Tom’s forehead was beaded with perspiration. Holding his breath, he proceeded to disarm the fuse. Hank Sterling and his men were watching tensely from a safe distance. An audible sigh of relief rose from the group when they saw that Tom now had deactivated the bomb. This was followed by a ringing cheer.
As Hank rushed forward to congratulate him, Tom sagged limply.
“Nice work, Tom!” cried the blond, square-jawed engineer, throwing an arm around the young inventor’s shoulders.
When he arrived home Tom called Mayor Drummond. He expected that the official would be greatly relieved to hear that the digging area was 106 TOM SWIFT AND HIS ATOMIC BLASTER
now completely safe. But again he was in for an unpleasant surprise.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Tom,” said Mayor Drummond, “but certain members of the council have forced a showdown. We’re taking a vote tomorrow morning on whether or not to halt your project!”
CHAPTER 12
A FLIGHT TO ALASKA
TENSELY AWAITING the outcome of the council’s vote, a group of friends gathered in Tom’s office the next morning.
“If those chowderheads decide to stop you from digging,” Bud growled, “the public ought to make them scratch out that tunnel themselves-with spoons and nail files!”
Tom, in spite of his anxiety, gave a wry smile but said nothing.
By eleven o’clock there was still no word from Town Hall. Another fifteen minutes went by, then another.
“Brand my thermopile! What’s keepin’ them sidewinders?” exclaimed Chow nervously.
“Must be a close fight,” Hank Sterling remarked, “which makes me hopeful.”