Translator's error

Richard Potterboy was a beefy man with a big red face like an old-time politican’s; he looked like an elephant beside the little man with the telescopic spectacles sitting next to him. They both arose as Grisby walked in. Potterboy’s face grew a shade redder as he glanced menacingly at his watch. “Good Lord, Grisby, where do you think you’re at? Vacationing back on earth? We’ve been waiting here nearly an hour for you!” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His uppers didn’t fit well and he was inclined to sputter. Before Grisby could reply, Potterboy was introducing him to the little man with the powerful glasses. “Philip Grisby, Mr. Theodore McGinnis, newly-appointed historian of the Martian Rehabilitation Project.” Grisby gravely shook McGinnis’ limp hand, still saying nothing. “Well, shall we go to your office?” Potterboy suggested impatiently. “You might also have coffee sent in. This was McGinnis’ first trip into space; and after two weeks, I’m sure he’ll enjoy drinking out of a plain, old-fashioned cup again!” The Administrator, slapping McGinnis on the back, chuckled at his own hearty humor. “Coffee, Halstead,” Grisby shouted as they walked from reception into office. Potterboy lighted a huge cigar, while they all sat around in strained silence until the secretary entered and left the coffee. “Now,” Potterboy said, puffing furiously on his cigar—but he didn’t finish. For the first time, he noticed how ill and dejected Grisby looked. In spite of being a back-slapping extrovert, he was completely disconcerted. After years of setbacks, things had seemed to be going so well the last time he was here. Grisby, who was known as an optimist, moistened his lips and ran a shaky hand through his thinning hair. “For a historian, Mr. McGinnis, you have come at a most historic moment. The Martian Project has just failed!” Except for McGinnis taking notes, there was dead silence. Potterboy felt suddenly ill. His cigar tasted like old rope. He wondered what he was going to tell the government in order to justify the billions sunk into this, as well as other planetary rehabilitation projects. To build the solar-system into one of the finest in the galaxy, had originally been his idea; and, for any failures, he would certainly be to blame. “Let’s have the details,” Potterboy said in a weak voice. “There’s nothing much to tell,” said