"I don't know how the boys expect us to stand this," Judy remarked querulously as she and Jane sat listening to the thumps and bumps and "arrrs" outside.
"Well, they didn't start it.... And," Jane added, as Judy opened her mouth, "I don't suppose they can stop it either.... It does seem to me, though," she remarked, less out of actual observation than out of the desire to placate, "that they aren't making as much noise as usual."
Judy went to the window. "Of course they aren't. They're dying like flies."
"What!" Jane looked through the clear plastic pane. Sure enough, many of the natives had fallen to the ground. Since they were still writhing, they didn't seem to be actually dead; that was an academic point, however, because they wouldn't last long, what with the other natives stomping upon them in the excitement of the game.
"Maybe their life spans are shorter than ours?" Jane suggested.
Judy threw her a contemptuous glance. "More likely three weeks of rock-hurling has proved too strenuous for their fragile little bodies. And it's all our fault!" She burst into tears. "We've sapped their energy."
"Judy!" Jane laid a hand on the other girl's arm. "I just happened to think—since they started throwing rocks, I haven't seen any of them gathering roots. Maybe they're just starving."
The girls looked at one another. "That's it!" Judy exclaimed. "We must heat up lots of soup—just the thing for starving people." She began busily to pull cans off the shelves.
"But you know, Captain Harnick said they weren't people, so maybe they can't eat the same kinds of things we do. Our soup might be poison for them."
"Being poisoned isn't worse than being starved." Judy expertly manipulated a can opener. "Not much worse anyway," she amended. "It's a chance we'll have to take."