Youth is not noted for forethought. Irene's hesitation was for effect only, 'Well - maybe we shouldn't go ourselves, but -but I'll go - with you.' There was the lightest accent on the last word.

Ten seconds later, the two were on their way to Venustown, and Henry was wondering, if on the whole, it weren't better to put up two memorials to the fellow who invented kissing.

The flickering red-yellow of the fire sent back ruddy highlights from Henry's lordly crest of hair and cast shifting shadows upon his brooding face.

It was hot in the Lowlands, and the fire made it worse, yet Henry huddled close and kept an anxious eye upon the sleeping form of Irene on the other side. The teeming life of the Venusian jungle respected fire, and the flames spelt safety.

They were three days from the plateau now. The stream had become a lukewarm, slowly-moving river, the shores of which were covered with the green scum of algae. The pleasant forests had given way to the tangled, vine-looped growths of the jungle. The mingled sounds of life had grown in volume and increased to a noisy crescendo. The air became warmer and damper; the ground swampier; the surroundings more fantastically unfamiliar.

And yet there was no real danger - of that, Henry was convinced. Poisonous life was unknown on Venus, and as for the tough-skinned monsters that lorded the jungles, the fire at night and the Phibs during day would keep them away.

Twice the ear-splitting shriek of a Centosaur had sounded in the distance and twice the sound of crashing trees had caused the two Tweenies to draw together in fear. Both times, the monsters had moved away again.

This was the third night out, and Henry stirred uneasily. The Phibs seemed confident that before morning they could start their return trip, and somehow the thought of Venustown was rather attractive. Adventure and excitement are fine and with every passing hour the glory of his scintillating bravery grew in Irene's eyes - which was wonderful - but still Venus-town and the friendly Highlands were nice to think about.

He threw himself on his stomach and gazed morosely into the fire, thinking of his twenty years of age - almost twenty years.

'Why, heck,' he tore at the rank grass beneath. 'It's about time I was thinking of getting married.' And his eye strayed involuntarily to the sleeping form beyond the fire.

As if in response, there was a flickering of eyelids and a vague stare out of deep blue eyes.

Irene sat up and stretched.

'I can't sleep at all,' she complained, brushing futilely at her, white hair. 'It's so hot.' She stared at the fire distastefully.

Henry's good humor persisted. 'You slept for hours - and snored like a trombone.'

Irene's eyes snapped wide open, 'I did not!' Then, with a voice vibrant with tragedy, 'Did I?'

'No, of course not!' Henry howled his laughter, stopping only at the sudden, sharp contact between the toe of Irene's shoe and the pit of his own stomach. 'Ouch,' he said.

'Don't speak to me anymore, Mister Scanlon!' was the girl's frigid remark.

It was Henry's turn to look tragic. He rose in panicky dismay and took a simple step toward the girl. And then he froze in his tracks at the ear-piercing shriek of a Centosaur. When he came to himself, he found his arms full of Irene.

Reddening, she disentangled herself, and then the Cento-saurian shriek sounded again, from another direction, - and there she was, right back again.

Henry's face was pale, in spite of his fair armful. 'I think the Phibs have snared the Centosaurs. Come with me and I'll ask them.'

The Phibs were dim blotches in the gray dawn that was breaking. Rows and rows of strained, abstracted individuals were all that met the eye. Only one seemed to be unoccupied and when Henry rose from the handclasp, he said, 'They've got three Centosaurs and that's all they can handle. We're starting back to the Highlands right now.'

The rising sun found the party two miles up the river. The Tweenies, hugging the shore, cast wary eyes toward the bordering jungle. Through an occasional clearing, vast gray bulks could be made out. The noise of the reptilian shrieks was almost continuous.

'I'm sorry I brought you, Irene,' said Henry. 'I'm not so sure now that the Phibs can take care of the monsters.'

Irene shook her head. 'That's all right, Henry. I -wanted to come. Only - I wish we had thought of letting the Phibs bring the beasts themselves. They don't need us.'

'Yes, they do! If a Centosaur gets out of control, it will make straight for the Tweenies and they'd never get away. We've got the Tonite guns to kill the 'saurs with if the worst comes to the worst-' His voice trailed away and he glanced at the lethal weapon in his hand and derived but cold comfort thereform.

The first night was sleepless for both Tweenies. Somewhere, unseen in the backness of the river, Phibs took shifts and their telepathic control over the tiny brains of the gigantic, twenty-legged Centosaurs maintained its tenuous ho!d. Off in the jungle, three hundred-ton monsters howled impatiently against the force that drove them up the river side against their will and raved impotently against the unseen barrier that prevented them from approaching the stream.

By the side of the fire, a pair of Tweenies, lost between mountainous flesh on one side and the fragile protection of a telepathic web on the other, gazed longingly towards the Highlands some forty miles off.

Progress was slow. As the Phibs tired, the Centosaurs grew balkier. But gradually, the air grew cooler. The rank jungle growth thinned out and the distance to Venustown shortened.

Henry greeted the first signs of familiar temperate-zone forest with a tremulous sigh of relief. Only Irene's presence prevented him from discarding his role of heroism.

He felt pitifully eager for their quixotic journey to be over, but he only said, 'It's practically all over but the shouting. And you can bet there'll be shouting, Irene. We'll be heroes, you and I.'

Irene's attempt at enthusiasm was feeble. 'I'm tired, Henry. Let's rest.' She sank slowly to the ground, and Henry, after signalling the Phibs, joined her.

'How much longer, Henry?' Almost without volition, she found her head nestling wearily against his shoulder.

'One more day, Irene. Tomorrow this time, we'll be back.' He looked wretched, 'You think we shouldn't have tried to do this ourselves, don't you?'

'Well, it seemed a good idea at the time.'

'Yes, I know,' said Henry. 'I've noticed that I get lots of ideas that seem good at the time, but sometimes they turn sour.' He shook his head philosophically, 'I don't know why, but that's the way it is.'

'All I know,' said Irene, 'is that I don't care if I never move. another step in my life. I wouldn't get up now-'

Her voice died away as her beautiful blue eyes stared off toward the right. One of the Centosaurs stumbled into the waters of a small tributary to the stream they were following. Wallowing in the water, his huge serpentine body mounted on the ten stocky pairs of legs, glistened horribly. His ugly head weaved towards the sky and his terrifying call pierced the air. A second joined him.

Irene was on her feet. 'What are you waiting for, Henry. Let's go! Hurry!'

Henry gripped his Tonite gun tightly and followed.

Arthur Scanlon gulped savagely at his fifth cup of black coffee and, with an effort, brought the Audiomitter into optical focus. His eyes, he decided, were becoming entirely too balky. He rubbed them into red-rimmed irritation and cast a glance over his shoulder at the restlessly sleeping figure on the couch.

He crept over to her and adjusted the coverlet.

'Poor Mom,' he whispered, and bent to kiss the pale lips. He turned to the Audiomitter and clenched a fist at it, 'Wait till I get you, you crazy nut.'