Youth. Isaac Asimov

want to look, or don’t you?”

      Slim nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, after all. They might be—

      But the canvas had been jerked off and there they were. Two of them, the way Red said. They were small, and sort of disgusting-looking. The animals moved quickly as the canvas lifted and were on the side toward the youngsters. Red poked a cautious finger at them.

      “Watch out,” said Slim, in agony.

      “They don’t hurt you,” said Red. “Ever see anything like them?”

      “No.”

      “Can’t you see how a circus would jump at a chance to have these?”

      “Maybe they’re too small for a circus.”

      Red looked annoyed. He let go the cage which swung back and forth pendulum-fashion. “You’re just trying to back out, aren’t you?”

      “No, I’m not. It’s just—”

      “They’re not too small, don’t worry. Right now, I’ve only got one worry.”

      “What’s that?”

      “Well, I’ve got to keep them till the circus comes, don’t I? I’ve got to figure out what to feed them meanwhile.”

      The cage swung and the little trapped creatures clung to its bars, gesturing at the youngsters with queer, quick motions—almost as though they were intelligent.