"I tell you you've got to leave it up to me, if you want to get off this planet alive. Now stand back and keep your mouth shut, no matter what happens." He kicked the door open and stood back and to one side of it. "Come in with your arms up!" There was a sort of rustling sound and in walked a huge, white, wingless bird. "My name," the dodo repeated, somewhat plaintively this time, with a glance toward the lunch compartment, "is Isadore Summers." I couldn't help it. I rolled all over the ship with laughter. Rene looked a little shamefaced, tossed his gun onto the rack and punched the lighting on. Obviously the dodo recognized our lunch compartment from familiarity with Uncle Izzy's ship. Then he looked at the alcohol tap that led from the fuel conversion. "Nepenthe?" he begged. I hesitated. "Isn't there something," I asked Rene, "about corrupting the natives of a primitive planet?" But Rene was sitting on his bunk, his jaw slack. "This is the first time I've ever been made a fool of by an alcoholic bird." "If it's _just_ a bird, of course. Like a parrot...." I addressed the bird. "Sir," I began, and caught myself, "or perhaps madam, can you say anything else?" "Nepenthe," the bird said firmly. I shrugged and drew a cup. The dodo lifted the cup and drained it in one smooth gesture. This, as it turned out, was the only thing it seemed to do smoothly. It began a wild attempt to scratch its head with one claw and remain upright. Then, abandoning all dignity, it rolled to its side and scratched furiously to satisfaction. After that, it began what looked like a hopeless attempt to right its awkward body, legs struggling in the air and back bumping around the ship. I couldn't help remembering Uncle Izzy after a meal, slim and suave, lighting up a tapered, perfectly packed cigarene and blowing out one round, shapely smoke ring that hovered before his light, sardonic grin like a comment on his thoughts. An uncomfortable comparison. I shook myself to life. I righted the bird, no small problem, for he weighed almost two hundred pounds. "Well," Rene finally said, coming out of his mood, "now that you have this bird, what are you going to do with it?" "I had thought it might lead us to Uncle Izzy's fortune," I explained. * * * * * The bird obviously had no such intention. It was getting ready to take a nap. "A night bird," I told it reprovingly, "shouldn't take a nap in the middle of the night." "All you're proving is that he has no self-respect," Rene pointed out. "Why don't you look to see if he's got a note tagged to his leg or something?" I did. He didn't. "I think this whole thing is crazy," Rene said, "but since he's a talking bird, you might ask him a few questions. Maybe he's trained to say something else." "Where is Uncle Izzy's fortune?" I asked, when I had tugged at the dodo's feathers until he opened one eye. He closed it. "Do you have a message for me?"