Later that afternoon, after the girls had left, THE FLYING CARPET 125
Chow Winkler came into the laboratory, bringing a cup of hot chocolate.
“Somethin” to perk you up, pardner,” he announced.
“Thanks.” Tom grinned. He took a few sips. “Really hits the spot, Chow!” He gave the cook a quizzical smile. “What brought this about?” he needled.
The old cowpoke did not change expression. He waited until he felt his young boss was in the proper mood, then he announced the purpose of his visit. “Real reason I came around, Tom, is to ask you a favor.”
“Probably granted,” said Tom. “But let’s hear it.”
“Then how about takin’ me with you on this here trail drive to the moon?”
Chow pleaded.
Tom looked at the stout, elderly cook. In spite of his paunch and bowlegs, Chow had proven tough and useful on previous expeditions-not only in outer space, but also in the frozen Antarctic, tropic jungles, and the depths of the ocean.
“I guess that can be arranged, Chow, if you really want to go.”
The old Texan’s leathery face burst into smiles and he let out a loud “Yippee-ee!” But suddenly his jaw sagged as Tom added: “But there won’t be any cooking to do.”
“Shootin’ stars, why not?” Chow protested plaintively. “A feller still has to eat, don’t he, even if he is ridin’ herd up there for the man in the moon?”
“That’s right, Chow.” Tom grinned. “But re—
126 THE RACE TO THE MOON
member, in space suits we can only take liquid nourishment.”
“You mean we’ll have to wear them things all the time?” The old Westerner looked dismayed.
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