"Why, Bill Willet," Lora said. "You're jealous!"
"Who is this guy?" Bill said. "Do you know anything about him? Look at him, his beard—"
She flared. "So what? Just because he doesn't drive a Packard and go to Cooper High!"
Conger sized the boy up. He was big—big and strong. Probably he was part of some civil control organization.
"Sorry," Conger said. "I'll go."
"What's your business in town?" Bill asked. "What are you doing here? Why are you hanging around Lora?"
Conger looked at the girl. He shrugged. "No reason. I'll see you later."
He turned away. And froze. Bill had moved. Conger's fingers went to his belt. Half pressure, he whispered to himself. No more. Half pressure.
He squeezed. The room leaped around him. He himself was protected by the lining of his clothing, the plastic sheathing inside.
"My God—" Lora put her hands up. Conger cursed. He hadn't meant any of it for her. But it would wear off. There was only a half-amp to it. It would tingle.