“Gosh!” Stanley said. “It makes me homesick, in a way.”
Except for its size, and the lack of greenness, the Tyrran capital was indeed much like a small village on Earth. A Main Street bustled with Tyrrans shopping and running errands; there were handsome school and public buildings, two churches with spires as high as Mr. Lambchop’s waist, and side streets of pretty houses with lawns like neat brown postage stamps.
Captain Ik, still angry, marched on ahead, but the rest of the committee halted at the head of Main Street.
“We’ll just show you around, eh?” said President Ot. “Safer, I think.”
The Lambchops saw at once the risk of walking streets scarcely wider than their feet. Escorted by the committee, they circled the little capital, bending often to make use of their magnifying lenses. Mrs. Ot took care to indicate points of particular interest, among them Ux Field, a sports center, Admiral Ux Square, Ux Park, and the Ux Science Center Building. (“Mrs. Ot’s grandfather,” whispered General Ap. “Very rich!”)
The tour caused a great stir. Everywhere the tiny citizens of TyrraVille waved from windows and rooftops. At the Science Center, the last stop, journalists took photographs, and the Lambchops were treated to Grape Fizzola, the Tyrran national drink, hundreds of bottles of which were emptied into four tubs to make Earth-size portions.
Refreshed by his Fizzola, Arthur took a little run and hurdled a large part of TyrraVille, landing in Ux Square. “Arthur!” Mrs. Lambchop scolded, and he hurdled back.
“Aren’t kids the dickens?” said a Tyrran mother, looking on. “Mine—Stop tugging, Herbert!” These last words seemed addressed to the ground beside her. “My youngest,” she explained.
Stanley squinted. “I can hardly—He’s just a dot.”
“Dot yourself!” said an angry voice. “Big-a-rooney! You’re the funny-looking one!”
“Herbert!” his mother said. “It is rude to make fun of people for their shape or size!”
“As I said myself, often, when Stanley was flat!” Mrs. Lambchop exclaimed. “If only—”
“Surrender, Earth people!”
The cry had come from Captain Ik, who appeared now from behind the Science Center, staggering beneath the weight of a boxlike machine almost as big as he was, with a tube sticking out of it.
“Surrender!” he shouted. “You cannot resist our Magno-Titanic Paralyzer Ray! Tyrra will yet be saved!”
“There’s a truce, Ik!” barked General Ap. “You can’t—”
“Yes, I can! First—Ooops!” Captain Ik’s knees had buckled, but he recovered himself. “First I’ll paralyze the one who scared me back there in the field!”
Yellow light flickered up at Arthur from the Magno-Titanic Paralyzer.
“Yikes!” said Arthur, as shrieks rose from the crowd.
But it was not on Arthur that the Magno-Titanic beam landed. Stanley had sprung forward to protect his brother, and the light shone now on his chest and shoulders. Mrs. Lambchop almost fainted.
Suddenly her fright was gone.
Stanley was smiling. The yellow rays still flickering upon him, he rolled his head and wiggled his hands to show that he was fine. “It’s nice, actually,” he said. “Like a massage.”
The crowd hooted. “It only works on people Tyrran-size!” someone called. “You’re a ninny, Ik!” Then Captain Ik was marched off by a Tyrran policeman, and the crowd, still laughing, drifted away.
Mrs. Lambchop spoke sternly to the committee. “‘Tyrra will yet be saved’? What did Captain Ik mean? And why, pray tell, did he attempt to paralyze my son?”
The Ots and General Ap exchanged glances. Dr. Ep stared at the ground.
“Ah!” said President Ot. “Well … The fact is, we’re having a … A crisis, actually. Yes. And Ik, well, he, ah—”
“Oh, tell them!” Mrs. Ot burst suddenly into tears. “About the Super-Gro! Tell, for heaven’s sake!”
Puzzled, the Lambchops stared at her. The sky had darkened, and now a light rain began to fall.
“Wettish, eh?” said General Ap. “Can’t offer shelter, I’m afraid. No place large enough.”
“The Star Scout will do nicely,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “Let us return to it for tea.”