of Fweepland, but he's taking you back with a valuable little subdivision in the third quadrant to file on."

"I hate to spoil the party," Fred said, "but have you thought about what you're going to do with Fweep?"

"Fweep?" Grampa repeated, puzzled. "Why should I do anything with Fweep?"

"We can't take him back to Earth with us."

"Why not?" Grampa demanded.

"In the first place, the Immigration Authority would have to pass on him. That might take years, with Fweep's powers and abilities. More important, if Fweep got loose on Earth, every flivver would have the same problem there that we had here. And next time Fweep might not be so cooperative. I don't know what you did to Fweep in there, but if he's still alive, the I.A. isn't going to take a chance."

Grampa considered the prospect without dismay. "I wonder if we could smuggle him in. With all those flivvers not working, they'd have to pay us before they could take off."

"Grampa!" Fred said sternly. "That would be blackmail—or worse. Besides getting in trouble with the I.A., you'd get it from the W.B.I. and the I.C.C."

Grampa waved his hand impatiently. "We'll solve that problem when we come to it. After all, an old pircuit man like me—"

"What did you do to Fweep?" Joyce repeated insistently.

Grampa cleared his throat with pride. "Well, now, I'll tell you. I just happened to notice that Fweep liked my tonic. Every time I took a little nip, the little beast was around my chair, trying to clean my hand for me."

"Tonic!" Joyce sniffed. "Liquor, you mean!"

"Now that's not right," Grampa objected. "I said tonic and I mean tonic. Got a little alcohol in it for a preservative, maybe, but the important part is the minerals. That's the Longevity Institute's secret. It's what keeps me young. Want a little nip?" He leered at Joyce.

"You mean you got Fweep drunk?" Fred exclaimed.

"Well, now, that was the effect, but I can't swear it was the alcohol. Not unless Fweep can use the stuff on the molecular level if he wants. On the other hand, maybe it was the minerals in there that affected him. Little world like Fweepland, maybe it lacked a few things when it was made. But the way I looked at it, it stood to reason the little fellow could use a drink. Alone all these centuries, he must've got pretty dry. But whatever it was, he sure got high. Lost all control."

"Poor Fweep," Reba murmured.

"Poor nothing," Grampa said. "He was the happiest little critter I ever saw. When Four explained to him just what we wanted, he went right to work on that bottle and—"

Gramp's door swung open once more. "Grampa! Grampa!" Four shouted. "Fweep! He—I mean—well, we've been calling him by the wrong pronoun. Look!"

Four came running out of the room. Behind him rolled a tiny raspberry sphere about the size of a marble. Occasionally it hopped in the air and said, "Fweep?" in a small, high voice.