There were three others in the room: Reba, who looked at the dwindling Fweepland and sighed; Joyce, who sat tautly in her chair, her face fixed and unbelieving; and Fred, who looked at Joyce and shook his head. Grampa opened the door to his room and stepped cockily into the central cabin, shutting the door behind him. "Well?" he demanded confidently. "Are we heading for Earth?" Junior gestured toward the screen. "If Four's coordinates are right." "Speaking of coordinates," Grampa said briskly, "make sure we got the coordinates of Fweepland. It'll take a long time for that atmosphere to dissipate. A nice little world like that is worth its weight in uranium to a good real estate salesman." "How did you do it?" Joyce challenged. Grampa slapped her familiarly on the shoulder. "A problem of gravity," he said gayly, "but a simple one. Nothing for an old pircuit man like me. I guess you folks won't laugh at Grampa and his pircuits any more. Not only did Grampa get you out of Fweepland, but he's taking you back with a valuable little subdivision in the third quadrant to file on." "I hate to spoil the party," Fred said, "but have you thought about what you're going to do with Fweep?" "Fweep?" Grampa repeated, puzzled. "Why should I do anything with Fweep?" "We can't take him back to Earth with us." "Why not?" Grampa demanded. "In the first place, the Immigration Authority would have to pass on him. That might take years, with Fweep's powers and abilities. More important, if Fweep got loose on Earth, every flivver would have the same problem there that we had here. And next time Fweep might not be so cooperative. I don't know what you did to Fweep in there, but if he's still alive, the I.A. isn't going to take a chance." Grampa considered the prospect without dismay. "I wonder if we could smuggle him in. With all those flivvers not working, they'd have to pay us before they could take off." "Grampa!" Fred said sternly. "That would be blackmail--or worse. Besides getting in trouble with the I.A., you'd get it from the W.B.I. and the I.C.C." * * * * * Grampa waved his hand impatiently. "We'll solve that problem when we come to it. After all, an old pircuit man like me--" "What _did_ you _do_ to Fweep?" Joyce repeated insistently. Grampa cleared his throat with pride. "Well, now, I'll tell you. I just happened to notice that Fweep liked my tonic. Every time I took a little nip, the little beast was around my chair, trying to clean my hand for me." "Tonic!" Joyce sniffed. "Liquor, you mean!" "Now that's not right," Grampa objected. "I said tonic and I mean tonic. Got a little alcohol in it for a preservative, maybe, but the important part is the minerals. That's the Longevity Institute's secret. It's what keeps me young. Want a little nip?" He leered at Joyce. "You mean you got Fweep drunk?" Fred exclaimed.