"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.
I swallowed my heart down again, while I backed away fast.