"No," said Summersby, "no."
"Yes, sir, you are. Can we wait just a minute more? Mr. Watkins might be
along any minute now."
"We'll wait."
After a while Adam said, "Remember that first feed we got up there, pies
and cookies and glass?"
"I remember it."
"They must have just aimed that machine at a bakery window here on
Earth, and taken glass and all."
"That's it."
"Probably it was called a smash-and-grab robbery, down here." He kicked
something, bent down and picked it up. It was the safe-cracker's gun. "I
didn't think he'd carry one," said the boy. He looked closer at it.
"God!"
"What is it?" Summersby shifted the briefcase and held out a hand. Adam
laid the weapon in his big palm. "He must have won it at the park that
day," Adam said. "That old crook! Old faker!"
Summersby held it up. It looked like a small automatic of blued steel,
but it was plastic. He turned it over. A pencil-sharpener.
Summersby grunted. "A toy," he said, giving it back to Adam. "Nothing
but a kid's toy."
[Illustration]