But I didn't know what "back then" meant or how primitive ancient printing was. All I knew for sure was that, as the poem stood, it sounded as if somebody had loused up a perfect Grilch Hop rhyme. And Uncle Izzy knew I was a Grilch Hop expert in Middle School and this was the only _real_ Grilch Hop rhythm in the book. What's more, Uncle Izzy could depend on me to go over that book in painstaking detail because a studs and neck clasp man has to be good on details. * * * * * "All right," I said. "You look your way and I'll look my way." "We're not looking any more any way today," Rene said, emerging from Uncle Isadore's ship loaded down with removings. "It'll be night and below freezing in half an hour." "What do you think," I asked, "a dodo would like to eat?" "A _what_?" "The birds. I want to put something out to attract them. Crackers or something?" "I think you're crazy. If you have any idea of sitting outside to wait for them, you'll freeze to death. Not only that, there's no moon. You wouldn't be able to see your hand in front of your face." "How do the birds see?" "Maybe they aren't night birds. Maybe they migrated somewhere else." "And if I use a light, it might scare them away," I mused. "Well, maybe I'm not supposed to wait outside, anyway." Rene went in and switched on the heat and lights. "Leave the outside port open," I said. "Why?" "So the birds can knock." "Can _what_?" "Well, it's possible," I said defensively. "It won't hurt anything to leave it open." "All right," he consented, curving his mouth around unpleasantly, "just to show you what a jackass you are." Rene had the heat turned low, for sleeping, and the lights off, as soon as we had eaten and fed the converter. I hydrated a package of crackers so that they were full-sized but not soggy, broke them into pieces and tossed them out. I admit I felt a little embarrassed. I sat there in the chill quiet, on this ugly, alien world, reading "The Dodo" by the light of a miniature flash, so as not to disturb Rene. Pretty soon I began to feel creepy. "The Dodo" is a ghastly poem. There's an insidious morbidity about it. It had sounded merely funny the first time I read it. Now, the more I read it, the more I began to hear strange, impossible creakings and sighs, which might or might not be due to temperature changes. The night outside was a deep, cold cup of darkness where no human thing moved. There was a knock at the door. I dropped the book and flashlight. Rene was up like a cat. He didn't turn on the light. "Who's there?" he shouted. There was a scratching noise at the door. Then a voice croaked, "My name is Isadore Summers." * * * * * I reached a trembling hand for the door. "Wait, you fool!" Rene cried. He picked up the flash and got his gun. "Stand behind me and keep your hands off your gun. I know when to shoot and when not to shoot. You don't." "If it's Uncle Isadore...."