"Tell her I'll mind the baby," Blahrog called after her. As she closed the door, she heard Andy say, "Gentlemen, if you'll supply the Throatduster, I'll give it a try." * * * * * "It's awfully quiet," Hrom said doubtfully, looking around at the Felician spaceport. "Look at the tannery chimneys. No smoke." Miss Featherpenny, her mouth in good repair, glanced into the bar as they passed it. "Only two shippers," she said. "There are usually dozens." "They must have stopped production entirely," Hrom said. "Maybe Andy thought of something." "I wonder if Papa brought the car down for us." He hadn't. They walked into town. Blahrog was in conference with the Everking. "I'd better wait for him," Miss Featherpenny said. "I want to find out what's going on before I talk to Andy." "I'd better rescue Mother Klagom from the baby." Blahrog was as long-winded as usual. "Where is Mr. Stephens?" Miss Featherpenny demanded, as soon as she saw him coming down the hall. "In his old storeroom," Blahrog said moodily. "He's quite drunk, I believe, but he doesn't seem to be getting any ideas." "Then why did you stop cobbling?" Blahrog did a Felician shrug. "We're waiting to see what happens. There's no sense making shoes any more if they aren't wanted." "I have to talk to him," Miss Featherpenny said. "Do you have an idea?" "No," Miss Featherpenny lied. "But you'd let him drink himself to death, if he didn't think of anything." "You want a lift in the car?" Blahrog asked, uninsulted. "I'd be pleased, if you don't mind. I just walked in from the port." * * * * * Andy was not, as Blahrog had suggested, very drunk. He was only hung over. "Get your tooth fixed?" he asked cheerlessly. "Yes." "Good dentist?" Miss Featherpenny nodded. "He had some entirely new equipment. Extremely powerful, and quite precise." "Oh?" Andy straightened in the old arm chair. "I've been trying to think. And drinking. Throatduster isn't working this time." He paused to reconsider. "Except that it makes me drunk. Everything keeps getting fuzzy, and my head is wider than my shoulders." "The dentist said," Miss Featherpenny persisted, "that he could pull a whale's tooth as easily and smoothly as he pulled mine." "You had to have it pulled? Too bad." Andy made a face at the full mug of Throatduster on the barrel beside him. "The Felicians won't change their minds about the shoes, and they won't try tourists again. I can't think of anything else. And they can claim the guarantee. I was bluffing." "I know," Miss Featherpenny said. She tried again. "The dentist claims even the tiniest species could do dental work on the biggest species." She paused, hoping it would sink in. "Providing the tiny species had sufficient dexterity." "Blasted Felicians," Andy muttered. "Stubborn little pigs."