But now I didn’t want to head for the bright lights. I wanted to find a lodging close to the harbor lights, where I could look out over the bay at night and—remember things. Her face just before she let go, not really seeing me. Her eyes—
Pete was shaking his arm. “Set him down, Jim! Put him into that harness I rigged up. Give him a chance to stretch his legs!”
“Sure, why not?” I grunted.
I set Flipover down on the ramp, fitted Pete’s makeshift harness to his shoulders, and wrapped the leash-end around my wrist.
The little beast started tugging right off.
“Looks like he knows his way around!” Pete chuckled. “Maybe New York was his home town!”
That didn’t sound funny to me. But a few minutes later I was taking it seriously. The crazy pup had led us deep into the labyrinth of dark streets which bordered the skyport, and there was no stopping him. I had all I could do to keep up with him.
Pete’s eyes were shining with excitement. “Give him his head!” he urged.
“What do you think I’m doing?” I yelled.
From the houses lights streamed out. Cornerset windows flamed in the dusk and people moved across shadowed panes. Music came from beyond the windows, loud, tumultuous. Someone was playing Milhaud’s “Bal Martiniquais” on an old-fashioned percussion instrument with shallow keys.
I liked it. Give me color in music, polychromes. Give me color in life. The flare of rocket jets, the blackness of space, a spinning wheel in a big crystal casino—
I’d stay one week on Earth! Then I’d be off again and never come back. I’d bury myself in the farthest—
“Give him his head!” Pete yelled.
Flipover had swerved and was heading for a narrow walk leading to a fairly large circular house surrounded by a garden plot bright with yellow flowers. There was a fountain in the middle of the garden and it was sending up jets of spray which drenched Flipover as he tore down the path.
I almost let go of the leash as I played it out. The house had the look of age about it but not of neglect. We were within thirty feet of it when the front door banged open and a big, angry-faced man came striding out.
Down the path he came, straight toward me. A sunbronzed giant of a lad built like a cargo wrestler, but with keen, probing eyes behind glasses that had slipped far down on his nose.
When he saw me he stopped dead. Then he adjusted his glasses and peered at me wordlessly, his hands knotting into fists.
Flipover was straining furiously, but I drew him in quickly and returned the big lug’s stare.
“So you’re the guy!” he roared.
It happened so quickly I was taken by surprise. His fist lashed out, caught me on the jaw.
I felt Flipover tear loose as I went crashing backwards, my head filled with forked lightning.
He jumped me the instant I hit the ground. About three tons of flailing weight crashed down on my shoulders, pinning me to the walk.
As deliberately as I could, I raised my right knee, whammed it into his stomach and threw one arm about his neck in a strangle lock he couldn’t break.
“That’s showin’ him, son!” I heard Pete yell.
I tried not to break his glasses. But I had to be a little rough because he wanted to play rough.
About one minute later he was standing in the fountain, eying me angrily from behind a rising curtain of spray. The water came to his knees.
Suddenly his lips split in a grin. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. “By George, you sure know how to cool off a hothead!”
“Well—thanks!” I said, modestly.
He stepped out of the fountain, walked up to me and thrust out his hand. “Phillip Goddard’s the name!” he said. “She just gave me my ring back! When she said she couldn’t marry a certified public accountant I knew there was someone else. You’re the kind of lad her great-grandmother went for—and she’s just like that famous ancestor of hers!”
“Ancestor?” I gulped.
He nodded. “Just like her! Pluckiest girl in the System! Back in the First Atomic Age it was. First girl pilot to make a solo hop to Saturn—”
His face darkened. “Something happened to her! She never came back. But she’s come alive again in her granddaughter! No indoor cookie for Anne Haven’s granddaughter! I’m not exactly a lightweight, but I make my living adding up long rows of figures. If she married me what would be the result?”
The grin returned to his face. “She’d pine away from boredom. I like it. I enjoy it! But the girl for me will have to be a redheaded adding machine.”
He stepped back. “When I saw you coming up the walk I lost my head! Sour grapes, fella! If I couldn’t have her—I didn’t intend to step aside for a rival without putting up a fight! Little boy stuff! I had no call to take a sock at you! You’re all right, fella!”
He gave me a resounding thump on the back. “So the best man gets her! Okay, I can be a good loser! I don’t know how long you’ve known her, but I bet if you pop the question tonight, when she has that faraway look in her eyes again—”
“He never bets!” Pete cut in.
I didn’t wait to thank him. I was running up the walk toward the house before he could let out a startled grunt. But I heard the grunt—far off in the darkness.
Then a door slammed and I was standing in a brightly lighted living room staring at her. A log fire was crackling in the grate and there was a big, framed painting in oils hanging on the wall, facing the entrance hall.
She was standing directly before the painting, staring down at Flipover. Flipover was wagging his tail and pawing at her knees, and she was stooping and patting him
