Lummox took this as a signal that it was now all right for him to breakfast, too, which he did-first the bear, then a couple of small pine trees, a peck or so of gravel for crunchiness, and the empty container of John Thomas’s breakfast. They went down to the stream afterwards, with Johnnie going first to search the sky; Lummox washed down his meal with a few hogsheads of clear mountain water. Johnnie knelt and drank, then washed his face and hands and wiped them on his shirt. Lummox asked, “What do we do now, Johnnie? Go for a walk? Catch things, maybe?”
“No,” Johnnie denied. “We go back up in those trees and lie low until dark. You’ve got to pretend you’re a rock.” He went up the bank, Lummox followed. “Settle down,” John Thomas ordered. “I want to look at those bumps.”
Lummox did so; it brought the tumors down where his master could inspect them without stretching. Johnnie looked them over with increasing worry. They were larger and seemed to have lumps and bumps inside; Johnnie tried to remember whether such a development was a sign of malignancy. The skin over them had stretched and thinned until it was hardly more than thick leather, not in the least like the rest of Lummox’s armor. It was dry and hot to his touch. Johnme kneaded the left one gently; Lummox pulled away.
“Is it that tender?” Johnnie asked anxiously.
“I can’t stand it,” Lummox protested. He extended his legs and walked over to a large pine tree, started rubbing the tumor against it.
“Hey!” said Johnnie. “Don’t do that! You’ll hurt yourself.”
“But it itches.” Lummox went on scratching.
John Thomas ran to him, intending to be firm. But just as he reached him the tumor split open. He watched in horror.
Something dark and wet and writhing emerged, caught on the ruptured skin, held there inchoate, then burst free to dangle and flop like a jungle snake from a branch. For an agonized moment all that Johnnie could think was that it was indeed something like that some giant, parasitic worm eating its way out of its unlucky host. He thought with dumb self-blame that he had forced Lummie to climb over the mountains when he was sick to death with that.
Lummox sighed and wiggled. “Gee!” he said with satisfaction. “That feels better!”
“Lummox! Are you all right?”
“Huh? Why shouldn’t I be, Johnnie?”
“Why? Why, that!”
“What?” Lummox looked around; the strange growth bent forward and he glanced at it. “Oh, that. . .” he answered, dismissing the matter.
The end of the thing opened out like a blossoming flower. . . and Johnnie realized at last what it was.
Lummox had grown an arm.
The arm dried rapidly, lightened in color and seemed to firm. Lummox did not have much control over it yet, but John Thomas could begin to see its final form. It had two elbows, a distinct hand with thumbs on each side. There were five fingers, seven digits in all, and the middle finger was longer and fully flexible, like an elephant’s trunk. The hand did not resemble a human hand much but there was no doubt that it was at least as useful-or would become so; at the moment the digits wiggled aimlessly.
Lummox let him examine it, but did not himself seem especially interested in the development; Lummox acted as if it were something he always did right after breakfast.
Jobnnie said, “Let me have a look at the other bump,” and walked around Lummox. The rightside tumor was still more bloated. When John Thomas touched it Lummox shrugged away and turned as if to rub it against the tree. “Hold it!’ Johnnie called out. “Stand still.”
“I’ve got to scratch.”
“You might lame yourself for life. Hold still, I want to try something.” Lummox sulkily complied; Johnnie took out his belt knife and gently nicked the center of the swelling.
The nick spread and Lummox’s right arm came out almost in Johnnie’s face. He jumped back.
“Thanks, Johnnie!”
“Any time, any time.” He sheathed the knife and stared at the newborn arms, his face thoughtful.
He could not figure all the implications of Lummox’s unexpected acquisition of hands. But he did realize that it was going to change things a lot. In what way, he did not know. Perhaps Lummie would not need so much care after this. On the other hand he might have to be watched or he would be forever getting into things he shouldn’t. He remembered uneasily someone saying what a blessing it was cats did not have hands well, Lummie had more curiosity than any cat.