They were using Indian Hill to cancel out his last day with the Hester! He gritted his teeth with a scrawtch that raised goose pimples even on himself. "I won't go! It doesn't have to be tomorrow!" Grammy's face began to winter and his mother's face grew harder as she said, very firmly, "It's tomorrow, and you certainly _are_ coming." "I won't!" he exploded, and ran out to the barn. He lay in the hay in the tallest now, feeling like a miserable sick solitary cat. After awhile he dialed his radio, 29 on the eight orb, and Murph came right in. "How's it goin', Murph?" "Oh--it's you. You in trouble?" "Nah--but I can't see you today. I wondered if you could take me up tomorrow? I mean, if there's room, that is?" "Your Ma want you to go up?" "It's okay--they just wanted me for chores today. How about it?" "Sure, if there's room." "Hooray! See you tomorrow." "Okay, kid. And look--if you don't make it, I'll blow you a kiss." "What's that?" "I thought you knew. You know how the jet flame is? Blue. Well, if you change the fuel mix it goes orange. That's blowing a kiss. Every rocketman knows about it." "Wow! I'll be there, though. You won't have to blow me one." "Okay, Pete." "Okay, Murph." They dialed out. He lay in the hay a long time, making his plans. In the morning the women were delighted with him. He bubbled about relics and Indian bones and pranced and paced and kept running to the window to look for Mr. Fobey's copter. When it settled and the port opened he whooped aboard, the first one on, and scrambled into the baggage hold. He slammed the little door and slid a screwdriver between the knob and the door frame. Up forward, he heard the others boarding. I gotta work fast, he told himself. Somebody began to pound on the little door. "Petey's in there!" piped a voice. "He won't let anybody else in!" He could tell it was old blabbermouth Sally Doolittle, that all the kids called a nosey little squirt. "I'm gonna watch through the glass deck!" he yelled. "It's my party, and I'm gonna watch alone." Crouching in the small hold, he began to work at the catches of the unloading hatch. He wasn't sure it opened from the inside--but it had to. He had to drop through before the copter left the ground. The motors started. He heard his mother's voice. "That's not like you, Pete. What are you doing in there? Open this door!" "I'm trying," he called. "The lock's busted." He got the last catch loose and strained up on the hatch. As it opened the copter lifted. He stared downward. They were high and getting higher. He'd better drop quick. Murph wouldn't have been scared he told himself, and plummeted through the opening. He hit on his toes, let his legs buckle, and rolled into a hedge. His feet felt as though bombs had gone off under them. He lay half stunned; 

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