like a jar of hard candy. There was nothing else in the rocket, except for the motor built into the tailpiece. The blue glow of the rocket began to fade.

Vaguely Elvin became aware that something was amiss. He began to suspect that he had stumbled upon something more than a stray rocket from Muroc. He wanted to tell somebody about it. Clutching the cylinder of colored balls he ran back to the house.

The party had reached one of its numerous climaxes. The hall was jammed with chattering high school students. They swirled in a flood around Mrs. Schermerhorn, who seemed to be enjoying herself as much as they were.

Gary Elvin grabbed her arm. "I've found a rocket!" he cried.

"Rocket?" she frowned for a moment, and then smiled brightly. "Oh, the racket. Yes, but they do have so much energy, don't they?"

He held up the cylinder. "This was in it!"

"Oh, you found it, Mr. Elvin. We looked high and low; now we—"

"It was in the rocket."

"... now we can have our contest."

Desperately a new idea occurred to him. "Can you get these kids quiet? I want to 'phone."

"But it's so early, Mr. Elvin. We can't expect them to go home yet."

"No, Mrs. Schermerhorn. 'Phone. I want to telephone!"

"Oh. Yes; of course. We'll have our contest in the living room."

Gary Elvin wormed his way toward the closet under the stairway. It was a very small telephone alcove, not designed for utility. Yet he found he could shut out some of the din if he jackknifed himself against the slanting wall and held the door partly shut.

But it required the use of both his hands. He set the cylinder on a bookcase in the hall and squeezed into the closet. With the telephone in his hand, he hesitated. It had seemed a good idea a moment ago—to call in the Authorities. But, to bring the generalization down to 

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