"Robert A. Heinlein - Have Space Suit Will Travel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

But summer was ending and it was time I pulled out of my daydream. I
still did not know where I was going to school, or how -- or if. I had saved
money but it wasn't nearly enough. I had spent a little on postage and soap
wrappers but I got that back and more by one fifteen-minute appearance on
television and I hadn't spent a dime on girls since March -- too busy. Oscar
cost surprisingly little; repairing Oscar had been mostly sweat and
screwdriver. Seven dollars out of every ten I had earned was sitting in the
money basket.
But it wasn't enough.
I realized glumly that I was going to have to sell Oscar to get through
the first semester. But how would I get through the rest of the year? Joe
Valiant the all-American boy always shows up on the campus with fifty cents
and a heart of gold, then in the last chapter is tapped for Skull-and-Bones
and has money in the bank. But I wasn't Joe Valiant, not by eight decimal
places. Did it make sense to start if I was going to have to drop out about
Christmas? Wouldn't it be smarter to stay out a year and get acquainted with a
pick and shovel?
Did I have a choice? The only school I was sure of was State U. -- and
there was a row about professors being fired and talk that State U. might lose
its accredited standing. Wouldn't it be comical to spend years slaving for a
degree and then have it be worthless because your school wasn't recognized?
State U. wasn't better than a "B" school in engineering even before this
fracas.
Rensselaer and CalTech turned me down the same day -- one with a printed
form, the other with a polite letter saying it was impossible to accept all
qualified applicants.
Little things were getting my goat, too. The only virtue of that
television show was the fifty bucks. A person looks foolish wearing a space
suit in a television studio and our announcer milked it for laughs, rapping
the helmet and asking me if I was still in there. Very funny. He asked me what
I wanted with a space suit and when I tried to answer he switched off the mike
in my suit and patched in a tape with nonsense about space pirates and flying
saucers. Half the people in town thought it was my voice.
It wouldn't have been hard to live down if Ace Quiggle hadn't turned up.
He had been missing all summer, in jail maybe, but the day after the show he
took a seat at the fountain, stared at me and said in a loud whisper, "Say,
ain't you the famous space pirate and television star?"
I said, "What'll you have, Ace?"
"Gosh! Could I have your autograph? I ain't never seen a real live space
pirate before!"
"Give me your order, Ace. Or let someone else use that stool."
"A choc malt, Commodore -- and leave out the soap."
Ace's "wit" went on every time he showed up. It was a dreadfully hot
summer and easy to get tempery. The Friday before Labor Day weekend the
store's cooling system went sour, we couldn't get a repairman and I spent
three bad hours fixing it, ruining my second-best pants and getting myself
reeking. I was back at the fountain and wishing I could go home for a bath
when Ace swaggered in, greeting me loudly with "Why, if it isn't Commander
Comet, the Scourge of the Spaceways! Where's your blaster gun, Commander?
Ain't you afraid the Galactic Emperor will make you stay in after school for