,
came the drawing of the misty veil that hid the moon world from our
eyes.
We peered out upon the landscape of the moon.