"I had Zor-El make this for my grandson. I never thought
any descendant of mine would need one, but when you play with
Kryptonite you pay the price."
Superman stared at the name at the end of the inscription and
looked at Twaddle. "It will all make itself known in
time," Twaddle remarked.
Superman smiled and handed the locket back. "What happened
to the real Twaddle?" he asked.
"Was attacked by poachers," Twaddle answered,
"angry because he was hurting their business. They killed
each other. I took advantage of the resemblance, recovered his
journals, and decided while I was here to carry on his work as
long as I could before I have to disappear."
"I'll see to it," Superman continued, "that his
people are taken care of."
"Thank you!" Twaddle praised. "I have always been
proud of the heritage I carry, of the honor my grandfather gave
me."
"And it appears," Superman answered, "I will have
much to be proud of in my descendants!"
Without another word he soared away. The man on the balcony rose,
went inside, and held the locket to his chest. A tear ran down
his cheek, but after a moment he went to bed. He was getting old.
He needed more rest. He wasn't young any more.
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