The door of Cousin Aurelia’s room hung wide open.
“Look!” Charles gave it a great goldfish stare. “She unlocked it herself!”
“He probably told her—he was rescuing her—from the pirate,” panted Betty.
“We—we’ll have to go on—” Charles felt his legs start to collapse—“to the clearing.”
The robot put two arms around him, and one around Betty.
“You will rest for three minutes,” it stated, leading them to the living room and seating them gently. “I will bring brandy.”
The brandy was welcome. They drank it in gulps, and worried about Cousin Aurelia, and the robot fanned them considerately while they did so.
Then, again, they were off. In less than ten minutes, they looked down on the valley, on the clearing. They caught sight of the Beautiful Joe. The voice of the waterfall reached them.
And so did another one. A man’s voice. A deep one.
“Ow!” it yelled hoarsely. “Let me up! Ow! Let go!”
Charles moaned. “We shouldn’t have waited for brandy. Now they’re killing him, too!”
With the robot behind them, they raced down the hill, splashed through the stream, broke through a circle of giggling Sugar Plum natives and goggle-eyed creatures.
“Don’t give up!” croaked Charles. “We’re coming!”
On the grass were four figures. Two were thrashing around and being sat on. Two were doing the sitting.
The Buttons braked to a stop. Something was radically wrong. The larger of the two thrashing figures was being sat on by Cousin Aurelia!
“Try to kidnap me, will you?” Slap. “Make me throw myself into that pool!” Slap. “And swallow a gallon of water and have to drag myself out!” Slap-slap-slap. “You will, will you?”
“Ow!” cried the figure. “Leg-go!”
Aurelia looked over her shoulder. She spied Charles and Betty.
“Hey!” she shouted. “Bear a hand here with Possett!”
“You don’t have to hold him,” called Captain Burgee, dismounting from Loopy the mate. “He can’t get away. Sugar Plum’s got him.”
They both rose and the two writhing figures continued to writhe.
“They’re scratching,” Charles exclaimed.
He wasn’t quite right. The skipper and the mate of the Beautiful Joe were trying to scratch, but they didn’t have enough hands. They were groaning, and bleating, and begging for aid as they wriggled.
Cousin Aurelia gave Possett a push with her foot.
“I’m soaked to the skin,” she announced. “Betty, help me off with this dress. If I don’t wring my petticoat out, I’ll catch something.”
“Why, Cousin Aurelia!” Charles blurted. “In front of the captain?”
“And why not?” she demanded. “I have undies on, don’t I?”
The captain broke in, his voice urgent. “We’ve got to get these characters back aboard in a hurry! They can’t live on Sugar Plum; they’re the wrong kind of people. I started to tell you. They’re allergic to the critters, the trees, the natives—to everything here. You, Steward!” He beckoned. “Call the crew of the Beautiful Joe.”
The robot ran to the ship. It whistled. Immediately, four other robots appeared.
“Bosun,” said the captain to the one in the lead, “Captain Possett is ill. He is—er—delirious. The mate, too. Carry them in. And take off quickly for New Texas.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” The bosun saluted.
They lifted up Possett, who was grunting and swearing. They hoisted the weasel-faced mate. The hatches clanged shut. Fire burst from the stern. The ship lifted.
When there was quiet again, Cousin Aurelia looked at the captain. She examined him carefully.
“Hm-m-m,” she murmured to Betty. “Not bad. Not bad at all!”
Then, “Alexander Burgee,” she declared, “every bit of this is your fault. If I hadn’t escaped from that man and jumped in the pool—well, I don’t know what might’ve happened. The least you can do is carry me back to your house.”
* * * *
At midnight, Charles and Betty sat in the living room. They hadn’t had time to get used to the change in Cousin Aurelia and they still looked at her unbelievingly. She was wearing a gay housecoat of Betty’s, too tight in just the right places. She had let down her hair, tied it with a ribbon, and she’d put on a gay smear of lipstick. She was exceedingly merry.
“I can’t imagine how I stood it,” she was saying, “for so many years. I mean, being such an old frump.” She laughed brightly. “Why, I was almost as bad as poor Charlie!”
“Well, at least I never locked myself in to get away from a pirate,” Charles retorted.
The captain stood up with a chuckle. “Say, that reminds me.” He went to a bookcase, opened a thick volume, and gave it to Charles. “I want you to read something here.”
Charles saw that it was Jane’s Dictionary of Space Transportation. He looked up enquiringly.
The captain was pointing at a word.
“’Pirate,’” Charles read, sounding puzzled. “’Pirate, originally a criminal who attacked and robbed ships at sea (see: Earth, planet) now obsolete in this sense. At present, term applied to—’” Charles hesitated—”’to persons engaged in space salvage, especially to captains of vessels employed in such work.’”
Charles turned red. Betty flushed. Cousin Aurelia started laughing her head off.
“Times change,” the captain said soberly. “Do you want me to show you my license?”
The Buttons were much too embarrassed to answer.
“Well, if you don’t, I hope you’ll excuse us. Aurelia and I would like to sit in the swing and look at the stars for a while.”
“I want to be told just how far away Boston is,” she said as he helped her to rise. She wrinkled her nose. “I’m certainly glad that here on Sugar Plum we’re safe from the wrong kind of people—all those horrible Victorians.”
The captain’s arm went around her.
He winked at the Buttons.
“A few of them weren’t so bad,” he said gently. “A few of the real ones.”
And, as they left, he slipped the copy of Sonnets from the Portuguese into his pocket.
“Well, now that we’ve sort of lost Cousin Aurelia,” said Betty, “I wish I could have one of these adorable animals on Sugar Plum for my very own. As a pet, you know. It might help as a substitute for Cousin Aurelia’s company.”
“And what’s wrong with me for a substitute?” Charles wanted to know. “It seems to me that you can forget Cousin Aurelia for a change and give me a little consideration.”
She looked at him appraisingly and then at her watch.
“I never thought of that,” she said. “It’s time for bed.”
Later, she sat up, studied him hard for a moment, and shook her head wistfully.
“Oh, Charles, you’d be perfect,” she said, “if you only had lavender ears.”
“That shouldn’t be much trouble,” he answered gravely. “I’ll signal a passing spaceship, get to New Texas and have my ears tattooed. Good enough?”