"Bill--" Marge called warningly. Too late. The lid of the hatbox came
off in my hands.
* * * * *
There was a bright flash, the smell of insulation burning, and the
unhappen genii fell out and scattered all over the floor.
Doreen looked smug. "Now Elmer will be angry at you. Maybe he'll
disintegrate you. Or paralalize you and statuefy you. Forever."
"He might at that, Bill," Marge shuddered. "I wouldn't put anything past
him."
I wasn't listening. I was scrambling after the mess of tubes, condensers
and power packs scattered over the rug. Some of them were still wired
together, but most of them had broken loose. Elmer was certainly one
heck of a sloppy workman. Hadn't even soldered the connections. Just
twisted the wires together.
I looked at the stuff in my hands. It made as much sense as a radio run
over by a truck.
"We'll take it back to Elmer," I told Doreen, speaking very carefully.
"I'll give him lots of money to build another. He can come down here and
use our shop. We have lots of nice equipment he'd like."
Doreen tossed her head. "I don't think he'll wanta. He'll be mad at you.
Anyway, Elmer is busy working on aggravation now."
"That's for sure!" Marge said in heartfelt tones.
"Aggravation, eh?" I grinned like an idiot. "Well, well! I'll bet he's
good at it. But let's go see him right away."
"Bill!" Marge signaled me to one side. "Maybe you'd better not try to
see Elmer," she whispered. "I mean, if he can build a thing like this in
his garage, maybe he _can_ build a disintegrator or a paralysis ray or
something. There's no use taking chances."
"You read too many comics," I laughed it off. "He's only a kid, isn't
he? What do you think he is? A superman?"
"Yes," Marge said flatly.
"Look, Marge!" I said in feverish excitement. "I've got to talk to
Elmer! I've got to get the rights to that TV color lens and this
electricity interruptor and anything else he may have developed!"
Marge kept trying to protest, but I simply grabbed her and Doreen and
hustled them out to my car. Doreen lived in a wooded, hilly section a
little north of White Plains. I made it in ten minutes.
* * * * *
Marge had said Elmer worked in the garage. I kept going up the driveway,
swung sharp around the big house--and slammed on the brakes.
Marge screamed.
We skidded to a stop with our front end hanging over what looked like a
bomb crater in the middle of the driveway.