But Dr. Bryant caught his arm. "Oh, no you don't, my friend! Lane and Muldoon need a few hours privacy, but I am much too excited to let everyone get away from me. Let's go to my rooms. I must discuss this matter with someone."
"That's it, then," nodded Gary. "We'll meet in the projection room at—let's see—five p.m. That's O.Q. with everyone? So long, then. Flick, careful with those shots!"
Muldoon glared at him aggrievedly.
"You're telling me?" he retorted. "Listen, pal—to me they're fresh laid eggs, and I'm the mama hen."
Thus the meeting disbanded.
At four-thirty, Gary Lane spoke a last, "yours truly" into his stenoreel, snapped the switch which sent the machine into operation as a transcriber, rose and yawned vigorously.
"That," he said, "is that! Thank goodness. I don't know how I would have ever finished up without your help, Miss Powell."
Nora Powell said, "I'm glad I was of some assistance, Dr. Lane."
"Some assistance?" grinned Gary. "You were the whole works. I wouldn't have known how to answer half those letters if you hadn't been here to advise me. Say, by the way—" He glanced at her quizzically—"Am I forgiven yet? I mean about that business down at the rocketdrome?"