"I said, Wompan."
"Here? Wompan here?"
"Yes, sir. Positively."
"I never caught a Wompan," Mr. Stevenson said. "Only three men ever
have."
"That's right," I said.
"If I could write it up for Spaceman's magazine--assuming I catch
one--we'd increase our circulation half a million copies."
"You'll catch one," I promised.
Jason Woods Stevenson beamed on me. "Oh, to hell with Spaceman's. I
want to catch one because I never have. I've caught everything on Earth
that the law lets you catch, boys. I was up at Venus Joe's last year
and took the legal limit of everything but Wompan. Never even saw a
Wompan. Boys," he said, "you've got yourself a customer."
He came down again and strode quickly across the quadrangle toward the
wood platform which would serve as the foundation of his tent, keeping
it above the ooze and mud. He was whistling cheerfully and he smiled
again, the grin bisecting his face from ear to ear. If he had anything
on his mind besides Wompan--it was Wompan skin. Whatever Wompan skin
looked like.
"Aren't you forgetting something, sir?" Harry said.
"I don't think so, boys. Am I?"
Harry nodded. "Your daughter?" he said.
Mr. Stevenson's jaw dropped a foot. "The girl!" he cried. "I almost
forgot about her." He wasn't smiling now. "If her mother ever learned
I took her to a place like this, with absolutely no civilized
conveniences...."
"But with Wompan," I said.