Possy paused, inferentially transferring the question to his friend.
"I can't account for the cat," Smithy said. "Unless we assume its death was a coincidence. But I confess you've aroused my curiosity. Could I see and talk to this boy who wants to be a—" he grimaced—"a Destructor?"
"I'm glad you asked." Possy sighed with relief. "Actually he is outside now, waiting to join us. But I must warn you that you'll find him quite precocious. However, he's extremely amenable."
Possy went quickly to the door, opened it and called, "Herbux, come in."
The boy entered. He was, Smithy observed, a quite ordinary-looking boy. He was so obviously ten years old that you couldn't say he was either old or young, large or small, fat or thin or anything else, "for his age." He was just ten years old and a boy.
"Herbux," said Possy, "I want you to meet a friend of mine—the famous Dr. Smithlawn."
"How do you do, sir," Herbux said politely.
"How do you do," returned Smithy. He had already decided not to be patronizing, but to take a bold, frank, comradely course with the lad.
"Herbux," he said, "Professor von Possenfeller has been telling me the story of your life. Now you tell me, Herbux. Not what you want to be when you grow up, but why."
"I don't know why, sir," Herbux replied easily. "I only know that I want to be a Destructor."