"Pshaw. What's a car to a newspaper man when a Big Story's in the air?
Take this newspaper fellow I saw on TV Saturday night. He--"
"Big Stories went out long ago," Dexter said. "Newspapermen work for a
living the same as anybody else. Get back to my car. Aren't you going
to do anything about it?"
Jeremiah looked hurt. "I've already done everything I can do. The
minute I saw those tanks I knew it was a job for the army, and the
state police agreed with me. So we notified them, after which we
advised everybody to stay indoors and to keep their cars under lock and
key. All we can do now is wait." Jeremiah sighed. "Crazy, if you ask
me. Tanks eating automobiles!"
"I imagine," Dexter said thoughtfully, "that our diet would give them
pause too. Where did this star of yours fall?"
"In Ed Hallam's north timber lot. Take you there, if you like. There's
not much to see, though--just a big hole in the ground."
Dexter finished his beer. "Come on," he said.
* * * * *
The Model A parked in front of the Inn turned out to be Jeremiah's.
They took off down the road at a brisk pace, wound through woods,
dales, pastures and fields. Dexter hadn't the remotest idea where he
was when at last Jeremiah pulled up beside a grove larger and darker
than the others.
The old man squinted into the lengthening shadows. "Seems to me them
auto-eating tanks ought to make better reading than a common ordinary
falling star."
Halfway out of the car, Dexter stared at him. "You mean to tell me you
don't see the connection?"
"What connection?"
Dexter got the rest of the way out. "Between the automobile-eaters and
the spaceship, of course."