"Couldn't that have been dangerous?" Duran asked, and realized at once that he had said the wrong thing.
The boy merely shrugged.
"Well, it must have been a pretty good machine if it flew sixty miles and hit its target," Duran went on.
"Oh, we had it radio-controlled, with a midget T.V. transmitter mounted in it. Grasso took care of that. He did a terrific job. Of course, it was pretty expensive."
He glanced at his father tentatively for a moment, then bent his gaze to the cigarette.
"I don't have my car any more. But I guess I won't be needing it now."
There was a cautious knock on the door.
"Listen, Rog," Duran began, "I'll try to get to see you tomorrow before I leave. Remember that your mother and I are both on your side, without qualification. You've done a pretty terrible thing, of course. But I have to admit, at the same time, that I'm really rather proud of you. Does that make sense?"
"Sure," said Roger huskily, "I guess so."