The Smuggled Atom Bomb

Duff laughed. “Reward? Why should I get a reward? Anybody would have done what I did — and better. If I hadn’t been so dumb—”

The general’s mouth dropped open and snapped shut. The scientist coughed, cleared his throat and looked closely at the trunk of a nearby palm. And he spoke. “We’ve gone over your records, Bogan. The FBI has quite a dossier. Besides being a twenty-one-carat fool for danger, you’re a good man in the field. My field. Our field. A certain nuclear project is being moved down here under old Slocum. We’d like you to work on it as you continue your studies. We’ve fixed it so the work itself will contribute toward a doctorate.”

Duff had been trying to say he’d be glad to work on any project the Atomic Energy Commission thought he was worthy of. But the mention of an opportunity to get his final degree made him stand still. Tears came in his eyes.

“D-d-don’t deserve anything of the sort,” he stammered.

General Baines snorted, “Damn it, man! Stop the modesty! Surely you realize what you saved the country from!”

“A lot of people besides me—”

“Fiddlesticks! Rubbish! You can continue your studies here. Take your M.A. Then your Ph.D. And have a job meanwhile. It will pay you seven fifty a month, Bogan, and I have orders from the President of the United States — who wants to shake your hand someday, incidentally— that you’re to accept.”

A roar came from inside the stadium as the opposing teams returned to the field. The scientist, after a look at Duff, took the general’s arm. “Let’s watch the kickoff.”

Duff couldn’t speak. When he was able to control his emotions, he walked back into the frenzied stadium and joined the Yates family. He saw the game, and didn’t see it. He was thinking that he was a rich man now. For a minute he had imagined that “seven fifty” a month had meant seven dollars and a half. Then he knew. He could rent Harry’s room and they wouldn’t need to find another boarder. He could put in some improvements, like an electric stove. By and by he’d be a doctor of philosophy, an atomic scientist. Miami made a touchdown and he was only dimly aware—

After the sun set and as the first unimportant-looking buds of the night-blooming jasmine commenced to explode their honey-sweet perfume into the twilight, Duff sat alone beside his lily pool. They’d just come home from the game. He hadn’t told the Yateses, yet, about his reward; he was afraid, still, that he’d break up — maybe blubber.

Eleanor had been escorted home, minutes before. He expected she would leave again, soon, for another dinner party.

Charles kicked open the front screen. “Hey, Duff! Kitchen faucet’s leaking!”

The homely need somehow bolstered Duff. He laughed. “Washer coming up!” He had shut off the water when Eleanor appeared — in a house dress.

“I thought—”

She read the thought. “I begged off, Duff. After all, I did say I’d been ill. I’m cooking tonight— thank heaven! No more Cinderella! The coach is a punkin again and the horses are mice. And am I happy about that!”

Duff nodded vaguely. He felt that women were impossible to understand. He tinkered with the faucet and she came close, watching him. There was a way her hair curved at the nape of her neck. There was a certain shape of her eyes and a special light in them, a topaz light. A warmth and a femininity about her. She had lovely lips. And he knew the girl very well — though not, perhaps, well enough to do what he did, which was to put down the wrench, take her in his arms and kiss her, hard. Alarmed afterward, he let go.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it! I’m still distraught — judgment’s shot!”

Her eyes shone. “Sure is! You let go. Why?”

Duff turned away a little. “I’ve tried to be a brotherly kind of a guy, Eleanor. It’s a beam I can’t entirely stay on. But after all, your type of man is some really elegant person, like Scotty.”

“Scotty is pretty elegant,” she answered very softly. “He had a big crush on me. I had to kind of bust it up — pretend I was crazy about six other lads. He caught on. I mean, he caught on to who I really did care for. So he pitched in to help that guy. It’s like Scotty.”

Duff nodded and his blue eyes were never more vague, more forlorn. “Then there is somebody.”

Her first words of love were, “What does a girl have to do in the case of scientists—

hire a marriage broker? You dope! You oaf! You nitwit! You precious dumbbell!”

Marian, who had come quietly through the door, yelled, “Mother! Duff and El are having a quarrel!”

Her big sister ignored the interruption and went on talking to Duff in a strange voice,