"Man wants you, Henry."
The burgess turned around to face his chief of police. "If it's that Artie Chesbro again, tell him to take his goddamn car and—"
"No. Lloyd Eisele—don't know if you know him, he's got a dairy farm up in the hills."
"Then why didn't he have sense enough to stay there?"
"His boy's a radio ham, Henry. He's got a message for you."
Burgess Starkman snapped at the man: "Well?"
The dairy farmer said, "The kid has a contact with a phone line open to the Civil Defense Filter Center in Springfield. They want an estimate of damage; they want to know what help and supplies you'll need in the morning. And they've got instructions for you." He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over.
Burgess Starkman said to his chief of police, "What do you think? Should I send somebody back with him to talk to them?"
"Sprayragen," said Chief Brayer promptly. "He's too old for this anyhow. Let him sit down for a while." He went off to get him.
The dairy farmer looked around at the cars, the fire engine, the men with flashlights and electric lanterns moving around in the downpour. "Something happen?" he wanted to know.