"Oh, you poor kids," Snow sobbed suddenly. "Have they been feeding you? When did you last wash your face, Ted?"
"They don't feed us at all!" Ted said sorrowfully. "It's been weeks now since we ran out of candy, and—"
"Jery Delvin!" the Martian's voice interrupted imperiously. "Before that look on your woman's face erupts into some more of her tiresome vituperation, will you explain to her what a metabolic stasis is?"
"Sure," I said, folding my arms. "As soon as you explain it to me!"
The Martian seemed to be gathering himself for a cry of utter exasperation. Then he caught hold of himself and said with rigid calm, "We merely have held the children within a field of radiation that obviates the necessity of their taking alimental nourishment."
Snow looked over her shoulder at me, wonderingly.
"He means, honey, that they fixed it somehow so the kids didn't need to eat. I guess it was simpler than running a catering service."
"Didn't need to eat!" she exploded. "Doesn't that blob of black sparklers know that growing boys need food to grow!"
"There's no need to be redundant!" said the Martian.
"To what?" she cried, standing back from the cage to glare at him the better, with arms akimbo. The Martian took this golden opportunity to let the cage drop suddenly back out of our ken. The shimmering blur of metallic luster was once more at our feet.