"I'm afraid, Schweizer," I rejoined, "that you'll be seeing a good deal of this 'fellow' from now on."
The butler reflected a moment in silence on this information, and then walked away, muttering: "I don't like his looks—I don't like his looks!"
XVIII
The following morning, while Henry was making arrangements about engaging a tutor for Mr. Zzyx, and McGinity busied himself in giving proper publicity to our guest's first attempt at speech, Pat and I strolled down to our dock. We went there on Niki's pressing invitation to see the progress Mr. Zzyx was making in operating a runabout Henry had recently acquired.
When we arrived at the dock, Mr. Zzyx was seated in the bow, at the steering-wheel, looking very nautical and important in a blue worsted suit, a white, soft-collar shirt, with a blue and white polka dot tie, and a smart yachting cap. He beckoned at once to Pat to come down and get into the boat.
"Oh, no! Thanks!" she called down to him.
He looked up at Pat and me imploringly. "I guess he wants us both to come for a ride," I said. But Pat said she didn't want to go.
What happened, then and there, was an exhibition of handling a runabout I didn't believe possible in a creature of such low mental caliber. He seemed to take to it instinctively. Knowing there was a great scarcity of water on Mars, I wondered how it came to him so easily.
At Niki's word of command, he started the engine, and then steered the boat, as unerringly as an arrow, in a swift and successful quarter-mile run between the dock and our tiny island of rock, on which stands the ruins of the old, stone lighthouse.