ard him.

"What is it?"

The wub stood sagging, its great body settling slowly. It was sitting
down, its eyes half shut. A few flies buzzed about its flank, and it
switched its tail.

_It_ sat. There was silence.

"It's a wub," Peterson said. "I got it from a native for fifty cents. He
said it was a very unusual animal. Very respected."

"This?" Franco poked the great sloping side of the wub. "It's a pig! A
huge dirty pig!"

"Yes sir, it's a pig. The natives call it a wub."

"A huge pig. It must weigh four hundred pounds." Franco grabbed a tuft
of the rough hair. The wub gasped. Its eyes opened, small and moist.
Then its great mouth twitched.

A tear rolled down the wub's cheek and splashed on the floor.

"Maybe it's good to eat," Peterson said nervously.

"We'll soon find out," Franco said.

* * * * *

The wub survived the take-off, sound asleep in the hold of the ship.
When they were out in space and everything was running smoothly, Captain
Franco bade his men fetch the wub upstairs so that he might perceive
what manner of beast it was.

The wub grunted and wheezed, squeezing up the passageway.

"Come on," Jones grated, pulling at the rope. The wub twisted, rubbing
its skin off on the smooth chrome walls. It burst into the ante-room,
tumbling down in a heap. The men leaped up.

"Good Lord," French said. "What is it?"

"Peterson says it's a wub," Jones said. "It belongs to him." He kicked
at the wub. The wub stood up unsteadily, panting.

"What's the matter with it?" French came over. "Is it going to be sick?"

They watched. The wub rolled its eyes mournfully. It gazed around at the
men.

"I think it's thirsty," Peterson said. He went to get some water. French
shook his head.

"No wonder we had so much trouble taking off. I had to reset all my
ballast calculations."

Peterson came back with the water. The wub began to lap gratefully,
splashing the men.

Captain Franco appeared at the door.

"Let's have a look at it." He advanced, squinting critically. "You got
this for fifty cents?"

"Yes, sir," Peterson said. "It eats almost anything. I fed it on grain
and it liked that. And then potatoes, and mash, and scraps from the
table, and milk. It seems to enjoy eating. After it eats it lies down
and goes to sleep."

"I see," Captain Franco said. "Now, as to its taste. That's the real
question. I doubt if there's much point in fattening it up any more. It
seems