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thing. It's not a question that you have left anything
undone. You have done more, much more than you came
here to do, but it so happens that through the failure of
others there is still more to do.
What? asked the Old Man.
The Lama Mingyar Dondup looked down his nose and
tried not to smile as he said, There may be another book to
make the twelfth. We shall have to think about it. It would
certainly be appreciated. But there is another little task
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which has to be done, something in connection with an in-
vention which may yet burst upon this startled world.
For some time the Old Man and the Lama Mingyar
Dondup discussed things, but this is not the place to disclose
all that was said. The Old Man, sick almost to death, and
with expenses mounting through medical bills, and other
vital expenditures, wondered how he was going to stick it for
even a few months longer. At last the super-astral of the
Lama Mingyar Dondup faded, and the failing daylight took
over once again.
Time. What a strange thing is this artificial time. One
could travel from the astral world here and back in the
twinkling of an eye, and yet down here on this Earth one
was bound by the clock and by the motion of the sun
controlling the clock. Here in New Brunswick the sun was
setting. A few thousand miles away John Henderson would
still be busy at his work about in the middle of the afternoon.
Not so far away Valeria Sorock, that paragon of loyalty and
exactitude, would probably just be leaving her office and
probably thinking of her tea. Yes, most certainly, thought
the Old Man, Valeria would be thinking of her tea because
one weakness was that she thought too much of food! I shall
have to talk to her about her diet, thought the Old Man to
himself.
In the other direction the WorstMann ladies would prob-
ably be at home very late in the evening, perhaps listening to
the radio, perhaps studying, and perhaps one of them just
about to go on night duty.
But here the ladies Taddy and Cleo were having their
evening play, chasing around with a favorite toy, and the
favorite toy was a nice, soft, woolly belt from a dressing
gown. The Old Man thought of Taddy and Cleo, thought of
how since they were born they had been treated as human
children, how everything had been done to make them feel
that they were entities as important as any humans, and the
task had been most fruitful, the results had been most grat-
ifying, for these two little people were indeed real people.
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From midnight until midday Miss Cleo was mentioned first,
but from midday until midnight Miss Taddy's name was
mentioned first and so they were assured of quite equal
treatment without any trace of favoritism.
Miss Taddy, ample, plump, and comfortable looking,
loves to crouch down behind one of the scratch pads while
the extremely beautiful, very slender, very graceful Miss
Cleo bounces up and down and does wildly improbable
feline gymnastics.
But the night was growing darker, the air was growing
colder and there still was a nip of frost about. Outside the red
of the thermometer was dropping, outside people on the
road were well muffled up.
The Old Man had been looking forward to this day, the
day when the eleventh book would be ended and he could
push aside all thoughts of writing and say, Never any more,
it's all over, no more writing, my time on Earth has just
about finished. But now with the visit from the super-astral
of the Lama Mingyar Dondup well, the Old Man thought,
isn't one's task ever ended is one driven along like a rickety
old car until it finally falls to pieces? I'm just about in pieces
now, he thought. But there it is, what will be will be, and
when a task has to be done, it will not be done unless there is
someone there to do it. So, thought the Old Man, I must try
to hang on a little longer, and as for writing another book,
who knows? It might be good to make the number in Eng-
lish up to twelve. He thought, I would like to tell everyone,
everyone throughout the world, that all these books are true,
everything related in these books is true, and that is a
definite statement.
So we come to the end of what is not a perfect day after all
because the task is not ended, the final battle is not yet won,
there is more to be done, and little time and little health
with which to do it. We can but try.
Here and now let me offer my most grateful thanks to
Mrs. Sheelagh Rouse, alias Buttercup, for the immense care
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and work she has devoted to typing my books, care and work
which is appreciated perhaps more than she knows.
Let me offer my thanks to Ra'ab for the extreme care and
accuracy with which she has checked everything and made
truly worthwhile suggestions. She has aided my task.
And finally, but by no means least, let me thank Miss
Tadalinka and Miss Cleopatra Rampa for the en-
couragement and entertainment they have given to me.
These two dear little people have made it worthwhile to
continue a little longer for never in the whole of their four
years of life have they shown any spite, any bad temper, and
not even any irritation. If humans were as equable and
sweet-natured as these two there would be no trouble on the
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