“We can’t let him stand out there like that all night,” Ted said. “He might wake up the whole house with his cries. They do cry, don’t they?”
“Just like babies,” Randy said.
“I forgot, though,” Ted said. “They can’t breathe our air mixture, can they?”
“Yes, they can.” Randy told him. “They have a valve in their bodies that takes care of that.”
“I believe we can wash that goo off him and leave him in the kitchen until morning,” Ted said. “Maybe he’ll be quiet if he’s clean.”
They let the bear in, and in appreciation he licked their helmets again.
“If you want to stay in here, you’ll have to be quiet,” Randy warned, just as though the animal could understand.
“Hey!” Ted cried. “What’s wrong with him?” The little animal was reeling around as though he could hardly keep his feet, and his eyes were glazed.
“They always do that the first few times they enter our atmosphere,” Randy answered.
The color bear adjusted himself quickly to the change and then seemed all right again. Quietly the boys led him down the hall toward the shower. In the bathroom they shut the door, removed their helmets and turned on the shower in a gentle spray. The bear did not take to water willingly, and the boys had to force him under. When he began squealing and kicking, Ted put his hand over his mouth. As the little animal felt the warm water, however, his broad mouth turned upward in a grin, and he sat down in the middle of the plastic basin to enjoy his bath.