During Cabot’s turn at watch, he noted a figure slinking across a neighboring field. There was something strangely familiar about this figure, so Myles hid himself in a tartan bush and awaited its approach.
It walked with a peculiar limp, very much like that which had characterized Buh Tedn, ever since he recovered from the shell wound which he had received in the Second War of Liberation. But the face and the hair of the approaching Cupian bore no resemblance to that of Professor Tedn. Nevertheless, Cabot took a chance.
Stepping suddenly from his place of concealment, he shouted: “Buh Tedn!”
Thereat, the Cupian emitted a shriek of terror from his antennae, and started running away across the fields.
“Stop!” the earth-man called. “I am Myles Cabot.”
The fleeing man halted abruptly and peered at Myles inquisitively; then he smiled and snatched off his wig, and straightened out his expression. It was none other than Buh Tedn!
“So you are the cause of all the rumpus,” he ejaculated, returning and patting his friend warmly on the cheek.
“What rumpus?” Miles inquired with interest.
“Wireless won’t work,” the other replied, “and no messages on the air anyhow. Nothing but bees; the air is full of them anyhow—also full of vague rumors of all sorts. As Poblath would say: ‘Where there’s wind, there’s a storm’.”
“Speaking of Poblath,” Myles said, “where is the philosopher?”