That morning began like all the preceding mornings of the past two years with the tinny jangling of the little alarm clock on Robin Carew’s bureau. Opening his black eyes, he struggled into a sitting position on the narrow bed, reached out his hand and turned off the alarm. He yawned, swung his feet to the floor, rubbed his eyes. It was half past seven again of another workday morning.
There was no inkling that this day would be any different from others. It was Monday again, which meant the start of the next five and a half days’ stretch of work. Sunday had come and gone, now just a memory of a walk in the city’s small park and sitting on a bench under the afternoon sun reading a library book on astronomy.
Well, there was no getting around it, Robin thought. The stars, the glory of the heavens—for him perhaps they would always be just a daydream of his idle hours, never to be more than a vision of the imagination, a thrill to be shared only by the printed words of other men’s observations and doings.
He got up, yawned his entire five foot three, stared in the tarnished mirror over the worn bureau. He looked blankly at himself, then suddenly winked. Ah, he thought, while there’s life there’s hope—and besides, he had to get to work. He ran a brush through his tousled brown hair, took off his pajamas, and climbed into his work clothes. Grabbing his towel and his toothbrush, he opened the door and went out into the hall toward the washroom.
The facilities at the Y were always clean at least, and maybe in a few more months he would be promoted out of the apprentice class at the factory. Then he could afford to get a bigger room on the floor above with his own washstand and shower.
After he had returned and finished dressing, he glanced out the narrow window. He could just make out a slit of sky and spot the sidewalk below. It was a sunny day, he saw, and a warm one. Putting on his jacket, he left his cap behind and went out, locking the door of his little room behind him.
Not waiting for the creaky elevator, he skipped down the iron stairs to the lobby. Waving hello to a couple of his fellow boarders, he made his way over to the newsstand. There he paused to glance at the headlines, to scan the racks of magazines to see if there were any he might think of buying that he hadn’t seen before. He didn’t notice any. His eye, rapidly discarding the featured stories in the papers about the usual crimes and politics, was caught by a small heading:
ROCKET PROGRAM AHEAD OF SCHEDULE—PROJECT CHIEF REPORTS TESTS ARE MANY MONTHS ADVANCED!
There was no inkling that this day would be any different from others. It was Monday again, which meant the start of the next five and a half days’ stretch of work. Sunday had come and gone, now just a memory of a walk in the city’s small park and sitting on a bench under the afternoon sun reading a library book on astronomy.
Well, there was no getting around it, Robin thought. The stars, the glory of the heavens—for him perhaps they would always be just a daydream of his idle hours, never to be more than a vision of the imagination, a thrill to be shared only by the printed words of other men’s observations and doings.
He got up, yawned his entire five foot three, stared in the tarnished mirror over the worn bureau. He looked blankly at himself, then suddenly winked. Ah, he thought, while there’s life there’s hope—and besides, he had to get to work. He ran a brush through his tousled brown hair, took off his pajamas, and climbed into his work clothes. Grabbing his towel and his toothbrush, he opened the door and went out into the hall toward the washroom.
The facilities at the Y were always clean at least, and maybe in a few more months he would be promoted out of the apprentice class at the factory. Then he could afford to get a bigger room on the floor above with his own washstand and shower.
After he had returned and finished dressing, he glanced out the narrow window. He could just make out a slit of sky and spot the sidewalk below. It was a sunny day, he saw, and a warm one. Putting on his jacket, he left his cap behind and went out, locking the door of his little room behind him.
Not waiting for the creaky elevator, he skipped down the iron stairs to the lobby. Waving hello to a couple of his fellow boarders, he made his way over to the newsstand. There he paused to glance at the headlines, to scan the racks of magazines to see if there were any he might think of buying that he hadn’t seen before. He didn’t notice any. His eye, rapidly discarding the featured stories in the papers about the usual crimes and politics, was caught by a small heading:
ROCKET PROGRAM AHEAD OF SCHEDULE—PROJECT CHIEF REPORTS TESTS ARE MANY MONTHS ADVANCED!
