"Be careful now." Harold squinted at him through the one lens of his glasses. "Don't tear her on a rock or anything. You'd pop like a kid's balloon."
"Wait a minute!"
Harold paused, holding the helmet.
"I can't go through with it," Orville said. "I was planning a mean trick on you. I was going to be the first man."
"What difference does that make? We're both in on it together." Harold clapped the helmet down on Orville's shoulders. He tightened some clamps and leaned close and said something which Orville could not hear. Then Orville saw that he wanted to shake hands, so Orville shook his hand.
Harold squirmed back through the hole into the nose, waved and shut the door.
Orville aimed the flashlight at the outer door. He turned the valve beside the door, feeling the suit puff out around him, and when the pressure in the compartment was gone, he reached toward the handle. His eyes were watering. He had to use all of his strength to move the handle; then the door popped open, swinging out and down, and he was looking out at the Moon.
There was glaring light and a kind of fog. He laid down the flashlight and, groping, found the soup carton in which he'd put the refuse accumulated during the trip, and flung the box into the fog.
He looked out again. There was nothing but the glaring white void. "Well, that settles that!" There was no use getting out. On the other hand, how about a souvenir?