"I can afford it," said MacReedy with the unexpected generosity of the true Scotsman. "What do you want me to do?"
"They have a new weapon building," said the General. "All we've got are a few spy-photographs—not very good, I'm afraid."
"What sort of weapon?" the model-maker asked.
"That's just it—we don't know," replied the General. "I'm going to send you what we have on it tomorrow; I'm hoping you can give us a line on its purpose." He paused, added grimly, "As it is we don't know how to meet it. We haven't an inkling. It's given the Chief a whole new patch of grey hairs."
"I'll do what I can," said MacReedy. "But don't expect the moon."
"All I want is the nature and purpose of that weapon—if it is a weapon," was the General's reply. Then Toby and Sergeant Riley came clumping down the stairs and the conference was at an end.
Before he left the General gave Toby five dollars. "That's for bringing me here," he told the lad. "You'll be seeing me again."
"Yes, sir," said Toby. He didn't sound at all surprised.
When he got back In the car alone, the general counted the models on the seat beside him—one rocket-launcher, one A-gun. He said, "Riley, how are we fixed for gas?"