Free Gremlins by George Gipe Page A

it generally worked. Soon he had no undercurrents of cross talk to compete with and certainly no overt wisecracks. That was exactly the way he wanted it.
    There were limits, of course. He could command their attention but not necessarily their interest. Recognizing this, he decided to abandon their study of the circulatory system of the frog in favor of an illustrated talk he had worked up dealing with “new” animals. It was a pet (so to speak) topic to which he had dedicated considerable research. Someday he hoped to sell it as an article or monograph in a scholarly magazine. One thing was sure: if he could raise these students from their lethargy with it, it had to have something.
    “We hear a lot about animals becoming extinct,” he began, “but what we don’t hear much about is some new animals which have only recently been discovered. In 1812, a scientist named Georges Cuvier announced that every species that existed on earth had been discovered already. But he was wrong.”
    Pressing the slide-changing button, he produced a photo of a deerlike animal with long wavy horns.
    “Anybody know the name of this animal?” he asked.
    No one did.
    “It’s called an okapi, and it’s a close relation to the giraffe. Man didn’t see his first live okapi until 1900.”
    He changed the slide. “Anyone know the name of this animal?” he asked.
    No one did.
    He told them about the mountain nyala, pygmy hippopotamus, Komodo dragon, Andean wolf, Congo peacock, kouprey, coelacanth, and long-nosed peccary, all of which had been discovered—or rediscovered—during the twentieth century. No one knew anything and no one volunteered any questions.
    Except Pete Fountaine.
    “Mr. Hanson?” he said.
    Hanson nodded, silently thankful that someone had gotten more out of his lecture than twenty minutes’ worth of daydreaming.
    “Yes?”
    “Is it worth anything if you discover a new animal?”
    It was, Roy Hanson thought, a surprisingly good question. Embarrassingly, he didn’t know the answer.
    “I really guess it depends,” he replied. “I suppose if you found one animal that the government or a zoo wanted very badly, you could sell it for a good sum. Most scientists are more interested in the glory that goes with such a discovery, though.”
    “That would mean money, wouldn’t it?” Pete persisted. “I mean, they could go on TV and recommend pet food and stuff.”
    The class giggled, Roy Hanson smiled, and Pete beamed at having created a joke without having to brave the teacher’s wrath.
    A mild chain reaction was caused by Pete’s question. One student asked where you could go in the hopes of finding a new species; another asked how you could tell if an animal was “new” or just something strange he had never seen before. It was all academic, of course, since there was practically no chance a person would casually encounter a new species. Such spontaneous interest in a topic was rare, so rare that Roy Hanson encouraged the discussion to go on until the bell ended the class.
    “Tomorrow we’ll get back to the frog,” he said, smiling when the class emitted a predictable groan.
    As he turned his attention to some papers on his desk, he caught a glimpse of Pete Fountaine about to leave. He smiled and gave him a little wave.
    Pete smiled slightly in response, the most that he would allow himself lest some other student accuse him of playing up to the teacher. Outside, he continued to feel good about the attention he had gotten and discussion he had generated. He was feeling so good, in fact, that he decided to go visit Billy Peltzer after putting in a couple of hours as a Christmas tree.
    For the past few days Billy had gotten up early and returned home as soon as he finished work at the bank. The reason, of course, was Gizmo. He was such a fascinating creature Billy wanted to be with him every minute. He was vulnerable, too. Once, while shaving (with Gizmo watching contentedly), Billy had accidentally turned the