There's nothing like a parade, I always say. Of course, I'm a Martian.
Mr. Cruthers was a busy man. Coordinating the biggest parade in New York's history is not easy. He was maneuvering his two hundred pounds around Washington Square with the agility of a quarterback. He had his hands full organizing marchers, locating floats, placing the many brass bands in their proper order and barking commands to assistants. But Mr. Cruthers approached the job with all the zeal of an evangelist at a revival meeting.
As he approached the south-west corner of the square he saw something that jarred his already frayed nerves. He stopped abruptly. The mass of clipboards and papers he was carrying fell to the street. There before him were one hundred and fifty ants, each of them at least six feet tall. His first impulse was to turn and run for the nearest doctor. He was certain that the strain of his job was proving too much for him. But one of the ants approached him. It seemed friendly enough, so Mr. Cruthers stood his ground.
"My group is waiting for their assignment." The ant's voice seemed to be coming from the very core of its thorax which was a violent red.
"Good Lord!" Mr. Cruthers' mouth opened up as wide as an oven door.
"Mr. Cruthers, I believe the parade is about to start and my group--"
Mr. Cruthers managed to blurt out. "What the devil are you anyway!"
"This is the parade marking the International Geophysical Year, is it not?" The ant had a pleasant, friendly voice.
"Well, yes, but--"
"And you are Mr. Cruthers, the manager of the parade, is that not correct?"