Free The Boy Who Invented the Bubble Gun by Paul Gallico

said, “I see,” and then was compelled to ask, “And what about your parents? Do they know all about this caper?”
    Julian again knew himself close to panic. Questions, questions, always questions. But he nodded his head.
    Sisson said, “Well, and when you get to Washington? Have you got any money? Do you know anybody?”
    The word “money” led to “grandmother” and birthday present. Grandmother would do.
    Julian said, “My grandmother lives in Washington.”
    The colonel snorted and said, “Your grandmother will be a great help in the Patent Office.”
    Subliminally Marshall was aware of Allon emerging from the lavatory too soon to have been ill and marching past him up the aisle quite steadily, his hand no longer clenched, his colour seemed to have returned. But what was far more interesting was that Julian and the colonel were still actively chatting.
    Marshall did not bother any more about Allon except to notice that the man was busying himself with taking his satchel down from the rack again and the bus was entering the outskirts of Tucson.
    The colonel handed back Julian’s diagram which he folded up and began putting in his pocket. The colonel said, “You know, this whole thing sounds cockeyed to me, young man, and I’m not sure I believe a word of it.” But then he indicated the paper which Julian was stowing away and said, “However, I’ve seen a lot crazier ideas than this come off. The point is, your engineering is sound. Look here, if you need any help in Washington, get in touch.” He produced a wallet from which he took a card with his name, rank, department and the telephone number of his office in the Pentagon Building. He initialled it and then handed it to Julian. “Keep this safe. You might need it.”
    After he had been overwhelmed with “Gee, thanks,” and “Say, you’re the greatest,” and Julian had departed, he said to himself, For sweet Jesus’ sake, Sisson, why can’t you mind your own business? What the hell did you have to do that for? But he excused himself with, Goddammit, the country needs kids like that. His mind then turned back to the problem of his mission and the bad luck that had attended it so far. He glanced ahead to where Allon was sitting and could not think of a single solitary thing to do beyond going up to him, handing him the sheaf of blueprints with, “Here, your bosses would like to have a look at these.” The next move would have to be up to Allon.
    Julian had dropped into the aisle seat next to Marshall as the bus slowed down through the streets of Tucson. He said excitedly, “Say, he was great,” and produced the diagram. “He showed me what to do. See here?” He took out a pencil of his own with an eraser, rubbed out certain lines on the diagram, traced over the colonel’s corrections and gazed with awe and delight upon the altered sheet. “B-b-boy, was I a dope. I should have s-s-seen that.” Then, looking proudly at Marshall, “But the colonel d-d-didn’t see something that I s-s-saw, like here.”
    Marshall said, “Yeah,” and then casually, “Did he say it would work?”
    Julian said, “Sure, why wouldn’t it? See, when I . . .”
    Julian became aware that Marshall who had been showing the most intense interest was suddenly no longer listening to him and he looked up slightly bewildered to see that Marshall was gazing in a puzzled manner up towards the front of the bus.
    Julian asked, “What are you looking at?”
    Marshall replied, “Nothing. Never mind.”
    Nevertheless he continued to watch the actions of the little man who had looked as if he were going to be sick. He now saw that Allon had removed his bag from the rack and there was a curious tension about Allon’s neck and shoulders and all he could think of was a memory of a high school track meet, and the eight-eighty and the way the back of the competitor on his mark a few feet ahead of him had looked, all bunched up and ready to explode. And there was something else