“We’ll have the pressure test at four o’clock,” he 36 TOM SWIFT AND HIS JETMARINE
told them and said he would like Hanson and Hank to be there. “By that time the distorter will be bolted onto the sub. I want to find out what may happen to it if it’s subjected to great pressure.”
The men promised to be on hand, saying that they would not miss the test for anything less than an air raid. According to Tom’s calculations, they thought the small submarine should be able to descend easily to the unexplored depths of the ocean.
“We’ll soon know,” he said excitedly.
It was hard for the young inventor to keep his thoughts on the sumptuous meal Chow brought. He ate absent-mindedly, and when the cook pretended to be hurt, Tom laughingly said he was not sure how much pressure the butterflies in his stomach could stand.
“Butterflies?” Chow shouted. “You call these little golden-brown fish butterflies!” Then he grinned. “Oh, you mean you’re fluttery inside. Brand my ten-gallon, that’s the way I used to feel when a stampede was headin’ for my chuck wagon.”
In the end he ate most of Tom’s lunch as well as his own. The inventor left him and phoned for mechanics to come and move the submarine to the tank where the pressure test would take place.
Twenty minutes later the jetmarine stood at the edge of the mammoth concrete tank which had been set in bedrock at one end of the Enterprises grounds. The sub’s sleek black hull, with its transparent nose designed for greatest visibility, gleamed in the afternoon sunshine.