The procession stopped instantly, and the chanting died to a murmur. The men forming the living wall on each side bowed their heads and made a quick sign; a peculiar gesture, as though they reached out to shake an invisible hand.
The leader of the procession, a fine-featured man with golden hair, walked forward with bowed head, chanting a single phrase over and over again in a voice as sweet as a woman's: "Toma annerson ... toma annerson ... toma annerson...."
"Sounds friendly enough," I whispered to Hendricks. "Hand me an extra menore; I'll see...."
The chanting stopped, and the Strobian lifted his head.
"Greetings!" he said. "You are welcome here."
I think nothing ever surprised me more, I stared at the man like a fool, my jaw dropping, and my eyes bulging. For the man spoke in a language of Earth; spoke it haltingly and poorly, but recognizably.
"You—you speak English?" I faltered. "Where—where did you learn to speak this language?"
The Strobian smiled, his face shining as though he saw a vision.
"Toma annerson," he intoned gravely, and extended his right hand in a greeting which Earth-men have offered each other for untold centuries!
I shook hands with him gravely, wondering if I were dreaming.