The little guy comes into the bar just as
the first Marscast is about to start. He scoffs
at scientific facts and keeps mumbling about—
THE FROGS OF MARS
By Roger Dee
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
April 1954
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
There was nothing special about the little man who came into Larry's place, unless it might have been his air of vague familiarity and the mixed expression on his face. He looked disgusted and defensive and at the same time a little resentful, with a dash of something else thrown in which none of us recognized until later.
I'd have mistaken him for another reporter from the Advertiser across the street if the five newsmen already at the bar hadn't given each other a blank look that meant only one thing: none of them knew him. Neither did Larry, who was trying to bring in the first broadcast from Mars on the television set bracketed to the wall over his whiskey stock, and who wasn't pleased at having his little after-hours party crashed.
"The bar's closed," Larry said. His tone didn't invite argument. "City ordinance. No customers after 1:00 a.m."