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

I considered photographing one and turning out facsimiles by the gross,
but Dad advised me not to. "It is within the rules, Kip, but I've never yet
known a skunk to be welcome at a picnic."
So I used soap. And I sent in wrappers with slogans:
"I use Skyway Soap because --
-- it makes me feel so clean."
-- highway or byway, there's no soap like Skyway!"
-- its quality is sky-high."
-- it is pure as the Milky Way."
-- it is pure as Interstellar Space."
-- it leaves me fresh as a rain-swept sky."
And so on endlessly, until I tasted soap in my dreams. Not just my own
slogans either; Dad thought them up, and so did Mother and Mr. Charton. I kept
a notebook and wrote them down in school or at work or in the middle of the
night. I came home one evening and found that Dad had set up a card file for
me and after that I kept them alphabetically to avoid repeating. A good thing,
too, for toward the last I sent in as many as a hundred a day. Postage
mounted, not to mention having to buy some wrappers.
Other kids in town were in the contest and probably some adults, but
they didn't have the production line I had. I'd leave work at ten o'clock,
hurry home with the day's slogans and wrappers, pick up more slogans from Dad
and Mother, then use a rubber stamp on the inside of each wrapper: "I use
Skyway Soap because -- " with my name and address. As I typed, Dad filled out
file cards. Each morning I mailed the bunch on my way to school.
I got laughed at but the adults most inclined to kid me were quickest to
let me have their wrappers.
All but one, an oaf called "Ace" Quiggle. I shouldn't class Ace as an
adult; he was an over-age juvenile delinquent. I guess every town has at least
one Ace. He hadn't finished Centerville High, a distinction since Mr. Hanley
believed in promoting everybody "to keep age groups together." As far back as
I remember Ace hung around Main Street, sometimes working, mostly not.
He specialized in "wit." He was at our fountain one day, using up two
dollars' worth of space and time for one thirty-five-cent malt. I had just
persuaded old Mrs. Jenkins to buy a dozen cakes and had relieved her of the
wrappers. As she left, Ace picked one off my counter display and said, "You're
selling these. Space Cadet?"
"That's right, Ace. You'll never find such a bargain again."
"You expect to go to the Moon, just selling soap, Captain? Or should I
say 'Commodore'? Yuk yuk yukkity yuk!" That's how Ace laughed, like a comic
strip.
"I'm trying," I said politely. "How about some?"
"You're sure it's good soap?"
"Positive."
"Well, I'll tell you. Just to help you out -- I'll buy one bar."
A plunger. But this might be the winning wrapper. "Sure thing, Ace.
Thanks a lot." I took his money, he slipped the cake into his pocket and
started to leave. "Just a second, Ace. The wrapper. Please?"
He stopped. "Oh, yes." He took out the bar, peeled it, held up the
wrapper. "You want this?"
 "Yes, Ace. Thanks."