"Don't humor him, Harry," said Boswell. "Let him read the Report."
Pettigrew glared, but except for an inaudible mutter he took Boswell's squelch without comment. I was wondering what significance might be hidden in this addition of a fourth Uncle to the Council, but I finally shrugged it off. Earthside politics bored the hell out of me.
Mommy was waiting to greet us as we stepped out of the elevator and Uncle Chub gave her a big hug. "How's the First Lady of the Galaxy?" he said, and she brightened as though it were a spontaneous compliment she was hearing for the first time instead of the twentieth.
Then the Kids broke ranks and milled around us, squealing and laughing and firing questions about Santa Claus. Being new, Pettigrew received a good deal of attention. "Who are you?" "What's your Uncle-name?" "Do you live with Santy Claus or with the fairies?" "How cold is the cold side of Number One Sun?" "Do you like merry-go-rounds better than rolly-coasters?"
The pelting of this verbal barrage sent him spinning like a crippled spaceship and I wedged myself through the ring of Kids to rescue him. "Come on, gang! Break it up!"
Pettigrew gave me a look of wide-eyed terror. "They're insane," he whispered. "Look at them! They're adults, but they act like—like—"
"Like children," I said. "That's what they are, Mr. Pettigrew. I thought the other Councilors had explained—"
"They did. But I never thought—well, I mean this is awful!"
I grinned, "You'll get used to it."
"Whole thing is ludicrous. Ludicrous!" He waved an all-encompassing hand that included the Kids, Fairyland, its basic concept, and me.