car pool By ROSEL GEORGE BROWN _Certainly alien children ought to be fed ... but to human kids?_ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "Happy birthday to _you_," we all sang, except Gail, of course, who was still screaming, though not as loud. "Well, now," I said jovially, glancing nervously about at the other air traffic, "what else can we all sing?" The singing seemed to be working nicely. They had stopped swatting each other with their lunch boxes and my experienced ear told me Gail was by this time forcing herself to scream. This should be the prelude to giving up and enjoying herself. "_Boing_ down in Texas in eighteen-ninety," Billy began, "Davy, _Davy_ Eisenhower...." "A-B-_C-D_-E--" sang Jacob. "Dere was a little 'elicopter red and blue," Meli chirped, "flew along de air-ways--" The rest came through unidentifiably. "Ba-ba-ba," said a faint voice. Gail had given up. I longed for ears in the back of my head because victory was mine and all I needed to do was reinforce it with a little friendly conversation. "Yes, dear?" I asked her encouragingly. "Ba-ba-ba," was all I could make out. "Yes, indeed. That Gail _likes_ to go to Playplace." "Ba-ba-ba!" A little irritable. She was trying to say something important. "_Ba-ba-ba!_" I signaled for an emergency hover, turned around and presented my ear. "Me eat de crus' of de toas'," Gail said. She beamed. I beamed. * * * * * We managed to reach Playplace without incident, except for a man who called me an obscenity. The children and I, however, called him a great, big alligator head and on the whole, I think, we won. After all, how can a man possibly be right when faced with a woman and eight tiny children? I herded the children through the Germ Detection Booth and Gail was returned to me with an incipient streptococcus infection. "Couldn't you give her the shot here?" I asked. "I've _just_ got her in a good mood, and if I have to turn around and take her back home ... and besides, her mother works. There won't be anyone there." "Verne, dear, we can't risk giving the shot until the child is perfectly adjusted to Playplace. You see, she'd connect the pain of the shot with coming to school and then she might never adjust." Mrs. Baden managed to give me her entire attention and hold a two-and-a-half-year-old child on one shoulder and greet each entering child and break up a fight between two ill-matched four-year-olds, all at the same time. "Me stay at school," Gail said resolutely. There was a scream from the other side of the booth. That was Billy's best friend. I waited for the other scream. That was Billy. "Normal aggression," Mrs. Baden said with a smile.