"Listen, Jane," I said, in a serious tone. "Do you think if Henry was in his right mind, he would be capable of such action, housing this awful, frightful thing in with the rest of us?"

Jane pretended not to be listening.

"Nevertheless," I continued, "you know that our beloved parent went insane before he died, but it was kept quiet, and we can't afford to ignore a thing like this, breaking out in Henry, to conceal an old scandal in our family."

At this Jane turned on me. "Be careful, Livingston," she admonished; "no good rattling the skeleton in our closet with a reporter in our midst. I think Henry's acting very sanely, considering the strain he's been under, and I can't help thinking, as he does, that it was a definite act of providence for this rocket from Mars to fall near our beach. As for the creature that came in the rocket, in its present state, I'm sure it can do no harm."

I tried to prolong the argument, but she refused to discuss the subject any further, and finally left me. On my way to breakfast, I ran into Pat, who had just finished hers. "Oh, Uncle Livingston!" she exclaimed. "What a lot of fun we're going to have with this big Teddy Bear in the house!" A remark so incredible that I almost gasped.

"It will be quite pleasant, won't it?" I observed, sardonically. "But some people mightn't like it."

Then she caught me by the arm, and drew me aside. She dropped the gay tone of her voice, and glanced round half-fearfully before speaking. "I really don't like the idea so much myself," she admitted. "But you see—now brace yourself for this—I must pretend I'm not shocked, or frightened, because Mr. McGinity says all this makes a whale of a good story, even better and bigger than the fall of the meteor in Times Square, and establishing radio communication with Mars. And, you know, I'm too good a friend of his to spoil—a whale of a good story."

"Isn't this stretching things rather fine?" I asked. "Mr. McGinity is a smart young man, as I believe I've said before, but there's no reason under heaven why you should jeopardize your comfort and personal safety just for the sake of his getting a story. It's dangerous business."

"Call it what you like," she returned evasively. "I've made up my mind not to be frightened, and I'm going to stick to it even if—" She checked herself, and I saw that she was trembling.

I was startled. "Look here, Pat," I said. "We can't have you work yourself into a state of nerves over this. I'll go and find Henry, and order him to get this Barnum's 'What Is It?' out of the house, quickly; and if he doesn't, I'll have it removed by force, and hand it over to the Bronx Zoo. Why—why, the creature might sneak out, in the dead of night, and get in your bedroom!"