[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction May 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The only kind of gag worth pulling, I always
maintained, was a cosmic one--till I learned the
Cosmos has a really nasty sense of humor!
There were three of them. Dozens of limp little mutants that would have
sent an academic zoologist into hysterics lay there in the metabolic
accelerator. But there were three of _them_. My heart took a great
bound.
I heard my daughter's running feet in the animal rooms and her
rollerskates banging at her side. I closed the accelerator and walked
across to the laboratory door. She twisted the knob violently, trying
to hit a combination that would work.
I unlocked the door, held it against her pushing and slipped out so
that, for all her peering, she could see nothing. I looked down on her
tolerantly.
"Can't adjust your skates?" I asked again.
"Daddy, I've tried and tried and I just can't turn this old key tight
enough."