The answer did not reassure him. He knew that Lummox was ticklish, but it usually took something like a pickaxe to accomplish it. The swellings must be very sensitive. He was about to investigate farther when he was hailed from behind.
"John! Johnnie!"
He turned. Betty Sorenson was outside the cage. "Hi, Slugger," he called to her. "You got my message?"
"Yes, but not until after eight o'clock. You know the dorm rules. Hi, Lummox. How's my baby?"
"Fine," said Lummox.
"That's why I recorded," John Thomas answered. The idiots rousted me out of bed before daylight. Silly."
"Do you good to see a sunrise. But what is all this rush? I thought the hearing was next week?"
"It was supposed to be. But some heavyweight from the Department of Space is coming out from Capital. He's going to try it,"
"What?"
"What's the matter?"
"The matter? Why, everything! I don't know this man from Capital. I thought I was going to deal with Judge O'Farrell... I know what makes him tick. This new judge... well, I don't know. In the second place, I've got ideas I haven't had time to work out yet." She frowned. "We'll have to get a postponement."
"What for?" asked John Thomas. "Why don't we just go into court and tell the truth?"
"Johnnie, you're hopeless. If that was all there was to it, there wouldn't be any courts."
"Maybe that would be an improvement."
"But... Look, Knothead, don't stand there making silly noises. If we have to appear in less than an hour..." She glanced up at the clock tower on the ancient courthouse. 'A good deal less. We've got to move fast. At the very least, we've got to get that homestead claim recorded."
"That's silly. They won't take it, I tell you. We can't homestead Lummox. He's not a piece of land."
"A man can homestead a cow, two horses, a dozen pigs. A carpenter can homestead his tools. An actress can homestead her wardrobe."
"But that's not 'homesteading.' I took the same course in commercial law that you did. They'll laugh at you."
"Don't quibble. It's section II-of the same law. If you were exhibiting Lummie in a carnival, he'd be the 'tools of your trade,' wouldn't he? It's up to them to prove he isn't. The thing is to register Lummox as exempt from lien before somebody gets a judgment against you."
"If they can't collect from me, they'll collect from my mother."
"No, they won't. I checked that. Since your father put the money in a trust, legally she hasn't got a dime."
"Is that the law?" he asked doubtfully.
"Oh, hurry up! The law is whatever you can convince a court it is."
"Betty, you've got a twisted mind." He slid out between the bars, turned and said, "Lummie, I'll only be gone a minute. You stay right here."
"Why?" asked Lummox.
"Never mind 'why.' You wait for me here."
"All right."
There was a crowd on the courthouse lawn, people gawking at Lummox in his new notoriety. Chief Dreiser had ordered rope barriers erected and a couple of his men were present to see that they were respected, The two young people ducked under the ropes and pushed through the crowd to the courthouse steps. The county clerk's office was on the second floor; there they found his chief deputy, an elderly maiden lady.
Miss Schreiber took the same view of registering Lummox as free from judgment that John Thomas did. But Betty pointed out that it was not up to the county clerk to decide what was an eligible chattel under the law, and cited an entirely fictitious case about a man who homesteaded a multiple echo. Miss Schreiber reluctantly filled out forms, accepted the modest fee, and gave them a certified copy.
It was almost ten o'clock. John Thomas hurried out and started downstairs. He stopped when he saw that Betty had paused at a penny weighing machine. "Come on, Betty," he demanded. "This is no time for that."
"I'm not weighing myself," she answered while staring into the mirror attached to it. "I'm checking my makeup. I've got to look my best."
"You look all right."
"Why, Johnnie, a compliment!"
"It wasn't a compliment. Hurry up. I've got to tell Lummox something."
"Throttle back and hold at ten thousand. I'll bring you in." She wiped off her eyebrows, painted them back in the smart Madame Satan pattern, and decided that it made her look older. She considered adding a rolling-dice design on her right cheek, but skipped it as Johnnie was about to boil over. They hurried down and outdoors.
More moments were wasted convincing a policeman that they belonged inside the barrier. Johnnie saw that two men were standing by Lummox's cage. He broke into a run. "Hey! You two! Get away from there!"
Judge O'Farrell turned around and blinked. "What is your interest, young man?" The other man turned but said nothing.
"Me? Why, I'm his owner. He's not used to strangers. So go back of the rope, will you?" He turned to Lummox. "It's all right, baby. Johnnie's here."
"Howdy, Judge."
"Oh. Hello, Betty." The judge looked at her as if trying to decide why she was present, then turned to John Thomas. 'You must be the Stuart boy. I'm Judge O'Farrell."
"Oh. Excuse me, Judge," John Thomas answered, his ears turning pink. "I thought you were a sightseer."
"A natural error. Mr. Greenberg, this is the Stuart boy... John Thomas Stuart. Young man, this is the Honorable Sergei Greenberg, Special Commissioner for the Department of Spatial Affairs." He looked around. "Oh yes... this is Miss Betty Sorenson, Mr. Commissioner. Betty, why have you done those silly things to your face?"
She ignored him with dignity. "Honored to meet you, Mr. Commissioner."
"Just 'Mr. Greenberg,' please, Miss Sorenson." Greenberg turned to Johnnie. "Any relation to the John Thomas Stuart?"
"I'm John Thomas Stuart the Eleventh," Johnnie answered simply. "I suppose you mean my great-great-great grandfather."
"I guess that would be it. I was born on Mars, almost within sight of his statue. I had no idea your family was mixed up in this. Perhaps we can have a gab about Martian history later."
"I've never been to Mars," Johnnie admitted.
"No? That's surprising. But you're young yet."
Betty listened, ears almost twitching, and decided that this judge, if that was what he was, would be an even softer mark than Judge O'Farrell. It was hard to remember that Johnnie's name meant anything special... especially since it didn't. Not around Westville.
Greenberg went on, "You've made me lose two bets, Mr. Stuart."
"Sir?"
"I thought this creature would prove not to be from 'Out There.' I was wrong; that big fellow is certainly not native to Earth. But I was equally sure that, if he was e.-t., I could attribute him, I'm not an exotic zoologist, but in my business one has to keep skimming such things... look at the pictures at least. But I'm stumped. What is be and where did he come from?"
"Uh, why, he's just Lummox. That's what we call him. My great grandfather brought him back in the Trail Blazer... her second trip."
"That, long ago, eh? Well, that clears up some of the mystery; that was before DepSpace kept records... in fact before there was such a department. But I still don't see how this fellow could have missed making a splash in the history books. I've read about the Trail Blazer and I remember she brought back many exotica. But I don't remember this fellow... and, after all, extra-terrestrials were news in those days."
"Oh, that... Well, sir, the captain didn't know Lummox was aboard. Great-granddad brought him aboard in his jump bag and sneaked him off the ship the same way."
"In his lump bag?" Greenberg stared at Lummox's out-sized figure.
"Yes, sir. Of course Lummie was smaller then."
"So I am forced to believe."
"I've got pictures of him. He was about the size of a collie pup. More legs of course."
"Mmmm, yes. More legs. And he puts me, more in mind of a triceratops than a collie. Isn't he expensive to feed?"
"Oh, no, Lummie eats anything. Well, almost anything," John Thomas amended hastily, glancing self-consciously at the steel bars. "Or he can go without eating for a long time. Can't you, Lummie?"