hose, in assorted sizes and colors, but no capes. Dan slowed to glance at the display and saw the proprietor coming briskly from the dark interior, rubbing his hands. Dan speeded up and got away before the proprietor came out. The Porcyns, he thought, seemed at least to have a proper mercantile attitude. III Dan passed another fish market, then came to a big, brightly polished window. Inside was a huge, chromium-plated bar-bell on a purple velvet cloth. Behind it were arranged displays of hand-grips, exercise cables, dumb-bells and skipping ropes. The inside of the store was indirectly lighted and expensively simple. The place had an air that was quiet, lavish and discreet. It reminded Dan of a well-to-do funeral establishment. In one corner of the window was a small, edge-lighted sign: You Never Know What the Next Life Will Be Like. In the other corner of the window was a polished black plate with a dimly glowing bulb in the center. Around the bulb were the words: Your Corrected Charge— Courtesy of Save-Your-Life Co. A tall, heavily muscled man in a dark-blue cape stepped outside. "Good morning, Devisement," he said affably. "I see you're a stranger in town. I thought I might mention that our birth rate's rather high just now." He coughed deferentially. "You set an example, you know. Our main store is on 122 Center Street, so if you—" He was cut off by a childish scream. Down the street, a little boy struggled and thrashed near an oblong hole at the base of a building, caught in a tangle of the mysterious ropes. "A kid!" cried the man. He sucked in his breath and shouted, "Dog! Here, Dog! Dog!" On the end of a wharf, a crowd of children was watching the unloading. From their midst, a lioness burst. "Here, Dog!" shouted the man. "A sweeper! A sweeper! Run, Dog!" The lioness burst into a blur of long bounds, shot down the wharf, sprang into the street and glanced around with glaring yellow eyes. The little boy was partway inside the hole, clinging to the edge with both hands. "Doggie," he sobbed.
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