rose to his feet; an elaborate attitude of boredom all about him. “Well, I guess we better be going. There’s business to do and I can’t spend all day here looking at some old space-ship or whatever it is. We’ve got to take care of the animals if we’re going to be circus-folks. That’s the first rule with circus-folks. They’ve got to take care of the animals. And,” he finished virtuously, “that’s what I aim to do, anyway.”
Slim said, “What for, Red? They’ve got plenty of meat. Let’s watch.”
“There’s no fun in watching. Besides Dad and your father are going away and I guess it’s about lunch time.”
Red became argumentative. “Look, Slim, we can’t start acting suspicious or they’re going to start investigating. Holy Smokes, don’t you ever read any detective stories? When you’re trying to work a big deal without being caught, it’s practically the main thing to keep on acting just like always. Then they don’t suspect anything. That’s the first law—”
“Oh, all right.”
Slim rose resentfully. At the moment, the circus appeared to him a rather tawdry and shoddy substitute for the glories of astronomy, and he wondered how he had come to fall in with Red’s silly scheme.
Down the slope they went, Slim, as usual, in the rear.
VII
The Industrialist said, “It’s the workmanship that gets me. I never saw such construction.”
“What good is it now?” said the Astronomer, bitterly. “There’s nothing left. There’ll be no second landing. This ship detected life on our planet through accident. Other exploring parties would come no closer than necessary to establish the fact that there were no super-dense worlds existing in our solar system.”
“Well, there’s no quarreling with a crash landing.”
“The ship hardly seems damaged. If only some had survived, the ship might have been repaired.”
“If they had survived, there would be no trade in any case. They’re too different. Too disturbing. In any case—it’s over.”
They entered the house and the Industrialist greeted his wife calmly. “Lunch about ready, dear.”
“I’m afraid not. You see—” She looked hesitantly at the Astronomer.
“Is anything wrong?” asked the Industrialist. “Why not tell me? I’m sure our guest won’t mind a little family discussion.”
“Pray don’t pay any attention whatever to me,” muttered the Astronomer. He moved miserably to the other end of the living room.
The woman said, in low, hurried tones, “Really, dear, cook’s that upset. I’ve been soothing her for hours and honestly, I don’t know why Red should have done it.”
“Done what?” The Industrialist was more amused than otherwise. It had taken the united efforts of himself and his son months to argue his wife into using the name “Red” rather than the perfectly ridiculous (viewed youngster fashion) name which was his real one.
She said, “He’s taken most of the chopped meat.”
“He’s eaten it?”
“Well, I hope not. It was raw.”
“Then what would he want it for?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. I haven’t seen him since breakfast. Meanwhile cook’s just furious. She caught him vanishing out the kitchen door and there was the bowl of chopped meat just about empty and she was going to use it for lunch. Well, you know cook. She had to change the lunch menu and that means she won’t be worth living with for a week. You’ll just have to speak to Red, dear, and make him promise not to do things in the kitchen any more. And it wouldn’t hurt to have him apologize to cook.”
“Oh, come. She works for us. If we don’t complain about a change in lunch menu, why should she?”
“Because she’s the one who has double-work made for her, and she’s talking about quitting. Good cooks aren’t easy to get. Do you remember the one before her?”
It was a strong argument.
The Industrialist looked about vaguely. He said, “I suppose you’re right. He isn’t here, I suppose. When he comes in, I’ll talk to him.”
“You’d better start. Here he comes.”
Red walked into the house and said cheerfully, “Time for lunch, I guess.” He looked from one parent to the other in quick speculation at their fixed stares and said, “Got to clean up first, though,” and made for the other door.
The Industrialist said, “One moment, son.”
“Sir?”
“Where’s your little friend?”
Red said, carelessly, “He’s around somewhere. We were just sort of walking and I looked around and he wasn’t there.” This was perfectly true, and Red felt on safe ground. “I told him it was lunch time. I said, ‘I suppose it’s about lunch time.’ I said, ‘We got to be getting back to the house.’ And he said, ‘Yes.’ And I just went on and then when I was about at the creek I looked around and—”
The Astronomer interrupted the voluble story, looking up from a magazine he had been sightlessly rummaging through. “I wouldn’t worry about my youngster. He is quite self-reliant. Don’t wait lunch for him.”
“Lunch isn’t ready in any case, Doctor.” The Industrialist turned once more to his son. “And talking about that, son, the reason for it is that something happened to the ingredients. Do you have anything to say?”
“Sir?”
“I hate to feel that I have to explain myself more fully. Why did you take the chopped meat?”
“The chopped meat?”
“The chopped meat.” He waited patiently.
Red said, “Well, I was sort of—”
“Hungry?” prompted his father. “For raw meat?”
“No, sir. I just sort of needed it.”
“For what exactly?”
Red looked miserable and remained silent.
The Astronomer broke in again. “If you don’t mind my putting in a few words—You’ll remember that just after breakfast my son came in to ask what animals ate.”
“Oh, you’re right. How stupid of me to forget. Look here, Red, did you take it for an animal pet you’ve got?”
Red recovered indignant breath. He said, “You mean Slim came in here and said I had an animal? He came in here and said that? He said I had an animal?”
“No, he didn’t. He simply asked
