Trlk let out a high-pitched screech of joy and ran over to them. They
wound their long tails around each other, clasped and unclasped them,
twined them together. It seemed a sort of greeting. Meanwhile, they
kept up a jabber that sounded like a 33-1/3 rpm record being played 78
rpm.
Finally, the biggest one detached himself from the group and gave Trlk
a tongue-lashing that would have done justice to a Phipps. Trlk hung
his head. Every time he tried to say something, the big one would
start in again.
* * * * *
At length the leader turned to me. "My name is Brknk, pronounced
burk-neck and spelled b-r-k-n-k."
"And I'm Larry Weaver," I said, hoping they weren't relatives who were
going to stay. "That's pronounced Lar-ree--"
"I know. We're from Sybilla III. Tourists. We include Earth in our
itinerary. It has some of the quaintest customs of all the inhabited
planets we visit. We're terribly sorry for all the inconveniences our
wayward Trlk here has caused you."
"It was nothing," I said with a lightness I didn't feel.
"Trlk had threatened to run off many times. He has a craze for
self-expression and your literature fascinates him. He has an
insatiable thirst--"
"I know."
* * * * *
He turned to Trlk. "It's against the rules of the Galactic Tours to
make yourself visible to any of the inhabitants along the way. You
know that. And it's a prime offense to interfere with their lives. Do
you realize how many rules you have broken, how long we have been
looking for you?"
"He did the best he could," I said hopefully. "As a matter of fact, we
were having considerable success with his--a literary project."
"I understand you lost your job because of him. Is that right?"
"Yes, but I encouraged him." I hoped there was some way I could ease
the sentence.
"Trlk has committed grievous wrongs, Mr. Weaver. We must make it up to
you."
"Oh?" Here was an angle I hadn't expected.
"What can we do for you?"