Captain Wyxtpthll was absentmindedly making a cat’s cradle out of his tentacles in the way he did when he was worried.
“Of course,” he said, “if they don’t come back I can always go away and report the place dangerous.” He brightened considerably. “Yes, that would save a lot of trouble.”
“And waste all the months we’ve spent studying it?” said the pilot, scandalized.
“They won’t be wasted,” replied the captain, unravelling himself with a flick that no human eye could have followed. “Our report will be useful for the next survey ship. I’ll suggest that we make another visit in — oh, let’s say five thousand years. By then the place may be civilized—though frankly, I doubt it.”
Samuel Higginsbotham was settling down to a snack of cheese and cider when he saw the two figures approaching along the lane. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, put the bottle carefully down beside his hedge-trimming tools, and stared with mild surprise at the couple as they came into range.
“Mornin’,” he said cheerfully between mouthfuls of cheese.
The strangers paused. One was surreptitiously ruffling through a small book which, if Sam only knew, was packed with such common phrases and expressions as: “Before the weather forecast, here is a gale warning,” “Stick ’em up—I’ve got you covered!”, and “Calling all cars!” Danstor, who had no needs for these aids to memory, replied promptly enough.
“Good morning my man,” he said in his best B.B.C. accent. “Could you direct us to the nearest hamlet, village, small town or other such civilized community?”
“Eh?” said Sam. He peered suspiciously at the strangers, aware for the first time that there was something very odd about their clothes. One did not, he realized dimly, normally wear a roll-top sweater with a smart pin-striped suit of the pattern fancied by city gents. And the fellow who was still fussing with the little book was actually wearing full evening dress which would have been faultless but for the lurid green and red tie, the hob-nailed boots and the cloth cap. Crysteel and Danstor had done their best, but they had seen too many television plays. When one considers that they had no other source of information, their sartorial aberrations were at least understandable.
Sam scratched his head. Furriners, I suppose, he told himself. Not even the townsfolk got themselves up like this.