"You sit right back down," commanded Mrs. Morris. "Hot soup in a minute." She poked a red button on the kitchen butler and ten seconds later something landed with a bump in the rubber receiver. Mrs. Morris opened it, took out a can with a pair of aluminum holders, unsealed it with a flick and poured hot soup into a bowl. During all this, Mink fidgeted. "Hurry, Mom! This is a matter of life and death! Aw--!" "I was the same way at your age. Always life and death. I know." Mink banged away at the soup. "Slow down," said Mom. "Can't," said Mink. "Drill's waiting for me." "Who's Drill? What a peculiar name," said Mom. "You don't know him," said Mink. "A new boy in the neighborhood?" asked Mom. "He's new all right," said Mink. She started on her second bowl. "Which one is Drill?" asked Mom. "He's around," said Mink, evasively. "You'll make fun. Everybody pokes fun. Gee, darn." "Is Drill shy?" "Yes. No. In a way. Gosh, Mom, I got to run if we want to have the Invasion!" "Who's invading what?" "Martians invading Earth--well, not exactly Martians. They're--I don't know. From up." She pointed with her spoon. "And _inside_," said Mom, touching Mink's feverish brow. Mink rebelled. "You're laughing! You'll kill Drill and _every_body." "I didn't mean to," said Mom. "Drill's a Martian?" "No. He's--well--maybe from Jupiter or Saturn or Venus. Anyway, he's had a hard time." "I imagine." Mrs. Morris hid her mouth behind her hand. "They couldn't figure a way to attack earth." "We're impregnable," said Mom, in mock-seriousness. "That's the word Drill used! Impreg--That was the word, Mom." "My, my. Drill's a brilliant little boy. Two-bit words." "They couldn't figure a way to attack, Mom. Drill says--he says in order to make a good fight you got to have a new way of surprising people. That way you win. And he says also you got to have help from your enemy." "A fifth column," said Mom. "Yeah. That's what Drill said. And they couldn't figure a way to surprise Earth or get help." "No wonder. We're pretty darn strong," laughed Mom, cleaning up. Mink sat there, staring at the table, seeing what she was talking about. "Until, one day," whispered Mink, melodramatically, "they thought of children!" "_Well!_" said Mrs. Morris brightly. "And they thought of how grown-ups are so busy they never look under rose-bushes or on lawns!" "Only for snails and fungus." "And then there's something about dim-dims." "Dim-dims?" "Dimens-shuns." "Dimensions?" "Four of 'em! And there's something about kids under nine and imagination. It's real funny to hear Drill talk." Mrs. Morris was tired. "Well, it must be funny. You're keeping Drill waiting now. It's getting late in the day and, if you want to have your Invasion before your supper bath, you'd better jump." "Do I have to take a bath?" growled Mink. "You do. Why is it children hate water? No matter what age you live in children hate water behind the ears!"