"Oh boy! Indian Hill! At last!" Then he sobered, thinking of paunchy, bland-faced, nervous Mr. Fobey.
"Will Fobey bring his air sluice?"
"He says he will."
"All right then. Indian Hill! Whoopee!"
He kissed them, and went larking toward the door but his mother snagged him.
"I hope you aren't forgetting your chores, young man."
"Yeah—weeding. I don't see why we don't have all ponics, like everybody else. Gee whiz, can't I skip it just today. It's the next to the last day for the Hester."
"What's the Hester, for goodness sake?"
"Why, the rocket! The glass rocket!"
She held her son's head between her hands and held her eyes on his. "Pete, we told you not to go near that rocket. I mean it. Stay ... away ... from ... it! I know what I'm saying. Stay away from it!"