Henry Kuttner - See You Later

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See You Later

OLD YANCEY was just about the meanest man in the world. I never seen a feller so downright,

sot-in-his ways, shortsighted, plain, ornery mean. What happened to him reminded me of what another

feller told me oncet, quite a spell ago. Fergit exactly who it was— name of Louis, maybe, or could be

Tamerlane—but one tune he said he wished the whole world had only one haid, so's he could chop it off.

Trouble with Yancey, he got to the point where he figgered everybody in the world was again' him, and

blamed if he warn't right. That was a real spell of trouble, even for us Hogbenf.

Oh, Yancey was a regular stinker, all right. The whole Tarbell family was bad-eyed, but Yancey made

even them plumb disgusted. He lived up in a little one-room shanty back of the Tarbell place, and

wouldn't let nobody near, except to push vittles through the cut-out moon in the door.

Seems like some ten years back there was a new survey or something and the way it worked out,

through some funny legal business, Yancey had to prove he'd got squatter's rights on his land. He had to

prove it by living there for a year or something. 'Bout then he had an argument with his wife and moved

out to the little shack, which was across the property line, and said he was a-gonna let the land go right

back to the government, for all he cared, and that'd show the whole family. He knew his wife sot store by

her turnip patch and was afraid the government would take it away.

The way it turned out, nobody wanted the land anyhow. It was all up and down and had too many rocks

in it, but Yancey's wife kept on worriting and begging Yancey to come back, which he was just too mean

to do.

Yancey Tarbell couldn't have been oncommon comfortable up hi that little shack, but he was

short-sighted as he was mean. After a spell Mrs. Tarbell died of being

hit on the haid with a stone she was throwing up the slope at the shack, and it bounced back at her. So

that left only the eight Tarbell boys and Yancey. He stayed right where he was, though.

He might have stayed there till he shriveled up and went to glory, except the Tarbells started feuding with

us. We stood it as long as we could, on account of they couldn't hurt us. Uncle Les, who was visiting us,

got skittery, though, and said he was tired of flying up like a quail, two or three miles hi the air, every time

a gun went off behind a bush. The holes in his hide closed up easy enough, but he said it made him dizzy,

on account of the air being thinned out that high up.

This went on for a while, leastwise, and nobody got hurt, which seemed to rile the eight Tarbell boys. So

one night they all come over hi a bunch with their shooting irons and busted their way in. We didn't want

no trouble.

Uncle Lem—who's Uncle Les's twin except they was born quite a spell apart—he was asleep for the

whiter, off in a holler tree somewheres, so he was out of it. But the baby, bless his heart, is gitting kind of

awkward to shift around, being as how he's four hunnerd years old and big for his age—'bout three

hunnerd pounds, I guess.

We could of all hid out or gone down to Piperville in the valley for a mite, but then there was Grandpaw

hi the attic, and I'd got sort of fond of the little Perfesser feller we keep hi a bottle. Didn't want to leave

him on account of the bottle might of got smashed in the ruckus, if the eight Tarbell boys was hkkered up

enough.

The Perfesser's cute—even though he never did have much sense. Used to say we was mutants,

whatever they are, and kept shooting off his mouth about some people-he knowed called chromosomes.

Seems like they got mixed up with what the Perfesser called hard radiations and had some young 'uns

which was either dominant mutations or Hogbens, but I alms got it mixed up with the Roundhead plot,

back when we was living hi the old country. 'Course I don't mean the real old country. That got sunk.

So, seeing as how Grandpaw told us to lay low, we waited till the eight Tarbell boys busted down the

door, and then we all went invisible, including the baby. Then we waited for the thing to blow over, only it

didn't.

After stomping around and ripping up things a lot,

the eight Tarbell boys come down in the cellar. Now, that was kind of bad, because we was caught by

surprise. The baby had gone invisible, like I say, and so had the tank we keep him in, but the tank

couldn't move around fast like we could.

One of the eight Tarbell boys went and banged into it and hit hisself a smart crack on the shank bone.

How he cussed! It was shameful for a growing boy to hear, except Grandpaw kin outcuss anybody I

ever heard, so I didn't larn nothing.

Well—he cussed a lot, jumped around, and all of a sudden his squirrel rifle went off. Must have had a

hair trigger. That woke up the baby, who got scared and let out a yell. It was the blamedest yell I'd ever

heard out of the baby yet, and I've seen men go all white and shaky when he bellers. Our Perfesser feller

told us oncet the baby emitted a subsonic. Imagine!

Anyhow, seven of the eight Tarbell boys dropped daid, all hi a heap, without even time to squeal. The

eighth one was up at tile haid of the cellar steps, and he got all quivery and turned* around and ran. I

guess he was so dizzy he didn't know where he was heading. 'Fore he knowed it, he was up in the attic,

where he stepped right square on Grandpaw.

Now, the fool thing was this: Grandpaw was so busy telling us what to do he'd entirely fergot to go

invisible hisself. And I guess one look at Grandpaw just plumb finished the eighth Tarbell boy. He fell

right down, daid as a skun coon. Cain't imagine why, though I got to admit Grandpaw wasn't looking his

best that week. He'd been sick.

"You all right, Grandpaw?" I asked, sort of shaking him out. He cussed me.

" Twarn't my fault," I told him.

" 'Sblood!" he said, mad-like. "What rabble of canting jolt-heads have I sired? Put me down, you young

scoundrel." So I -put him back on the gunny sack and he turned around a couple of times and shut his

eyes. After that, he said he was going to take a nap and not to wake him up for nothing, bar Judgment

Day. He meant it, too.

So we had to figger out for ourselves what was best to do. Maw said it warn't our fault, and all we could

do was pile the eight Tarbell boys in a wheelbarrow and take 'em back home, which I done. Only I got

to feeling kind of shy on the way, on account of I couldn't figger out no

real polite way to mention what had happened. Besides, Maw had told me to break the news gentle.

"Even a polecat's got feelings," she said.

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Henry Kuttner - See You Later

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