"And he's doing it on purpose."

"Maybe so. But it won't help to lose your temper."

Tiger clenched a huge fist and slammed it into his palm. "He's just
deliberately picking at you and picking at you," he said. "You can't
take that forever. Something's got to break."

"It's all right," Dal assured him. "I just ignore it."

But when Jack began to shift his attack to Fuzzy, Dal could ignore it no
longer.

One night in the control room Jack threw down the report he was writing
and turned angrily on Dal. "Tell your friend there to turn the other way
before I lose my temper and splatter him all over the wall," he said,
pointing to Fuzzy. "All he does is sit there and stare at me and I'm
getting fed up with it."

Fuzzy drew himself up tightly, shivering on Dal's shoulder. Dal reached
up and stroked the tiny creature, and Fuzzy's shoe-button eyes
disappeared completely. "There," Dal said. "Is that better?"

Jack stared at the place the eyes had been, and his face darkened
suspiciously. "Well, what happened to them?" he demanded.

"What happened to what?"

"To his eyes, you idiot!"