around. No; he'd have one drink, maybe a little bigger than usual, before
he went to bed.




III


He started awake, rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. Past twenty-two
hundred; now it really was time for a drink, and then to bed. He rose
stiffly and went out to the kitchen, pouring the whisky and bringing it in
to the table desk, where he sat down and got out his diary. He was almost
finished with the day's entry when the little door behind him opened and a
small voice said, "Yeeek." He turned quickly.

"Little Fuzzy?"

The small sound was repeated, impatiently. Little Fuzzy was holding the
door open, and there was an answer from outside. Then another Fuzzy came
in, and another; four of them, one carrying a tiny, squirming ball of
white fur in her arms. They all had prawn-killers like the one in the
drawer, and they stopped just inside the room and gaped about them in
bewilderment. Then, laying down his weapon, Little Fuzzy ran to him;
stooping from the chair, he caught him and then sat down on the floor with
him.

"So that's why you ran off and worried Pappy Jack? You wanted your family
here, too!"