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reallyimpossible to upset.”
    “Good drums,” said Johnny, kicking one.
    The swamp buggy edged out into the slow stream that gleamed like a sheet of black metal.
    “Well!” Officer Ricardo murmured. “I didn’t know all this was here. It’s beautiful. Just beautiful!” The buggy purred along evenly and Craig felt the officer relax.
    Then the island came into view. “Not bad,” the officer said, “you’ve got something here. A quiet island in the middle of a driving busy town. Nice.” He let go of his knees and took a long deep breath of air.
    They eased gently up to the wharf and Johnny leaped off. He offered the officer his hand, but the man refused and jumped nimbly to the dock.
    “Hmmm,” he said, looking at the wharf and pilings. “Very good!” He tested one of the piles. It did not budge.
    Steve seemed glad for this first impression. He brightened up as he took over. “Come this way,” he said and led the group down the cobblestone trail.
    Craig held up the rear, peering around Johnny’s shoulder now and then to see what the policeman was doing. He saw his head move from side to side as he crossed the meadow, noting the observation bunker, the command center, and finally the launching pit.
    “Well,” he said as he came up to the rim of the pit, “what do we have here? A rocket?”
    “Yes, sir,” said Steve with some surprise in his voice. “Isn’t that what you were expecting?”
    “Not exactly,” the officer said and stepped into the pit. Craig and Johnny moved quickly to pull back the cover so he would not strike his head. Then they watched him. Officer Ricardo turned around many times. He saw the countdown sheet and began to read aloud, “T-minus twelve. Pack flameproof recovery wadding into the body tube.” He looked up. He looked directly at Craig, then his glance passed on to Johnny, then Steve.
    “You all aren’t kidding, are you?” he said. There was some anger in his voice.
    “Well, no,” said Johnny. “We never said we were.”
    Officer Ricardo spun around slowly. He stopped and stared. “You should’ve told me,” he said. “This thing’s a rocket!”
    “Yes,” said Steve. He shifted his feet. “Perhaps we should explain.” He jumped into the pit beside the policeman and pointed to the booster. “This is a three-stage booster rocket. Stage one surrounds it in this circle of tubes. Two and three are in the tall rocket. The payload isn’t here. We keep it separately. There are twenty-four engines in this particular rocket, and they ought to get the rocket up two thousand, if not three thousand, feet.”
    “I see,” the officer said.
    “The rocket is launched from a command station,” Steve went on as he walked toward the bunker. Craig nudged Johnny, for Officer Ricardo was staring at the disguised door and scratching his head. Steve called, “Here we have an ignition control panel that sets the rocket off from a safe distance, that is, from behind this wall of mud bags.” He slapped them. Officer Ricardo slapped them, too, then turned his attention to the slender ignition control with its switches and needles.
    “These wires,” said Steve pointing, “have microchips on the ends. They are attached to the engines, and when the current goes through them, they heat up, and zowie! Off goes the rocket! It’s that simple.”
    “I see,” said Officer Ricardo. Steve grinned. The officer leaned over the ignition panel. “Where did you get this?”
    “We made it,” broke in Johnny. “We all saved dimes and nickels from our lunch money and bought the kit—it only cost about four dollars.”
    “Oh.”
    “That’s about all there is to it,” concluded Steve. The officer thumped the bags once more, looked closely at them, and pondered. Presently he returned to the launch pit and sat down on the rim, his feet inside.
    “Well, now,” he said seriously. Craig was glad to hear firmness in his voice, for it no longer implied that he thought they were playing with