Mr. Untz came out of the shower at that point. He was radiant in a canary-colored rayon sharkskin. He was rubbing his hands. He was beaming.
“Harold,” he said, “they’re putting me on a musical next. I got them twined around my little finger. Life is good. I think that screwy Dr. Mildume was smart to send those things back out into space before they could get to him. Otherwise we might have had to put them in pictures and with contracts yet.”
“Max,” said Harold, staring at him quietly.
“Yes, Harold?”
“Just answer me one thing truthfully. I swear I’ll never repeat it—or even blame you. But for my own curiosity I’ve got to know.”
“Why certainly, Harold, what is it?”
Harold Potter swallowed hard. “Did you,” he asked, “really figure out that Jimsy would scare the beasts—or were you about to throw the little brat to them?”
Transcriber Notes
This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, January 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication has been renewed.