Youth

VIII

Lunch was half over when Slim dashed into the dining room. For a moment, he stood abashed, and then he said in what was almost hysteria, “I’ve got to speak to Red. I’ve got to say something.”

Red looked up in fright, but the Astronomer said, “I don’t think, son, you’re being very polite. You’ve kept lunch waiting.”

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“Oh, don’t rate the lad,” said the Industrialist’s wife. “He can speak to Red if he wants to, and there was no damage done to the lunch.”

“I’ve got to speak to Red alone,” Slim insisted.

“Now that’s enough,” said the Astronomer with a kind of gentleness that was obviously manufactured for the benefit of strangers and which had beneath it an easily-recognized edge. “Take your seat.”

Slim did so, but he ate only when someone looked directly upon him. Even then he was not very successful.

Red caught his eyes. He made soundless words, “Did the animals get loose?”

Slim shook his head slightly. He whispered, “No, it’s—”

The Astronomer looked at him hard and Slim faltered to a stop.

With lunch over, Red slipped out of the room, with a microscopic motion at Slim to follow.

They walked in silence to the creek.

Then Red turned fiercely upon his companion. “Look here, what’s the idea of telling my Dad we were feeding animals?”

Slim said, “I didn’t. I asked what you feed animals. That’s not the same as saying we were doing it. Besides, it’s something else, Red.”

But Red had not used up his grievances. “And where did you go anyway? I thought you were coming to the house. They acted like it was my fault you weren’t there.”

“But I’m trying to tell you about that, if you’d only shut up a second and let me talk. You don’t give a fellow a chance.”

“Well, go on and tell me if you’ve got so much to say.”

“I’m trying to. I went back to the space-ship. The folks weren’t there anymore and I wanted to see what it was like.”

“It isn’t a space-ship,” said Red, sullenly. He had nothing to lose.

“It is, too. I looked inside. You could look through the ports and I looked inside and they were dead.” He looked sick. “They were dead.”

“Who were dead.”

Slim screeched, “Animals! like our animals! Only they aren’t animals. They’re people-things from other planets.”

For a moment Red might have been turned to stone. It didn’t occur to him to disbelieve Slim at this point. Slim looked too genuinely the bearer of just such tidings. He said, finally, “Oh, my.”

“Well, what are we going to do? Golly, will we get a whopping if they find out?” He was shivering.

“We better turn them loose,” said Red.

“They’ll tell on us.”

“They can’t talk our language. Not if they’re from another planet.”

“Yes, they can. Because I remember my father talking about some stuff like that to my mother when he didn’t know I was in the room. He was talking about visitors who could talk with the mind. Telepathery or something. I thought he was making it up.”

“Well, Holy Smokes. I mean—Holy Smokes.” Red looked up. “I tell you. My Dad said to get rid of them. Let’s sort of bury them somewhere or throw them in the creek.”

“He told you to do that.”

“He made me say I had animals and then he said, ‘Get rid of them.’ I got to do what he says. Holy Smokes, he’s my Dad.”

Some of the panic left Slim’s heart. It was a thoroughly legalistic way out. “Well, let’s do it right now, then, before they find out. Oh, golly, if they find out, will we be in trouble!”

They broke into a run toward the barn, unspeakable visions in their minds.