Iceworld

weird beings; they seemed rather likable, in their own way—

He even remembered to write a brief report for Rade.

On the ground, no one spoke for some time.

“I can’t budge it, Dad,” were the first words finally uttered. They came from Roger, who had been vainly trying to move the grayish lump that had landed at their feet.

“It must weigh two hundred pounds or so,” supplemented Don. “If it’s all platinum—”

“Then we’ll have a fine time breaking it up into pieces small enough to avoid comment,” finished his father. “What interests me right now is this picture.” The others crowded around once more.

It was a tiny diagram of the Solar System, such as they had drawn before the fire two days ago. Beside it was the unmistakable picture of a space ship like the Karella— heading away from it. Then another diagram, apparently an enlarged view of the orbits of the inner planets, showed the arcs through which each would move in approximately a month; and finally a third picture reproduced the first— except that the space ship was pointing toward the system. The meaning was clear enough, and a smile broke out on Mr. Wing’s face as he interpreted it.

“I guess we continue to eat,” he remarked, “and I guess our friend wants to learn more English. He’ll be back, all right. I was afraid for a little while he’d take that carton of cigarettes in the wrong spirit. Well—” he turned to the family suddenly.

“Don — Roger — let’s go. If he’s going to be away a month, and that torpedo is still lying where you found it, we have a job of tinkering to do. Roger, by the time you’re Don’s age you may be able to pilot us on a return visit to your hot-blooded friend — we’re going to find out how that gadget works!”