, but already he felt that he had kind of lost
them by being a little luckier. Or was this all goof ball sentiment in
his own mind, to make himself feel real modest?

So maybe he got sentimental about this impoverished, ragtag Bunch that,
even considering J. John Reynolds' help, still were pulling themselves
up into space almost literally by their own bootstraps. He had always
belonged to the Bunch, and he still did. So perhaps he just got sore.

Charlie's and his eyes met for a second, in understanding.

"Thanks, Postman Roy," Charlie said. "Only you were right the first
time. These letters shouldn't be delivered until your next trip around,
tomorrow morning."

They both handed the envelopes back to Roy Harder.

The voices of their Bunch-mates jangled in a conflicting chorus.

"Ah--yuh damfools!" Two-and-Two bleated.

"Good for them!" Art Kuzak said, perhaps mockingly.

"Hey--they're us--they'll stay with us--shut up--didn't we lose enough
people, already?" Gimp said.

Frank grinned with half of his mouth. "We always needed a name," he
remarked. "How about _The Planet Strappers_? Hell--if the chairborne
echelon of the U.S.S.F. is so slow and picky, let 'em go sit on a
sunspot."

"I need some white paint and a brush, Paul," Ramos declared, running
into the shop.

In a couple of minutes more, the name for the Bunch was crudely and
boldly lettered on the sides of both trucks.

"Salute your ladies, shake hands with your neighbors, and then let's get
moving," Charlie Reynolds laughed genially.

And so they did. Old Paul Hendricks, born too soon, blinked a little as
he grinned, and slapped shoulders. "On your way, you lucky tramps...!"

There were quick movements here and there--a kiss, a touch of hands, a
small gesture, a strained glance.

Frank Nelsen blew a kiss jauntily to Nance Codiss, the neighbor girl,
who waved to him from the background. "So long, Frank..." He wondered if
he saw a fierce envy showing in her face.

Miss Rosalie Parks, his high school Latin teacher, was there, too. Old
J. John Reynolds appeared at the final moment to smile dryly and to flap
a waxy hand.

"So long, sir... Thanks..." they all shouted as the diesels of the
trucks whirred and then roared. J. John still had never been around the
shop. It was only Frank who had seen him regularly, every week. It might
have been impertinent for them to say that they'd make him really rich.
But some must have hoped that they'd get rich, t