In spite of himself, Rory was beginning to feel sorry for the kid, to say nothing of the young lemming. "Don't you have some friends who would keep him? He's pretty young to be off on his own."
"I know, that's what worries me. And all my friends are either out of town, or we've had a fight, like Jim Blakey. Or they have cats, like Nancy Reed. The only other kid in town is old Critch's nephew, Mush, and you can bet it was Mush who put her onto Crispin in the first place, snooping around my room when I wasn't there. He probably found the food I keep in my desk drawer. Good thing there's so much junk under my bed or he'd have found the cage, too."
"So," Rory said, "so now you've got to leave the youngster out here."
"I wish I could think of something else. Even the garage at our house isn't safe with old Critch hanging around it. I wish my dad were here. If Dad was here, he'd sent old Critch packing."
"You could call him, maybe—"
"He's got too much on his mind. It's been pretty hard on Dad since my mom died two years ago. And now with the business folded—well I just can't bother him. Besides, even if he told old Critch to let me keep Crispin, I'm not sure she'd do what he told her."
"Well, why is the airfield closed, sonny? Why would a town the size of this one close its airfield?"
"You saw those starlings diving around here awhile ago?"
"Sure did, sonny. Nasty birds. Why I've seen starlings attack other birds and drive them right out of the nest. They're the pestiest critters alive."
"They sure are. Well that flock of starlings came into Skrimville early last spring. They flocked all over the dump and the airfield, and every time a plane took off or landed they flew up and got in its way. They drove the pilots crazy. Then one day a little private jet sucked so many starlings into its jet mechanism that it crashed and four people were killed. Well, right away the city closed the airfield, and it hasn't been open since."
"But didn't they try to get rid of the starlings? A whole town—"
"Oh, they tried. They tried everything. But those birds aren't afraid of much. Someone tried driving a car down the runway honking its horn before a plane took off, to scare the birds away. That worked for about two days, then the birds got used to it. Then the mayor bought those war surplus cannon to fire off blanks to scare them, but the starlings got used to that, too."
"Did they try to poison them? Seems mean, but sometimes—"
"They put out poison pellets and a few starlings died, then those crazy birds learned to avoid the pellets, and the town picked them all up again so no little kid or dog would get them."
"Well maybe shotguns . . ."
"Oh, people tried shooting them but pretty soon the starlings started avoiding anyone with a gun. They'd just fly off. And people in town complained about all the noise. The mayor even bought a loudspeaker and sent for a recording of starling distress calls from a museum in Washington. He mounted the loudspeaker on his car so he could drive out and play the record in the dump in the daytime, then drive back and play it in town at night when the birds came in to roost. That worked fine for a while, the birds were really jittery and couldn't settle down. Everyone thought they'd leave. But gradually they got used to it and didn't pay any more attention. And the distress calls were so awful that everyone in town was more jittery than the birds.
"So Skrimville Field is closed. My dad's repair shop is closed. Dad is living up in Allensville in a boarding house, working for someone else. Mrs. Critch is living in our spare room. And even the dump is miserable. Without Crispin it would really have been a lousy summer, and now ..." Charlie stared at Rory, and Rory stared back. The kid was making Rory feel pretty bad.
"How come you named the lemming Crispin?" Rory asked softly, just for something to say to the boy.
"It's funny about that. I was trying to think what to name him. I went to sleep trying to decide between Herman and Louie and Rover. And in the morning when I woke up, I just said Crispin like it came right out of the blue. And the little beggar jumped off the pillow onto my chest and stuck his nose in my face as if he knew his name right off."
Rory smiled. This was getting more interesting every minute. "Well go on, sonny, go get that lemming and let's see what he has to say for himself."
CHAPTER 6
charlie found Crispin asleep in the patch of sunshine that splashed across the floor of his cage. His short paws were wrapped around the chocolate cake as if he'd stuffed himself and fallen asleep before he finished. Charlie carried the cage back to the Buick and set it down in front of the kangaroo rat. Crispin, sated with food, did not stir. He snored softly, and his distended stomach gurgled now and then.
The kangaroo rat studied the sleeping lemming, the snub nose, the nearly invisible ears, the short legs and half-inch tail. "Ain't very well equipped, is he?" Rory said, fingering his own large ears and flicking his long tail so the white ruff arched high over his head. "And who ever heard—who ever heard of hair on the bottoms of your feet!"
"Well you have hair between your toes!" Charlie challenged. "Look at it, it's a regular mat of hair!"
"My hair," Rory said, extending his toes to show the matted hair between them, "is for walking on sand. It has a purpose. And it's not on the bottoms of my feet."
"His hair," Charlie growled back, "is for walking on ice! It's to keep from slipping! You try walking on ice with those slick feet of yours and see what happens!"
Crispin woke then, stared at Rory, and began to twitch his whiskers.
"Awake now, sonny? So you're a lemming, are you? Do you speak English?"
Crispin stared at Rory, glanced up uneasily at Charlie, then back at the kangaroo rat. He remained silent.
"It's all right, sonny. You don't have to say a thing if you don't want to."
The lemming pushed as close to Rory as he could against the bars of his cage, and whispered, "How come you're talking? We're not supposed to talk to people!" He stared over his shoulder at Charlie. "Charlie's my friend and I've wanted to talk to him lots of times. But I never did! Well, not so he knew about it."
"It's all right, sonny. Old Charlie here won't say anything." The kangaroo rat glanced at Charlie as if Charlie hadn't better say anything. "And your name's Crispin, sonny! That right?"
"Yes sir," said the lemming.
"Well I'm Rory from Cricket Run, Arizona, on my way to see the world."
The lemming seemed impressed. Charlie was impressed, too, because Arizona was a long way from Skrimville.
"Is Crispin your only name, sonny? If Charlie named you Crispin, didn't you have another name before that? What did your mother call you?"
"Oh, Charlie didn't name me Crispin. That's always been my name."
"Of course I named you!" Charlie interrupted. "Don't you remember, I went to sleep thinking of names, and when I woke up I named you Crispin."
"But you didn't name me that, Charlie," said the lemming stubbornly. "You just thought you did. See, when you started trying names on me—Rover!— Well I just stood all I could. I didn't want to be called Rover! I didn't even like Louie. So when you went to sleep I sat by your ear and whispered my real name over and over. I sat there all night, just whispering, and when you woke up"—the lemming smiled a joyful smile—"when you woke up, you knew what my name was, Charlie. You knew right away!"