the population of this world has Jokes at their command, which will make our invasion easier and our victory far more certain. True, many of us will die, but, in the end, we will have Earth and all its wondrous resources for our very own. Would you place your own personal valuation above the continuation of our species, Harl? Do you respect the wishes of the Councilor—Dibble-Ibble, bless him—or do you love your own precious fur in preference to honor and glory? Reflect a moment, Harl, and I know you'll see the wrongness of your decision."

Harl's chin was already halfway down to his feet and his shamed blushing indicated he had reconsidered and repented. He still had his doubts, but they had been squelched to a bare fraction of their former greatness by Kir-Um's defaming tirade.

Kir-Um reminded Harl of their determination by pinching his nostrils together and, assured of Harl's co-operation, resumed the questioning of the youth.

"Do you have a Joke with you now, creature?" he asked curiously.

"You bet," Joe replied. "I'm lousy with 'em. Wanta hear one? I got one that'll simply kill you."

The Martians recoiled in terror.

"No," Kir-Um said sternly. "We do not wish to have the Joke demonstrated on us. The first suspicious move you make, Earthling, and you are dead. You may exhibit the Joke and operate it, if you wish, but do not direct it at us, for your life."

"Okay," Joe agreed amiably. "I'll just give you sort of a sample. Here goes: Why did the moron plant dynamite in the dairy? He wanted to see a boom in the ice cream industry!"

Joe bent double, clasping his hands to his stomach and emitting loud "Haws" and raucous "Hee hees." His head bobbed back and forth like an apple in a tub and his feet played a staccato rhythm on the carpeted floor.

Harl and Kir-Um looked on in confused wonder. They could see no reason for the boy's sudden outburst. They looked in vain for the weapon Joe had promised to display. Then the light dawned in Kir-Um's mind and he let go with a tremendous: "E-e-e-ump!"

"Harl!" he said excitedly. "Don't you see—it's the words! The words are the weapon; his Joke, as he calls it. Imagine it—words built into a complex pattern to form a destructive force! It is in an embryo stage though, Harl. This creature barely averted disaster just now when his Joke back-fired on him. The pain must be 

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