"Drill says I won't have to take baths," said Mink. "Oh, he does, does he?" "He told all the kids that. No more baths. And we can stay up till ten o'clock and go to two televisor shows on Saturday 'stead of one!" "Well, Mr. Drill better mind his p's and q's. I'll call up his mother and--" Mink went to the door. "We're having trouble with guys like Pete Britz and Dale Jerrick. They're growing up. They make fun. They're worse than parents. They just won't believe in Drill. They're so snooty, cause they're growing up. You'd think they'd know better. They were little only a coupla years ago. I hate them worst. We'll kill them _first_." "Your father and I, last?" "Drill says you're dangerous. Know why? Cause you don't believe in Martians! They're going to let _us_ run the world. Well, not just us, but the kids over in the next block, too. I might be queen." She opened the door. "Mom?" "Yes?" "What's--lodge ... ick?" "Logic? Why, dear, logic is knowing what things are true and not true." "He _mentioned_ that," said Mink. "And what's im--pres--sion--able?" It took her a minute to say it. "Why, it means--" Her mother looked at the floor, laughing gently. "It means--to be a child, dear." "Thanks for lunch!" Mink ran out, then stuck her head back in. "Mom, I'll be sure you won't be hurt, much, really!" "Well, thanks," said Mom. _Slam_ went the door. * * * * * At four o'clock the audio-visor buzzed. Mrs. Morris flipped the tab. "Hello, Helen!" she said, in welcome. "Hello, Mary. How are things in New York?" "Fine, how are things in Scranton? You look tired." "So do you. The children. Underfoot," said Helen. Mrs. Morris sighed, "My Mink, too. The super Invasion." Helen laughed. "Are your kids playing that game, too?" "Lord, yes. Tomorrow it'll be geometrical jacks and motorized hopscotch. Were we this bad when we were kids in '48?" "Worse. Japs and Nazis. Don't know how my parents put up with me. Tomboy." "Parents learn to shut their ears." A silence. "What's wrong, Mary?" asked Helen. Mrs. Morris' eyes were half-closed; her tongue slid slowly, thoughtfully over her lower lip. "Eh," She jerked. "Oh, nothing. Just thought about _that_. Shutting ears and such. Never mind. Where were we?" "My boy Tim's got a crush on some guy named--_Drill_, I think it was." "Must be a new password. Mink likes him, too." "Didn't know it got as far as New York. Word of mouth, I imagine. Looks like a scrap drive. I talked to Josephine and she said her kids--that's in Boston--are wild on this new game. It's sweeping the country." At this moment, Mink trotted into the kitchen to gulp a glass of water. Mrs. Morris turned. "How're things going?" "Almost finished," said Mink. "Swell," said Mrs. Morris. "What's _that_?" "A yo-yo," said Mink. "Watch." She flung the yo-yo down its string. Reaching the end it-- It vanished. "See?" said Mink. "Ope!" Dibbling her finger she made the yo-yo reappear and zip up the string.