Stowaway to Mars by John Wyndham Page A

to live in a place where no one knew us. For the last four years we've been exiled to a miserable village in the Welsh mountains. Scarcely anyone we knew in the old days will speak to us now if we happen to meet them. Either they think we're swindlers, or else they smirk when they fancy we're not looking and tap their heads. When the chance came to prove that we were right, do you think I was going to let it slip? I'm going to see for myself that we were right, and I'm going to tell the world about it when we get back.'
    'Good girl,' said Frond approvingly.
    Dale rounded on him.
    'Good God! You don't mean to say that you believe this crazy yarn? Of all the damned thin tales I ever heard why, I could think up a better one myself in ten minutes.'
    'Quite. So could 1. So could Miss Shirning. So could anybody. And that's one pretty good reason for believing it.'
    Dale grunted with devastating contempt.
    'And I suppose that the sight of a badly built house convinces you that the builder's materials are first class?' he said.
    'A poor analogy. I know what's getting you down and so do you, only you won't admit it. It's the thought So that if you believe Miss Shirning, you've got to admit that something else has crossed space in the opposite direction, and that your Gloria Mundi won't be the first across after all.'
    'Indeed? Now, let me tell you something. The reason why you're believing this rubbish is because you've spent so much of your life writing romantic vomit for morons that the mushy bit of brain you did have has gone rancid. You can go to hell. I'm sick of this twaddle.' He crossed the floor and pulled himself through the trapdoor, closing it behind him.
    Froud looked across at Joan, and grinned.
    'One in the eye for me.'
    'What will he do?'
    'What can he do except cool off after a bit? Now, just to clinch things, what about giving me my first lesson in literary Martian?'

     

Chapter XI.   HALF-WAY.
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    THE occupants of the Gloria Mundi settled down into a routine. From custom they split up their time into days and hours according to the clock which showed terrestrial reckoning, and by it they arranged the frequency of meals and sleeping periods. To be able to speak of 'this morning' and 'this afternoon' eased the sense of exile from all familiar things and gave to them all a sense of reality and progress. The view through the surrounding blackness of far off suns and eternal, unchanging constellations grew depressing when its first novelty had worn off. It became impossible to believe that they were still dropping through space at the rate of seven miles a second; they felt, rather, that everything outside the rocket was wrapped in a state of suspended animation, and that conscious existence was only to be found in themselves and in the clock which ruled the living room.
    But in spite of precautions boredom was not easily fended off. They began to think of it as a malignant force waiting to pounce on them in any unfilled moment, bringing with it dissatisfaction, regrets and an insidious suggestion of their futility in attempting the fantastic journey. Boredom had become public enemy number one, for the first week had taught them that once it was allowed to establish itself, it contrived speedily to infect the rest and to cause distressingly anti-social eruptions.
    Joan contributed an alleviation when she consented to teach Froud the characters which she claimed to be Martian script. Before long, the doctor was also showing an interest in it. Dugan, too, after a period of noncommittal spectatorship, admitted that learning it would help to pass the time, and attached himself to the class. The fact that Froud and the doctor frequently fell into arguments most hindering to progress was, in the circumstances, no disadvantage. Joan had more than enough time to teach them the little she knew, and on such occasions she and Dugan listened, only dropping in occasional words to spur the disputants.
    As they grew to know the girl