"The arrangements _have_ been made, Mr. Cruthers. If my group is refused a place in this parade we shall file suit immediately. As manager you'll be named co-defendant." The ant was gentle but firm. The thought of being sued softened Mr. Cruthers' attitude. "Well, I'm very sorry, pal, but every contingent in this parade is listed on my clipboard and you're not. I know this list by heart. What did you say the name of your group was?" "The Martian V.F.W." Mr. Cruthers was amused. "Those sure are the craziest outfits I've ever seen," he chuckled. "Where'd you get them? Walt Disney make them for you?" He followed his own little joke with a long throaty laugh. The ant was impatient. "About the parade, Mr. Cruthers, there isn't much time." "Oh, yes, the parade. Well, let me see," he thumbed through the clipboard, "I guess there's always room for a few laughs. How many in your group?" "One hundred and fifty. And we also have a float with us. Not a very large one. It measures twenty by twenty." "Tell you what. You move your group to the corner of Thompson Street and Third Street. Get behind the Tiffany float and follow them, okay?" The ant paused a moment to record the instructions in his mind. Then he turned to leave. "Oh, wait a minute," Mr. Cruthers cried before the ant could rejoin his group. "Just who did you speak to at the National Academy of Sciences?" "I believe it was a Mr. Canfield." Mr. Cruthers' face lit up. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place! I'd have placed you right away." "That's perfectly all right, Mr. Cruthers." "Listen, I don't know what you guys do but those costumes should certainly bring the house down. There's going to be four million people watching this parade. I bet that's the biggest audience you've ever seen." "It certainly is." With that the ant strode away. "Good luck!" Mr. Cruthers shouted after him. * * * * * "Daddy! Daddy, look! Look at the big rocket!" The little boy jumped up and down gleefully. "It must be a whole mile long, Daddy! What kind is it?" "That's the Vanguard, son." An autumn breeze from the East River chilled their vantage point at Sixty-First Street and Fifth Avenue. "The Vanguard?" The name meant nothing to the boy. "Gee, I'll bet it can fly all the way to the stars!" "It's the rocket that carried the first artificial satellite into space." The parade, now three hours old, continued past the reviewing stand. "I wanna get a better look at the Vanguard!" the boy shouted. The father lifted the boy onto his shoulders. The little fellow laughed and whooped it up, firing several shots from his Captain Video Ray gun at the passing missile. The rocket moved on and the noise of the crowd diminished slightly.