Traveling thirty miles an hour down the conveyor belt, he looked like a happy cowpoke riding a small pony. In a matter of seconds Chow reached the laboratory and climbed awkwardly off his mount. As Tom strode out to greet him, the cook said:
“How come you talkin’ Texas talk, Tom? You fixin’ to pull up stakes an’
relocate a little west of the Pecos?”
“No, pardner,” Tom drawled. “Jest tryin’ to make you feel at home, that’s all!”
SUBMARINE BLACKOUT 35
“An” what kind of an invention are you cookin’ up now?”
Tom told him about the two-man atomic sub.
“Well, I’ll be roped an’ hawg-tied! Why, brand my periscope!” Words almost failed the amiable cook. “A lu” ole atomic baby sub, eh?”
Chow whistled in amazement, then became serious.
“Only one thing wrong, Tom,” he continued a little sadly. “You ought to make this here critter a three-man job. Slap a galley onto ‘er an’ take ole Chowhead along with you!”
“Sure would like to have you with us,” Tom agreed. “But you’d better stay ashore holding a line on us so we won’t get lost.”
The banter ceased when Tom told Chow about Ned Newton’s capture. The Texan was all for going after the pirates at once.
“But right now, how about me rustlin’ up a little lunch for you, Tom?” the cook suggested. “You rush around like a pup what’s et loco weed, but you don’t never think about food.”
Tom laughed. “Okay. But don’t give me whatever it was that made that waistline of yours stretch out.” He looked critically at the cook’s size fifty-two belt.
Chow grimaced and hurried off to the laboratory’s kitchenette. While he was preparing a three-course dinner, Tom got in touch with Baker and also his two special friends in the plant, Arvid Hanson, the head of the model-making division, and Hank Sterling, chief patternmaker.