 What does the colonel seem to think about the bomb situation at the mental institution?
Illustrated by Freas Miss Abercrombie, the manual therapist patted the old man on the shoulder. Two muscular and bored attendants in spotless whites, lounged beside the locked door and chatted idly about the Dodgers' prospects for the pennant. Through the barred windows of the workshop, rolling green hills were seen, their tree-studded flanks making a pleasant setting for the mental institution. The crafts building was a good mile away from the main buildings of the hospital and the hills blocked the view of the austere complex of buildings that housed the main wards. She stopped behind a frowning, intense patient, rapidly shaping blobs of clay into odd-sized strips and forms. As he finished each piece, he carefully placed it into a hollow shell hemisphere of clay. The flying fingers continued to whip out the bits of shaped clay as the patient ignored the question. "You've been coming along famously and you must remember to answer when someone talks to you. Thaddeus Funston continued to mold the clay bits and put them in place. "Atom bomb." I thought you said an 'atom bomb.'" That shows real creative thought. "All right, fellows," he called out, "time to go back. A tall, blond patient with a flowing mustache, put one more dab of paint on his canvas and stood back to survey the meaningless smears. At the clay table, Funston feverishly fabricated the last odd-shaped bit of clay and slapped it into place. With a furtive glance around him, he clapped the other half of the clay sphere over the filled hemisphere and then stood up. The patients lined up at the door, waiting for the walk back across the green hills to the main hospital. At the clay table, she carefully lifted the top half of the clay ball and stared thoughtfully at the jumbled maze of clay strips laced through the lower hemisphere. As she drove out of the hospital grounds, Thaddeus Funston stood at the barred window of his locked ward and stared vacantly over the hills towards the craft shop. He stood there unmoving until a ward attendant came and took his arm an hour later to lead him off to the patients' mess hall. The sun set, darkness fell over the stilled hospital grounds and the ward lights winked out at nine o'clock, leaving just a single light burning in each ward office. At 3:01 a.m., Thaddeus Funston stirred in his sleep and awakened. The quiet breathing and occasional snores of thirty other sleeping patients filled the room.
 He is worried about the perception if others hear about what's happening
 He wants to let Thaddeus create more things to study them  He is worried about the perception if others hear about what's happening  He wants to keep the story away from the newspapers so that others cannot learn Thaddeus' secrets  It figures that this is where this is happening, so he's frustrated for yet another bomb case