The Osmanians released their host. Grove-Sparrow helped Reid to his feet, saying in a low voice:
"Don't look so bloody horrified, old boy. They're only trying to be friendly."
"I forget," blubbered the larger Osmanian. "Your method of greeting here is to shake the anterior limb, is it not?" It extended a tentacle.
Reid gingerly put out a hand. The Osmanian caught the hand with three tentacles and pumped Reid's arm so vigorously that he was nearly jerked off his feet.
"Let's dance!" cried the Osmanian, slithering around in a circle and swinging Reid opposite him. "Guk-guk-guk!" This last was a horrid coughing, cackling sound that served the Osmanians for laughter.
"No, no, Sterga!" said Grove-Sparrow. "Let him go! He has to sort out the delegations."
"Oh, all right," said Sterga. "Maybe somebody would like to wrestle. You, madam?" The Osmanian addressed Mrs. Meyer, who was fat and of mature years.
"No, please," said Mrs. Meyer, paling and dodging behind Grove-Sparrow. "I — I have to see to the Forellians."
"Quiet down, you two," said Grove-Sparrow. "You'll get exercise later."
"I hope so," said Sterga. "Perhaps Mr. Reid will wrestle with us at his home, guk-guk. It is the main sport of Nöhp."
Nöhp was the name of Osmania in Sterga's language. The Osmanian spoke to his mate in this tongue while Reid frantically paired off guests and hosts. The rest of the Quaker rumbled off.
When each set of guests had been sent off with its host, and the Forellians had crawled up on to their truck-trailer, the four little Robertsonians were left sitting on the platform. There was still no sign of the Hobarts. The employees of the railroad wheeled crates out of the baggage car, marked food for forellians, food for STEINIANS, and so forth. Reid said to Grove-Sparrow:
"Look, I — I've got to find my truck drivers and give them these addresses. Will you keep an eye on the Osmanians and Robertsonians till I get back?"
"Righto."
Reid dashed off, followed by two porters pushing a hand truck piled with crates. When he returned, the Robertsonians were still sitting in a disconsolate circle. There was no sign of Grove-Sparrow, Ming, the Hobarts, or the Osmanians. There was broken glass on the concrete, a smear of liquid, and an alcoholic smell.
As he stared about wildly, Reid felt a tug at his trouser leg. A Robertsonian said:
"Please, is dere any sign of our host?"
"No, but he'll be along. What's happened to the others?"
"Oh, dat. Dey were lying on de platform, waiting, when an Earthman came along, walking dis way and dat as if he were sick. He saw Mr. Ming and said somet'ing about dirty foreigners. Mr. Ming pretended he didn't hear, and de man said he could lick anybody in de place. I suppose he meant dat custom you call kissing, dough he didn't look as if he loved anybody."
"What happened?"
"Oh, de Osmanians got up, and Sterga said: 'Dis nice fellow wants to wrestle. Come on, Thvi.'
"He started for de man, who saw him for de first time. De man took a bottle out of his pocket and trew it at Sterga, saying: 'Go back to hell where you belong!' De bottle broke. De man ran. Sterga and Thvi ran after him, calling to him to stop and wrestle. Mr. Grove-Sparrow and Mr. Ming ran after. Dat's all. Now please, can you find de people who are going to take us?"
Reid sighed. " 'Til have to find the others first. Wait here ..."
He met the missing members of the expedition returning to the platform. "The drunk is on his way to the police station," said Grove-Sparrow. "Still no sign of your Hobarts?"
"Not yet, but that's not unusual."
"Why don't you take the Robertsonians to the Hobart place?"
"We'd probably pass the Hobarts on their way here. Tell you, though; I'll 'phone to see if they've left."
The Hobart telephone answered. Clara Hobart said: "Oh,
Milan! We were just ready to go. I'm sorry we're late, but you know how it is."
Reid, resisting an impulse to grind his teeth, did indeed know how it was with the Hobarts. They had a way of arriving at parties just as everybody else was leaving. "Stay where you are, and I'll deliver your guests in about an hour."
He went back and bid good-bye to Grove-Sparrow and Ming, who were returning to New Haven. Then he herded his two groups of extra-terrestrials up the ramps to his car.
To a man who hated to be made conspicuous, the drive to Parthia left much to be desired. The Robertsonians curled up in one large furry ball on the front seat and slept, but the Osmanians bounced around in back, excited and garrulous, pointing with their tentacles and sticking them out the windows to wave at passers-by. Most people had read about extra-terrestrials and seen them on television enough not to be unduly surprised, but an octopoid tentacle thrust in the window of your car while you are waiting for a light can still be startling.
After the Osmanians had almost caused a collision, Reid ordered them sternly to keep their tentacles inside the car. He envied Nagle and Kress, who had flown their guests home from the roof of the Post Office Building in their private helicopters.
West of the Susquehanna, the Piedmont Expressway turns south towards Westminster, to swoop past Baltimore and Washington. Milan Reid turned off and continued west. In response to his pleas, the Osmanians had been fairly quiet.
Near York he found himself stuck behind an Amishman's buggy, which the heavy eastbound traffic kept him from passing.
"What is that?" asked Thvi. "A buggy," said Louise Reid.
"Which, the thing with the wheels or the animal pulling it?"
"The things with the wheels. The animal is called a horse."
"Isn't that a primitive form of transportation here?" said Sterga.
"Yes," said Louise. "The man uses it because of his religion."
"Is that why he wears that round black hat?"
"Yes."
"I want that hat," said Sterga. "I think I should look pretty in it, guk-guk-guk."
Reid glanced around. "If you want a Terran hat you'll have to buy one. That hat belongs to the man."
"I still want it. If Terra is going to get this mining-lease, it can afford me that one little hat."
The eastbound traffic ceased for the moment. Reid passed the buggy. As the automobile came abreast, Sterga thrust his front end out the quadrant window. A tentacle whisked the black hat from the head of the Amishman.
The sectarian's broad, ruddy, chin-whiskered face turned towards the car. His blue eyes popped with horror. He gave a hoarse scream, leaped from the buggy, vaulted a split-rail fence, and ran off across a field.
As the car drew ahead of the buggy, the horse had a view of Sterga too. The horse shrieked and ran off in the other direction, the buggy bouncing wildly behind it.
Reid braked to a stop. "Damn it!" he yelled.
In the back seat, Sterga was trying to balance the Amish-man's hat on his head, if he could be said to have a head. Reid snatched the hat. "What kind of trouble are you trying to make?"
"No trouble; just a little joke," bubbled Sterga.
Reid snorted and got out. The Amishman had disappeared. His horse was in sight across a plowed field, eating grass. It was still attached to the buggy. Reid crossed the road, holding the hat, and started across the field. His feet sank into the soft earth, and the soil entered his shoes. The horse heard him coming, looked around, and trotted off.
After several tries, Reid plodded back to his automobile, hung the hat on a fence post, shook the dirt out of his shoes, and drove off. Fuming, he promised Rajendra Daipal some hard words.