"Last year I got mad when Everson announced plans to hit the moon. His name was in headlines every day. He was becoming a hero without even leaving the ground. And there were a hundred men whose bodies were already lost on Luna. They were the real heroes, the real pioneers. This celebration today--it's a mockery. I want the world to know the truth." * * * * * For the space of a minute the small-eyed man was silent. His fingers toyed with the stone and the photograph. Finally he murmured, "Suppose I publish your story. How much do you want for it?" To Jeffrey, the words were like April sunshine streaking into a cobwebbed winter attic. "You--you want to use the story? You believe me?" "I didn't say I believe it. I don't give a damn whether it's true or not. My job is to sell newspapers. I asked how much you want for it." "Nothing," Jeffrey said softly. The small-eyed man grunted. "We could flood the city with the afternoon edition. People are buying anything with a moon angle. The Russians wouldn't shout for joy, but there shouldn't be any harm done at this late date." His eyes brightened. "We might get away with it. We've got your stone. We could demand that Everson locate the place where you got it and either prove or disprove your story. Why, that'd be good for months!" He laughed. "What a damper we'll put on _this_ celebration! We'll make the city seem like a morgue. It's a dirty, lousy trick, but by God it'll sell papers!" Jeffrey leaned forward, squinting. "A dirty, lousy trick? What do you mean?" "Skip it." The man's enthusiasm was rising. He was like fizzing soda in a thumb-stoppered, shaken bottle. "We got to get this story in print. Hey, Marty! Get the dicto-typer over here! I've been waiting all my life to yell stop those presses. Marty! _Stop those goddamn presses!_" "What did you mean?" Jeffrey insisted. "How can telling people the truth be a dirty, lousy trick?" The small-eyed man laughed again. "You don't think folks'll _like_ this story, do you? You don't think they'll feel like celebrating when they read this, do you? It's a cinch they won't start cheering _you_ for what you did almost twenty years ago! Say, wait'll Everson sees that moon pic plastered on my front page. _There's_ an angle! A pic of Everson's expression! Hey, Marty! Get me--" * * * * * Restlessly, Jeffrey rose and shuffled to a window. One of the city's myriad parades, like a battalion of colored ants, was streaming down the street. The small-eyed man yelled, "Come on, let's have that story again! This time it's for publication." Jeffrey didn't answer. Odd thoughts were stirring in deep recesses of his mind. "Come on! Let's have that story!" Jeffrey stared out the window, a far-away gaze in his eyes. "Do--do you suppose I was the only one who remembered? There must be others. I couldn't be the only one."