“Natch.” Vesta was surprised. “Why not? If a tomato don’t learn the facts of life while she’s young how’s she going to decide what’s good for her when she grows up?”
“With or without a license, I got to butt into this,” Cloud announced, also in spaceal; seating himself on a couch and crossing his legs. He, too, was shocked; but he was also intensely curious. “Did you decide, Vesta?”
Before the girl could answer, however, Joan Janowick came strolling in.
“Is this a private brawl, or can anybody get in on it?” she asked, gaily.
“I invited myself in, so I’ll invite you, too. Come in and sit down.” He made room for her beside him and went on in English, speaking for her ear alone: “Just as well you don’t know spaceal. This story Vesta is telling would curl your hair.”
“Wake up, Junior.” Joan did not speak, but poured the thought directly into his mind. “D’you think that cat-girl—that kitten—can block me out of her mind?”
“Oick! What a whiff! ’Scuse, please; my brain was out to lunch. But you’ll get an earful, sister Janowick.”
“It’ll be interesting in a way you haven’t thought of, too,” Joan went on. “Vegians are essentially feline, you know, and cats as a race are both fastidious and promiscuous. Thus, conflict. Is that what this is about?”
“Could be—I haven’t tried to read her.” Then, aloud:
“Go ahead, Vesta. Did the experience help you decide?”