Young Stowaways in Space — Context and Discussion
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This digital edition of Young Stowaways in Space — Context and Discussion is described by source-level measurements including 40,769 words, 2 hr 58 min estimated reading time, and 6 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 13.5 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Adventure stories,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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Read the Text
as short and towheaded. He was Garry’s best friend, and so Garry did not mind telling him.
“I’m going to the spaceport and watch the _Orion_ blast off for the Von Braun Space Station. Want to go?”
“Sure thing!” Patch said.
“You’ll have to take the same chance that I do,” Garry reminded him.
“That’s okay by me.” Patch grinned. “If we do get caught, we’ll just be restricted to the grounds for two weeks. That won’t keep us out of the science lab where we spend a lot of time anyhow.”
It was a warm April night. The sky was thick with stars as bright as diamond dust.
“I’d give anything to be out there in the deeps among the planets,” Garry said, as they hurried across the newly sprouting lawn of the orphanage a few minutes later. “The life of a spaceman must be the most exciting thing in the world.”
“Yeah,” Patch agreed. “But I guess we’ll never make it, Garry, at least not for many years. And they say you sure have to know science and navigation. That takes a lot of study.”
“I wouldn’t care what it takes,” Garry said. “I’d be willing to study for as long as it would take, because the reward would be worth the effort.”
Their rapid steps took them onto one of the main streets of the city where moving sidewalks, called “Ped-A-Rides,” were operating. The sidewalk was a continuous belt, about six feet wide, and there were benches located at intervals upon it where the pedestrians could sit. A railing was on both sides of the Ped-A-Ride, but at intervals of about half a block there were gates where pedestrians could enter.
Patch and Garry went to the nearest gate, and Garry pulled the lever which slowed the sidewalk down so that they could board it. When Garry had deposited their fare in the meter, a bar slid away so that they could enter. It was about 2230 o’clock, an hour and a half before midnight, and not many people were on the Ped-A-Ride.
The boys took seats, and the sidewalk carried them along into the night.
As the Ped-A-Ride topped the crest of a hill, Garry pointed into the distance.
“There she is, Patch—the _Orion_, smoking and straining like a race horse, just as if she can’t wait to get going!”
“She sure is a beauty,” Patch agreed. “The earth-bound ships are a whole lot trimmer and better looking than the ships that never touch down.”
“The earth-bound ships have to be streamlined so that they can slide smoothly through the earth’s atmosphere,” Garry said, “but the ships that remain in space look like a bunch of globes and girders, because they never meet the friction of any planet’s atmosphere and they don’t need the sturdiness and rocket power.”
Patch laughed. “You sound like one of our schoolbooks, Garry,” he said.
As the Ped-A-Ride neared the spaceport, the brilliant lights of the busy area merged into a hazy glare that brightened the night until it was almost as light as day. The slim prow of the _Orion_ reached higher into the sky than any other object on the vast field, even loftier than the giant control tower.
“They say the _Orion_ is more space scarred than any other ship in the Space Service,” Garry remarked. “Meteor dust has grooved her sides so much that they look like the scratches on a rifle bullet.”
“I knew she was one of the oldest crafts in the Service,” Patch said. “I guess she’s carried many a person to the Von Braun Station on their way to Luna and the other planets.”
The Ped-A-Ride had nearly reached the gate of the spaceport when Garry said to his friend, “Patch, we’d better move down among those people ahead of us. It looks like they’re going to get off at the port.”
“If one of the port police spots us, he might get suspicious seeing a couple of kids alone at this time of night. If we mingle with the crowd, the police may think we are with them.”
They got up and began walking forward along the moving platform. Then they took seats behind a man who wore the uniform of the Space Service. He had several bags, and it seemed likely that he was going to board the _Orion_.
As the Ped-A-Ride neared the port gate, Garry closely studied the stalwart young man seated before them. Garry wondered at the many experiences that must have been encountered by this spaceman during his career.
Garry leaned over and touched the spaceman on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, Sir,” he said. “Are you boarding the _Orion_?”
The novel opens not with a rocket launch but with a moonlit escape from an orphanage dormitory. Garry Coleman, dark-haired and anxious, dresses quietly while his friend Patch, towheaded and game, joins him on impulse. Their destination: the spaceport, to watch the Orion blast off. The scene establishes a pattern of rule-breaking driven by longing—Garry’s dream of space life is voiced in language that mixes wonder with practicality: “I’d give anything to be out there in the deeps among the planets,” he says, while Patch notes the need for study in science and navigation. The orphanage setting, with its twenty cots and a charge-of-quarters to avoid, grounds the story in a world of constraints from which the boys repeatedly slip away.
Stowaway Logic and Friendship
The decision to stow away is presented not as reckless but as a calculated risk. Patch calculates the penalty—two weeks restricted to grounds—and weighs it against time in the science lab. This practical reasoning recurs: the boys evaluate consequences without dismissing them. Their friendship is built on shared risk and mutual support. When Garry yanks Patch from sleep during an emergency, the text notes he did so “without mercy,” yet Patch responds without complaint. The bond is tested by uncertainty: Patch wonders if Captain Eaton dislikes them enough to avoid adoption, and Garry admits he has no explanation. Their conversations often end in unresolved questions, leaving the reader to gauge the strength of their partnership against unknown adult motives.
Goodbyes and a Sudden Alarm
The farewell sequence on the Carefree is layered with emotional weight. Mr. Klecker regrets not discussing circus days; Gino bakes special pies as going-away presents. Ben offers a softer parting: “I’ll just say ‘so long’ for awhile.” The boys feel a “melancholy” that Garry resolves to face bravely. But the chapter titled “A Friend Is Lost” pivots abruptly. Garry wakes to “confusion and alarm,” bright lights, and Gino’s urgent warning: “We’re in great danger.” The cold floor shocks Garry fully awake. The shift from sentimental farewell to crisis is swift, emphasizing how quickly safety can dissolve in space. The phrase “the air was charged with confusion and alarm” signals a tonal break from the earlier reflective mood.
Voice and Vernacular in the Deeps
The narrative voice blends juvenile adventure dialogue with mid-century technical jargon. Characters speak in earnest, slightly formal phrases: “The life of a spaceman must be the most exciting thing in the world.” The spaceship is called a “wonderland space ship,” and the void is referred to as “the deeps.” This vocabulary—blast-off, satellite zone, Ped-A-Rides—creates a specific 1960s future. The orphanage itself is described with concrete details: twenty cots, a full moon, newly sprouting lawn. The prose favors action over introspection, but moments like Garry’s “pang to his heart” show an attempt to render interior feeling. The result is a story that moves between earnest sentiment and brisk plot mechanics, held together by the boys’ persistent, questioning voices.
Readers should attend to the way Elam uses the orphanage as both a literal starting point and a thematic anchor. The boys’ repeated departures—from the dormitory, from Earth, from the Carefree—are never final; each return or near-return carries emotional consequences. The stowaway premise is not merely a plot device but a lens for examining belonging, risk, and the cost of adventure. Pay attention to how the adults’ motives remain partially hidden, and how the boys’ friendship is tested not by conflict between them but by external pressures that force them to rely on each other.
Reading about Garry and Patch trusting each other in the dark felt like remembering a quiet secret. That same ache of friendship, tested by distance and change, lingers in The four Corners abroad — A Closer Reading, where familiar bonds stretch thin yet somehow hold. I finished it and just sat still for a while, thinking of home.
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