“Two… men,” said Jimmy, a little doubtfully. “At least, they look like men. They’ve come from Mars. I always said that was going to happen.”
There was the sound of ponderous movements, and a lady of elephantine bulk and ferocious mien appeared from the gloom. She glared at the strangers, looked at the magazine Jimmy was carrying, and summed up the situation.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!” she cried, rounding on Crysteel and Danstor. “It’s bad enough having a good-for-nothing son in the house who wastes all his time reading this rubbish, without grown men coming along putting more ideas into his head. Men from Mars, indeed! I suppose you’ve come in one of those flying saucers!”
“But I never mentioned Mars,” protested Danstor feebly.
Slam! From behind the door came the sound of violent altercation, the unmistakable noise of tearing paper, and a wail of anguish. And that was that.
“Well,” said Danstor at last. “What do we try next? And why did he say we came from Mars? That isn’t even the nearest planet, if I remember correctly.”
“I don’t know,” said Crysteel. “But I suppose it’s natural for them to assume that we come from some close planet. They’re going to have a shock when they find out the truth. Mars, indeed! That’s even worse than here, from the reports I’ve seen.” He was obviously beginning to lose some of his scientific detachment.
“Let’s leave the houses for a while,” said Danstor. “There must be some more people outside.”
This statement proved to be perfectly true, for they had not gone much further before they found themselves surrounded by small boys making incomprehensible but obviously rude remarks.
“Should we try and placate them with gifts?” said Danstor anxiously. “That usually works among more backward races.”