Old Charlie kept roaring:
"The hell with your breadlines!
I'm talking about atomic bombs.
Right—up—there!" And he pointed at the Moon.
It was a nice night, but the liquor was dying in me.
There was a joint around the corner, so I went in and had a drink to carry me to the club; I had a bottle there.
I got into the first cab that came.
"Athletic Club," I said.
"Inna dawghouse, harh?" the driver said, and he gave me a big personality smile.
I didn't say anything and he started the car.
He was right, of course.
I was in everybody's doghouse. Some day I'd scare hell out of Tom and Lise by going home and showing them what their daddy looked like.
Down at the Institute, I was in the doghouse.
"Oh, dear," everybody at the Institute said to everybody,
"I'm sure I don't know what ails the man.
A lovely wife and two lovely grown children and she had to tell him 'either you go or I go.'
And drinking!
And this is rather subtle, but it's a well-known fact that neurotics seek out low company to compensate for their guilt feelings.
The places he frequents.
Doctor Francis Bowman, the man who made space flight a reality.
The man who put the Bomb Base on the Moon!
Really, I'm sure I don't know what ails him."
The hell with them all.