"Henry Kuttner - See You Later" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

The Perfesser's cuteтАФeven though he never did have much sense. Used to say we was mutants,
whatever they are, and kept shooting off his mouth about some people-he knowed called chromosomes.
Seems like they got mixed up with what the Perfesser called hard radiations and had some young 'uns
which was either dominant mutations or Hogbens, but I alms got it mixed up with the Roundhead plot,
back when we was living hi the old country. 'Course I don't mean the real old country. That got sunk.

So, seeing as how Grandpaw told us to lay low, we waited till the eight Tarbell boys busted down the
door, and then we all went invisible, including the baby. Then we waited for the thing to blow over, only it
didn't.

After stomping around and ripping up things a lot,

the eight Tarbell boys come down in the cellar. Now, that was kind of bad, because we was caught by
surprise. The baby had gone invisible, like I say, and so had the tank we keep him in, but the tank
couldn't move around fast like we could.

One of the eight Tarbell boys went and banged into it and hit hisself a smart crack on the shank bone.
How he cussed! It was shameful for a growing boy to hear, except Grandpaw kin outcuss anybody I
ever heard, so I didn't larn nothing.

WellтАФhe cussed a lot, jumped around, and all of a sudden his squirrel rifle went off. Must have had a
hair trigger. That woke up the baby, who got scared and let out a yell. It was the blamedest yell I'd ever
heard out of the baby yet, and I've seen men go all white and shaky when he bellers. Our Perfesser feller
told us oncet the baby emitted a subsonic. Imagine!

Anyhow, seven of the eight Tarbell boys dropped daid, all hi a heap, without even time to squeal. The
eighth one was up at tile haid of the cellar steps, and he got all quivery and turned* around and ran. I
guess he was so dizzy he didn't know where he was heading. 'Fore he knowed it, he was up in the attic,
where he stepped right square on Grandpaw.

Now, the fool thing was this: Grandpaw was so busy telling us what to do he'd entirely fergot to go
invisible hisself. And I guess one look at Grandpaw just plumb finished the eighth Tarbell boy. He fell
right down, daid as a skun coon. Cain't imagine why, though I got to admit Grandpaw wasn't looking his
best that week. He'd been sick.

"You all right, Grandpaw?" I asked, sort of shaking him out. He cussed me.

" Twarn't my fault," I told him.

" 'Sblood!" he said, mad-like. "What rabble of canting jolt-heads have I sired? Put me down, you young
scoundrel." So I -put him back on the gunny sack and he turned around a couple of times and shut his
eyes. After that, he said he was going to take a nap and not to wake him up for nothing, bar Judgment
Day. He meant it, too.

So we had to figger out for ourselves what was best to do. Maw said it warn't our fault, and all we could
do was pile the eight Tarbell boys in a wheelbarrow and take 'em back home, which I done. Only I got
to feeling kind of shy on the way, on account of I couldn't figger out no

real polite way to mention what had happened. Besides, Maw had told me to break the news gentle.
"Even a polecat's got feelings," she said.