Volpla

By WYMAN GUIN
Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS
The only kind of gag worth pulling, I always maintained, was a cosmic one—till I learned the Cosmos has a really nasty sense of humor!
There were three of them. Dozens of limp little mutants that would have sent an academic zoologist into hysterics lay there in the metabolic accelerator. But there were three of them . My heart took a great bound.
I heard my daughter's running feet in the animal rooms and her rollerskates banging at her side. I closed the accelerator and walked across to the laboratory door. She twisted the knob violently, trying to hit a combination that would work.
I unlocked the door, held it against her pushing and slipped out so that, for all her peering, she could see nothing. I looked down on her tolerantly.
Can't adjust your skates? I asked again.
Daddy, I've tried and tried and I just can't turn this old key tight enough.
I continued to look down on her.
Well, Dad-dee, I can't!
Tightly enough.
What?