"What's that, boy?"
"A--a rest room."
"What's the matter, boy? You _do_ look sick. Too much excitement,
maybe?"
Tom motioned frantically.
Harry Hayden pointed, slow comprehension crawling over his puffy
features. "Up the ramp, to your right."
Tom Rogers made it just in time....
* * * * *
Many voices:
"Happy Driving to You,
Happy Driving to You,
Happy Driving, Dear Taaa-ahmmm--" (pause)
"Happy Driving to--" (flourish) "--You!"
An explosion of laughter. A descent of beaming faces, a thrusting
forward of hands.
Mom reached him first. Her small face was pale under its thin coat
of make-up. Her firm, rounded body was like a girl's in its dress of
swishing Martian silk, yet her blue eyes were sad and her voice held a
trembling fear:
"You passed, Tom?" Softly.
Tom's upper lip twitched. Was she afraid that he'd passed the tests--or
that he hadn't! He wasn't sure.
Before he could answer, Dad broke in, hilariously. "Everybody passes
these days excepts idiots and cripples!"
Tom tried to join the chorus of laughter.