Ross Rocklynne

“ I was determined to save baby. Baby cried!
We got some chairs and sat there for ten minutes close together while baby played with the invisible monster. "I don't know what to do!" I said. "It's alive. Maybe it's poisonous. But it's friendly. Maybe it's another baby!"
"From another dimension," said Mabel.
"Rot," I said; I think I picked that up from the detective in the Saturday Evening Post serial. "Let's keep our heads."
"If baby keeps his," said my friend Mabel.
That got me. "I've got to call Harry," I chattered. "They don't like him to be called at work, but I've got to call him." ”

“ The baby monster took it invisibly out of my hand. He shoved it at baby. Baby squealed so darned happily. And I began to get some perspective.
"Suspicion is wrong," I told Mabel. "All the time. That's what that article we read a couple months ago in Your World said. Remember you and I decided we'd never be suspicious. Maybe that's the reason we're happy—if dirty. We don't suspect anybody of anything if we can help it—and now's no time to start. The monster is baby's friend."
Mabel shuddered. "Okay," she said. "But I'm still worried about getting dinner in the oven. ”

“ A minute later, the grey steam melted away and so did Mabel.
Harry came home on schedule. "Baby has hardly cried all day!" I told him happily. "What a relief! I got a lot of your old clothes mended and I read three installments of the Saturday Evening Post serial."
"Fine!" said Harry, looking around. "What else happened?"
"Not much," I said, deciding to break it to him gradually. "Except we've got a Drinko." I took him into the nursery. Baby was sound asleep. I supposed the Drinko was, too. "There he is," I said, pointing to the depression at the foot of the crib. "That's the Drinko." ”