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firecrackers or CCX cartridges. “Suppose the thing goes crooked and shoots off toward Blue Springs?” he said to Steve.
    “We have a relay radio device,” Steve said. “It’ll blow ’er up over the swamp if anything goes wrong.”
    “I see.” Officer Ricardo stiffened and stared at Steve. “Well, then,” he continued, “where will the rocket come down—on the school?—the shopping center?”
    Steve opened the equipment box and took out the drawings and diagrams. “It comes down here,” he said, and traced with his finger a triangulation of the flight on the map.
    The officer studied them. “May I have these?” he asked. “I’d like to show them to the chief and Mr. Brundage.” Craig pulled closer into the circle. It sounded as if the officer were coming over to their side.
    Steve showed him some more diagrams. Between each lesson Officer Ricardo dropped the papers onto his knees and stared at the dials on the door to Batta. Then he resumed his concentration.
    “Gosh, Steve,” he finally said, “I’m lost. I’m not the person to decide this. It’s too complicated.”
    “You don’t have to understand it,” insisted Steve. “You can see it’s safe. Even if it blew up on the launch pad, we’d all be behind mud barriers; and that’s about the worst that could happen way out here.’
    “I dunno, I dunno.” The officer shook his head.
    “Aw, shucks,” said Johnny. “It’s okay, Officer Ricardo, all you have to do is tell the chief that. We can vouch for it.”
    The officer smiled at Johnny. “Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll make a report and take this into the chief and Mr. Brundage. They just might agree since it’s way out here.” He took out his notebook. “Now, let’s go through this again. How tall is the rocket?”
    Steve spoke more slowly this time. Craig listened and grinned at Johnny from time to time as his hopes climbed.
    At last Mr. Ricardo stuck his pencil in his jacket. “Is there anything else I should see,” he said, “before I decide to stretch out in the meadow for a week?” He yawned.
    “Would you like to see the powerhouse?” asked Johnny.
    “Sure.” He got up. “I suppose you’re going to tell me now that you generate electricity.”
    “Well, yes,” said Johnny. He brushed off his trousers and beckoned to the officer.
    Mr. Ricardo hesitated as he examined the cabin, but this time he did not even ask whether they had made it. Instead, he thumped the logs critically and went inside. Johnny explained the thermoelectric teakettle that converted steam into electricity. The officer listened quietly. Finally he mumbled, “I feel very old.”
    Half an hour later Craig helped Officer Ricardo onto the swamp buggy, and this time the big man sat down on the craft with confidence. They sailed gently back.
    Craig was tired when they reached the police car, but nevertheless he was eager for some reassurance. “Can we?” he asked brightly.
    The officer looked at him, reached in his car, and switched on his two-way radio. “Officer Ricardo to chief. Ricardo to chief. Over.”
    “Come in, Mission Firecracker. Well, what’s with the Roman candle department? Over.”
    “I don’t understand anything,” Officer Ricardo blared, “but we have an astonishment on our hands. Suggest Brundage form the committee. Over.”
    “Yeah? What’ve they done? Over.”
    “Get me a man with a Ph.D. in electronics and send him out here. There’s an instrument panel that’s so complicated I can’t even ask a leading question about it. Over.”
    Craig felt his stomach drop.
    “Come on in, Ricardo. Over and out.”
    Officer Ricardo switched off his mike. He leaned out the door. “I’ll look into it further,” he said. “And I’ll call you soon.” He winked at them. The tires spun on the gravel in the lane as the police car departed.
    “Well,” said Johnny, “I might as well go home and practice the piano, rake the yard, and join the drama club.” He turned and