a map out of the rack and put a finger on New York City.
"I'm sure to be recognized there!" Kent protested.
Pard swooped a finger through the air and down on a little town in New Jersey, then rubbed it along the map to the big city. Kent nodded.
"Yeah, it might help to land in a cornball town and go the rest of the way by train. But I wish I had a disguise."
Pard made clipping motions around his head.
"That's what I was afraid you would do," said Kent glumly. Nevertheless, he took the scissors and a small mirror from his toilet kit and began shearing his long curly locks. He had trimmed his coiffure frequently—but far less severely—in the past, and could do a neat job of it. But when he had the mop down to businessman-length, he stared in the mirror with sad misgivings.
"I don't know what my fans in Toronto will think of this," he mourned, "if I ever get to Toronto."
6
He reached Manhattan shortly after midnight. The town, away from the tourist-trap centers, was resting quietly.
Pard walked into a well-kept residential section and halted in a shadowed spot near the beginning of a long block of brownstones. He watched and listened intently for a minute, then moved cautiously ahead. Halfway down the block he paused in front of a house and looked around again.
"Where is she?" Kent mouthed.
Pard shrugged: I don't know.
"Is this where she lives?" Kent persisted.
Yes-no.
"If you're trying to confuse me, you're doing great!"
Pard didn't respond. He went up the steps of the house, and Kent saw the row of apartment bell buttons. Pard quickly mashed every button, then hurried down the steps and across the street, where he hid behind an illegally parked car.
Lights came on in the apartments, and after a couple of minutes someone opened the door and peered outside. Kent could hear loud words being exchanged, but couldn't understand them. Five minutes later the house was dark again.
Pard stayed a little longer behind the car, then strolled away. Mystified, Kent hazarded, "Was that some kind of code to find out if she was home?"
After a pause: Yes.
"Not quite right, huh?"
Yes.
By subway and bus Pard went into the New Jersey suburbs. He wound up in front of a home that Kent put in the seventy-thousand-dollar class. The place was dark and silent.
Pard eased across the lawn, then around the corner and along the side of the house. An empty garbage can stood behind a side porch. Pard picked up the can and flung it with all his strength against the wall of the house.
A shrill feminine scream, followed by enraged male curses, came from inside, and Pard scooted behind a neighbor's garage. He peeked out to see the porch light come on and a heavy man lurch out carrying a mean-looking rifle. The man looked at the garbage can, cursed some more, and glared out into the night, his eyes halting on Pard's hiding place much too long for Kent's mental comfort. At last the man stalked back inside, slammed the door, and turned off the light.
As Pard crept away and headed back for the bus line, Kent growled angrily, "Are you supposed to be accomplishing something?"
Yes.
"Damned if I can see what!" Kent snapped. "If this is the way you spend your nights out, I wonder why you bother!"
Pard napped while Kent returned to the town where he had left the clopter. He had breakfast there just after dawn, and refueled the clopter. Pard had indicated he wanted to head west again.
"Where to now?" he asked when they were airborne. Pard opened the map and pointed to Green River, Wyoming. "The girl's somewhere around there, you think?"
Yes.
"I hope you're right for a change!" Kent snapped, thinking of the rehearsal with the Toronto Symphony he seemed destined to miss that evening. A dress rehearsal at that! A concert artist who didn't show up for engagements could get a stinky reputation, no matter how good he was.
He must have unconsciously mouthed his fretful thoughts, because Pard put an imaginary
"I'm sure to be recognized there!" Kent protested.
Pard swooped a finger through the air and down on a little town in New Jersey, then rubbed it along the map to the big city. Kent nodded.
"Yeah, it might help to land in a cornball town and go the rest of the way by train. But I wish I had a disguise."
Pard made clipping motions around his head.
"That's what I was afraid you would do," said Kent glumly. Nevertheless, he took the scissors and a small mirror from his toilet kit and began shearing his long curly locks. He had trimmed his coiffure frequently—but far less severely—in the past, and could do a neat job of it. But when he had the mop down to businessman-length, he stared in the mirror with sad misgivings.
"I don't know what my fans in Toronto will think of this," he mourned, "if I ever get to Toronto."
6
He reached Manhattan shortly after midnight. The town, away from the tourist-trap centers, was resting quietly.
Pard walked into a well-kept residential section and halted in a shadowed spot near the beginning of a long block of brownstones. He watched and listened intently for a minute, then moved cautiously ahead. Halfway down the block he paused in front of a house and looked around again.
"Where is she?" Kent mouthed.
Pard shrugged: I don't know.
"Is this where she lives?" Kent persisted.
Yes-no.
"If you're trying to confuse me, you're doing great!"
Pard didn't respond. He went up the steps of the house, and Kent saw the row of apartment bell buttons. Pard quickly mashed every button, then hurried down the steps and across the street, where he hid behind an illegally parked car.
Lights came on in the apartments, and after a couple of minutes someone opened the door and peered outside. Kent could hear loud words being exchanged, but couldn't understand them. Five minutes later the house was dark again.
Pard stayed a little longer behind the car, then strolled away. Mystified, Kent hazarded, "Was that some kind of code to find out if she was home?"
After a pause: Yes.
"Not quite right, huh?"
Yes.
By subway and bus Pard went into the New Jersey suburbs. He wound up in front of a home that Kent put in the seventy-thousand-dollar class. The place was dark and silent.
Pard eased across the lawn, then around the corner and along the side of the house. An empty garbage can stood behind a side porch. Pard picked up the can and flung it with all his strength against the wall of the house.
A shrill feminine scream, followed by enraged male curses, came from inside, and Pard scooted behind a neighbor's garage. He peeked out to see the porch light come on and a heavy man lurch out carrying a mean-looking rifle. The man looked at the garbage can, cursed some more, and glared out into the night, his eyes halting on Pard's hiding place much too long for Kent's mental comfort. At last the man stalked back inside, slammed the door, and turned off the light.
As Pard crept away and headed back for the bus line, Kent growled angrily, "Are you supposed to be accomplishing something?"
Yes.
"Damned if I can see what!" Kent snapped. "If this is the way you spend your nights out, I wonder why you bother!"
Pard napped while Kent returned to the town where he had left the clopter. He had breakfast there just after dawn, and refueled the clopter. Pard had indicated he wanted to head west again.
"Where to now?" he asked when they were airborne. Pard opened the map and pointed to Green River, Wyoming. "The girl's somewhere around there, you think?"
Yes.
"I hope you're right for a change!" Kent snapped, thinking of the rehearsal with the Toronto Symphony he seemed destined to miss that evening. A dress rehearsal at that! A concert artist who didn't show up for engagements could get a stinky reputation, no matter how good he was.
He must have unconsciously mouthed his fretful thoughts, because Pard put an imaginary
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