The next morning, Elwood didn't merely hurl the magazine at his son. He pointed first to the article, tapping furiously with his forefinger at Melvin's photograph while his breakfast grew cold at his elbow.
"Melvin, I warned you to keep your hands off that rocket. I warned you not to touch it or jar it in any way. But you had to putter around until you did something to the heat exchanger dial. It's conduct like that which makes me realize how mistaken these journalist monkeys can be. A genius! You're no more of a genius—"
"Pop, you've got to believe me!" Melvin protested. "The little men are—"
"Little men! My son is not only a genius"—Elwood stressed the word with a biting sarcasm which was not lost on Melvin—"but a first-class liar! Here, read this article again. It was published two months ago—but I guess you didn't read it over often enough. It may shame you into going into a corner and giving yourself a thorough mental overhauling."
Elwood tossed the magazine then—straight across the table at the disturbed Melvin.
"If he's a liar so am I!" Mary Anne gasped in angry protest.
"For a dozen years now flying saucer rumors have been all over the place," Elwood said, glaring at both of his children. "I suppose it's only natural you should chatter occasionally about little men. All children do. But to use such imaginary companions as an excuse for an act of wanton destructiveness...."
Melvin picked up the magazine almost automatically. Solely to bolster his sagging self-esteem—even the innocent and falsely accused can feel guilty at times—he stared at his own photograph and the somewhat baroque caption which surmounted it.
YOUNG SCIENTIFIC AMERICA