the air, and the Martian heart felt all the melancholy and despair of an unloved creature.

Down, down the endless winding streets it went; and then suddenly heard laughter and music. Following the sounds, it went down an old side street, forgotten by time. A battered frame building stood at the end of the block, and bore the name of "Riley's". It walked in.

"Ho ho!" shouted Gus, pounding her heavy fists on the bar in time to a hillbilly juke-box. "Oh, who's this just come in? Well, well, a real character!"

"Jumpin' jalopies!" gasped Joe, "get that thing out of here!"

"Come, come, now," joined Pete, "must we have minorities within minorities? It might be eccentric, but it's human, and deserves to be treated like a human. Besides, it looks lonesome.'

"But what is it? It ain't Butch or Fem."

"I'm a Martian," said the Thing, and crawled on its eight creepers to the bar.

"Well, I'm Gus, an! here's Pete, Rick, Tommy an' Gwendolyn. And, sir, or ma'm, what's your name?"

"Martos."

"Welcome to Riley's! Hope you like it here. Have a drink on me, Marty!"

Martos surveyed the room: surely, some were surly and burly, and some were adorable, but they all wore pants. His ears attuned themselves to the pronoun: female gender, all of them. But, could Gus be slender? Adorable? The bug-eyes questioned in vain.

"What's bothering you?" Gus asked. "Never been to Riley's Strange, huh!"

before?

"Ah, yes. You see, my book here says there are two kinds

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