Why, nothing.
Harold would probably crack up completely, but this evening that thing would still be standing there, solid as the Washington Monument.
Nevertheless, Orville's wife Polly was going to her sister's, across town. She wasn't going to stay there and be blown up! While she was getting ready, Orville picked up a package by the sink and carried it outside to the alley and dropped it in the garbage can. He wore his double-breasted fall suit. He strolled to the boundary fence and leaned against a post.
A reporter was taking angle shots of the spaceship. Flashbulbs were scattered over Harold's garden.
It really does catch the eye, Orville thought. Smarten the ship up a little, put some stripes running down from the nose, a few pieces of chrome around over the body....
Poor old Harold came off his back porch carrying a thermos jug and six loaves of bread.
"Morning, Harold," said Orville.
"Oh—morning, Orville." Harold flinched. Another reporter had come out of the shed and taken their picture.
"What's your name, mister?" the reporter asked Orville.