Clifford D. Simak

The Wheeler hit the top step of the staircase and Maxwell launched his body through the air, arms outstretched. He came down on top of the saber-tooth and wrapped his arms around its neck. The two of them sprawled to the floor and out of the corner of his eye, as he and Sylvester cartwheeled down the corridor, Maxwell saw the Wheeler bouncing high on the second step and beginning to tip over.

And then, suddenly, there was the screaming of frightened women and the yells of startled men and the crash of breaking glasses. For once, thought Maxwell grimly, Nancy was getting a bigger boot out of her party than she had bargained for.

He piled up against a wall, at the far edge of the staircase, and somehow or other, Sylvester was perched on top of him and reaching down to lap fondly at his face.

“Sylvester,” he said, “this was the time you did it. You got us in a mess.”

Sylvester went on lapping and a rasping purr rumbled in his chest.

Maxwell pushed the cat away and managed to slide up the wall to a sitting position.

Out on the floor of the room beyond the staircase, Mr. Marmaduke lay upon his side, both wheels spinning crazily, the friction of the wheel that was bottom-most making him rotate lopsidedly.

Carol came running up the steps and stopped, with fists firmly on her hips, to stare down at Maxwell and the cat.

“The two of you!” she cried, then choked with anger.

“We’re sorry,” Maxwell said.

“The guest of honor,” she screamed at them, almost weeping. “The guest of honor and you two hunting him down the halls as if he were a moose.”

“Apparently we didn’t hurt him much,” said Maxwell. “I see he is intact. I wouldn’t have been surprised if his belly broke and all those bugs of his were scattered on the floor.

“What will Nancy think?” Carol asked accusingly.

“I imagine,” Maxwell told her, “that she’ll be delighted. There hasn’t been this much ruckus at one of her parties since the time the fire-breathing amphibian out of the Nettle system set the Christmas tree on fire.”

“You make those things up,” said Carol, “I don’t believe it happened.”

“Cross my heart,” said Maxwell. “I was here and saw it. Helped put out the fire.”

Out on the floor some of the guests had laid hold of Mr. Marmaduke and were pulling him over to stand upright on his wheels. Little serving robotics were scurrying about, picking up the broken glass and mopping up the floor where the drinks had spilled.

Maxwell got to his feet and Sylvester moved over close beside him, rubbing against his legs and purring.

Nancy had arrived from somewhere and was talking with Mr. Marmaduke. A large circle of guests stood around and listened to the talk.

“If I were you,” suggested Carol, “I’d skin out of here the best way that I could. I can’t imagine that you’ll be welcome here.”

“On the contrary,” Maxwell told her, “I’m always welcome here.”

He started walking down the staircase, with Sylvester pacing regally beside him. Nancy turned and saw him, broke through the circle and came across the floor to meet him. “Pete!” she cried. “Then it’s really true. You are back again.”

“Why, of course,” said Maxwell.

“I saw it in the papers, but I didn’t quite believe it. I thought it was a hoax or a gag of some sort.”

“But you invited me,” said Maxwell.

“Invited you?”

She wasn’t kidding him. He could see she wasn’t kidding.

“You mean you didn’t send the Shrimp…”

“The Shrimp?”

“Well, a thing that looked like an overgrown shrimp.”

She shook her head and, watching her face, Maxwell saw, with something of a shock, that she was growing old. There were many tiny wrinkles around the corners of her eyes that cosmetics failed to hide.

“A thing that looked like a shrimp,” he said. “Said it was running errands for you. It said I was invited to the party. It said a car would be sent to fetch me. It even brought me clothes, because it said-”

“Pete,” said Nancy, “please believe me. I did none of this. I did not invite you, but I’m glad you’re here.”

She moved closer and lay a hand upon his arm. Her face crinkled in a giggle. “And I’ll be interested in hearing about what happened between you and Mr. Marmaduke.”

“That I’m sorry about,” said Maxwell.

“No need to be. He’s my guest, of course, and one must be considerate of guests, but he’s a really terrible person. Pete, he’s basically a bore and a snob and-”

“Not now,” Maxwell warned her softly.

Mr. Marmaduke had disengaged himself from the circle of guests and was wheeling across the floor toward them. Nancy turned to face him.

“You’re all right?” she asked. “You really are all right?”

“Very right,” said Mr. Marmaduke.

He wheeled close to Maxwell and an arm extruded from the top of his rolypoly body-a ropelike, flexible arm more like a tentacle than arm, with three clawlike fingers on the end of it. He reached out with it and draped it around Maxwell’s shoulders. At the pressure of it, Maxwell had the instinct to shrink away, but with an exercise of conscious will, forced himself not to stir.