There's nothing like a parade, I always
say. Of course, I'm a Martian.
Mr. Cruthers was a busyman. Coordinating the biggestparade in New York's historyis not easy. He was maneuveringhis two hundred poundsaround Washington Square withthe agility of a quarterback. Hehad his hands full organizingmarchers, locating floats, placingthe many brass bands intheir proper order and barkingcommands to assistants. ButMr. Cruthers approached thejob with all the zeal of an evangelistat a revival meeting.
As he approached the south-westcorner of the square he sawsomething that jarred his alreadyfrayed nerves. He stoppedabruptly. The mass of clipboardsand papers he was carrying fellto the street. There before himwere one hundred and fifty ants,each of them at least six feettall. His first impulse was toturn and run for the nearestdoctor. He was certain that thestrain of his job was provingtoo much for him. But one ofthe ants approached him. Itseemed friendly enough, so Mr.Cruthers stood his ground.
"My group is waiting fortheir assignment." The ant'svoice seemed to be coming fromthe very core of its thorax whichwas a violent red.
"Good Lord!" Mr. Cruthers'mouth opened up as wide as anoven door.
"Mr. Cruthers, I believe theparade is about to start and mygroup—"
Mr. Cruthers managed toblurt out. "What the devil areyou anyway!"
"This is the parade markingthe International GeophysicalYear, is it not?" The ant had apleasant, friendly voice.
"Well, yes, but—"
"And you are Mr. Cruthers,the manager of the parade, isthat not correct?"
Mr. Cruthers rubbed his eyesand took another look at thestrange creature. Its head wasa brilliant yellow. It had twolarge goggle eyes which rolledlike itinerant marbles when itspoke. The low slung abdomenwas a burnt brown. It was badenough, Cruthers thought, thatthese ants were six feet tall, butit was nightmarish to see themin three colors.
"Mr. Cruthers," the ant continued,"haven't you been instructedby the National Academyof Sciences that the MartianV.F.W. is to participate inthis parade?"
"The Martian—!!" Mr. Cruthers'mouth was open again.Then he realized that when theant spoke its mouth didn't move.He picked up his clipboard andpapers from the street. His voicewas hostile now. "What the hellis this, some kind of a gag!What are you trying to do, scarea man half to death!"
"Oh, we're not joking, Mr.Cruthers. The National Academy—"
"They didn't say anything tome about a bunch of clownsdressed up like ants!" Mr. Cruthers'indignation became intensified.He was loathe to admitthat he'd been taken in by suchobviously animated costumes."Now look here, I'm a very busyman."
"The arrangements have beenmade, Mr. Cruthers. If mygroup is refused a place in thisparade we shall file suit immediately.As manager you'll benamed co-defendant." The antwas gentle but firm.
The thought of being suedsoftened Mr. Cruthers' attitude."Well, I'm very sorry, pal, butevery contingent in this paradeis listed on my clipboard andyou're not. I know this list byheart. What did you say thename of your group was?"
"The Martian V.F.W."
Mr. Cruthers was amused."Those sure are the craziest outfitsI've ever seen," he chuckled."Where'd you get them? WaltDisney make them for you?" Hefollowed his own little joke witha long throaty laugh.
The ant was impatient."About the parade, Mr. Cruthers,there isn't much time."
"Oh, yes, the parade. Well, letme see," he thumbed throughthe clipboard, "I guess there'salways room for a fe