"I tell you Charlie, you've got to discipline that gang! They didn't show up on time, they didn't complete the route, they put on a public ritual that wasn't scheduled, apparently stealing the entire show--stupid crowd yelled themselves hoarse. Then they all reeled off into a side street. They must have been drunk to a man--I understand about half of them had to be carried! _And_ when I confronted Andy Sharpe, he swore up and down that they weren't out of their hotel that morning. All sleeping off that spree they had the night before. He actually had the nerve to say, 'I don't know who those boys were that you claim were a block behind the end of the parade, but they weren't our boys.'" Charlie Dils, new Commander of the Illinois chapter of the American Legion, leaned back in his chair car seat and blew a cloud of cigar smoke toward the ceiling. "Maybe they were men from Mars," he grinned. Then, remembering his dignity, he sobered abruptly. "Anyway, one bunch looks about the same as another, once they get their masks on--good Lord, it was a hot day for masks--but it certainly made the parade more impressive. People are still talking about it. We're even getting credit for having a flying saucer. Some farmer out at the edge of town claims he saw one take off after the parade last night. Says it was going west like a bat out of hell. "If we can get that kind of publicity, Frank, I wouldn't worry about Andy and the boys. I'll write him a letter. It was a great convention--let's let it go at that."