The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Flying Cuspidors, by V. R. Francis

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Title: The Flying Cuspidors

Author: V. R. Francis

Release Date: August 21, 2009 [EBook #29749]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLYING CUSPIDORS ***

Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

_A trumpet-tooter in love can be a wonderful sight, if Local 802
will forgive our saying so; when extraterrestrials get involved
too--oh brother! V. R. Francis, who lives in California and has
previously appeared in men's magazines, became 21 and sold to
FANTASTIC UNIVERSE all in the same week._

the
flying
cuspidors

_by ... V. R. Francis_

This was love, and what could be done about it?
It's been happening to guys for a long time, now.

Hotlips Grogan may not be as handsome and good-looking like me or as
brainy and intellectual, but in this fiscal year of 2056 he is the
gonest trumpet-tooter this side of Alpha Centauri. You would know what I
mean right off if you ever hear him give out with "Stars Fell on Venus,"
or "Martian Love Song," or "Shine On, Harvest Luna." Believe me, it is
out of this world. He is not only hot, he is radioactive. On a clear day
he is playing notes you cannot hear without you are wearing special
equipment.

That is for a fact.

Mostly he is a good man--cool, solid, and in the warp. But one night he
is playing strictly in three or four wrong keys.

I am the ivory man for this elite bunch of musicians, and I am scooping
up my three-dee music from the battered electronic eighty-eight when he
comes over looking plenty worried.

"Eddie," he says, "I got a problem."

"You got a problem, all right," I tell him. "You are not getting a job
selling Venusian fish, the way you play today."

He frowns. "It is pretty bad, I suppose."

"Bad is not the word," I say, but I spare his feelings and do not say
the word it is. "What gives?"

He looks around him, careful to see if anybody in the place is close
enough to hear. But it is only afternoon rehearsal on the gambling ship
_Satur