Free The Boy Who Invented the Bubble Gun by Paul Gallico Page B

I didn’t want him with holes in him,” and then he said, “Oh, goddammit, the stupid bastard.” And suddenly he felt as though he was nine years old like the kid with that design and wanted to cry from sheer helpless frustration. “What a son of a bitching foul up!” For a moment, almost stupidly he regarded his briefcase and then said bitterly, “They’ll have my chicken feathers for this. That crazy kid! Tell the bus driver I’m not coming back.”
    Marshall said, “I don’t get it,” but Sisson was already running for a second taxi, exchanged a few words with the driver, was in and gone.
    As Marshall climbed back into the bus, the driver asked, “What the hell was all that about? Where are they?”
    Marshall said, “Skip it. They won’t be back.”
    The driver was beginning to feel a sense of injury. He said, “What’s the matter with my bus all of a sudden? That’s three guys. Had I better report in?”
    Marshall laid a hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry. Like, now there’s nothing in the rules that says a guy’s got to go on riding if he doesn’t want to. Weirdos. Like I said, forget it.”
    The driver looked up into Marshall’s face. Smooth. Cool. Maybe he knew something that was nobody else’s business. What the hell. So two guys got off and took taxis. Report what? The driver said, “Okay, bud.”
    Marshall went back into the bus, passing Wilks whose thoughts were somewhat different. Dangerous! If that son of a bitch starts anything he’ll be the first to get it between the eyes.
    As the bus moved off and Marshall was back in his seat, Julian asked, “What happened? W-w-where did they go?”
    Marshall replied, “Nothing,” and then realizing that the boy was too bright to be fobbed off, made the motion of closing his lips with a zipper and whispered, “Secret agents maybe.”
    Wide-eyed, Julian said, “Gee, honest? Spies?”
    Marshall did the zipper movement again and thought to himself looking at the diagram in Julian’s lap, Now what the hell did that scared little monkey want with a picture of this? Had the man with the camera goofed too? But then Marshall remembered that the colonel had always seemed to be working on things on his lap. The fellow had had plenty of time to make his pictures but apparently had waited for Julian’s advent to make his move. Aloud he said, “You sure the colonel said this would work?”
    Julian nodded, “Uh huh. See there, he said I c-c-could move that b-b-back and I said to put another w-w-washer. It’ll be okay that way. Look, he gave me his address in W-w-washington.”
    Marshall glanced at the card. So, he had been right about the colonel being in ordnance. Then, he returned to studying the diagram. “So, you pull the trigger and what happens?”
    Julian said, “Like I told you, b-b-bubbles come out.”
    Marshall repeated, “Bubbles come out. Yeah, I got that the first time.” And for this that dopey little man had almost got himself shot in the ass with a .45. For a moment his mind went wild. What were the bubbles? Nerve gas? Poison? The kid was being used like Rudyard Kipling’s Kim? He said to himself, Oh, for sweet Jesus’ sake, Marshall, be yourself. Like the colonel said there was some kind of foul up which could cost him his eagles and none of it’s your business. The point is he said this thing will work and gave the kid his card. The boy really had something. Aloud he said, “I call that pretty damn smart. When I was a kid I was always tinkering myself. I was gonna be an engineer.”
    Julian asked, “Did you invent anything?”
    Marshall shook his head in negation.
    Julian asked, “What happened?”
    Marshall touched the battle jacket on his lap and for a moment a look of anger flashed across his face as he picked it up and irritably stuffed it down on the seat beside him. He replied, “Nothing,” and then his countenance regained its usual bland expression as he added, “But just you stay with it, kid. You’ll get