untily.

* * * * *

He stared at the list before him and then he started to swear, softly
at first, then louder. But no matter how loudly he swore, the list
remained undeniably and obstinately the same:

Freeble--Displeasure (Tape 3)

Freeble--Elation (Tape 4)

Freeble--Grief (Tape 5)

"How," he asked the empty room, "can a word mean grief and elation at
the same time?"

Jonathan sat for a few moments in silence, thinking back to the start
of the sessions with Easton. Ramirez and Stoughton had both agreed
with him that Easton's speech was phonemically identical to English.
Jonathan's trained ear remembered the pronunciation of "Freeble" in
the three different connotations and he forced himself to admit it was
the same on all three tapes in question.

Stuck again, he thought gloomily.

Good-by, vacation!

He lit a cigarette and stared at the ceiling. It was like saying the
word "die" meant something happy and something sad at one and the
same, like saying--

Jonathan pursed his lips. Yes, it could be. If someone were in
terrible pain, death, while a thing of sorrow, could also mean release
from suffering and so become a thing of joy. Or it could mean sorrow
to one person and relief to another. In that case, what he was dealing
with here was not only--

The crash of the ball, as it sailed through the window behind his
desk, lifted Jonathan right from his chair. Furious, his elusive clue
shattered as surely as the pane of glass, he strode to the window.

"Richie!"

His son, almost hidden behind the lilac bush, did not answer.

"I see you!" Jonathan bellowed. "Come here!"

The bush stirred slightly and Richie peeped through the leaves. "Did
you call me, Daddy?" he asked politely.

Jonathan clamped his lips shut and pointed to the den. Richie tried a
smile as he sidled around the bush, around his father, and into the
house.

"My," he marveled, looking at the broken glass on the floor inside.
"My goodness!" He sat down in the leather chair to which Jonathan
motioned.

"Richie," said his father, when he could trust his voice again, "how
did it happen?"

His son's thin legs, brown and wiry, stuck out straight from the
depths of the chair. There was a long scratch on one calf and numerous
black-and-blue spots around both knees.

"I dunno," said Richie. He blinked his eyes, deeper blue than
Margery's, and reached up one hand to push away the mass of blond hair
tumbling