"Damning with faint praise," Harry whispered to me fiercely. "Gil, you've got to do something."
I nodded. My head was suddenly as empty of ideas as the space between galaxies is empty of stars. I followed Mr. Stevenson back to the sportster and watched him boost himself up toward the hatch athletically and lower his two-hundred pounds in with the grace of a cat. When his head had disappeared but before the hatch banged shut I said:
"Wompan."
The head re-appeared. "What did you say, boy?"
"I said, Wompan."
"Here? Wompan here?"
"Yes, sir. Positively."
"I never caught a Wompan," Mr. Stevenson said. "Only three men ever have."
"That's right," I said.
"If I could write it up for Spaceman's magazine—assuming I catch one—we'd increase our circulation half a million copies."