“A swell invention, genius boy! Should come in mighty handy up on the moon.”
“Thanks.” Tom grinned. “Guess a handrail might help, but it would make loading difficult.”
Deciding that it was now time for the remote-control test, Tom returned to his laboratory. The onlookers, outside, waited expectantly. In a few moments they saw the repelatron donkey start to rise off the ground.
Chow was grinning with excitment. “Now’s my chance!” he thought. Dashing up to the platform, he hopped aboard. “Yippee!” he shouted, like an airborne rodeo rider. “Let ‘er rip!”
Bud was aghast. “Chow, are you nuts?” he yelled. “Get down off there!”
The workmen added their pleas. But Chow was unperturbed. “You think an ole cowpoke like me can’t stick to this li’l ole donkey?” he snorted. “Well, I’ll show you how a real Texas bronco-buster does it. Yahoo! Ride ‘em, cowboy!”
His enthusiasm faded as the flying carpet continued to rise. Soon he was at second-floor height. Then the device began to buck! The onlookers stared in horror as Chow teetered and wobbled
132 THE RACE TO THE MOON
frantically. His face was rapidly assuming a greenish tinge.
“Howlin” prairie winds!” Bud gasped. “This is awful! We must do something before Chow breaks his neck!”
Dashing over to the nearest outlet of the public-address system, Bud switched on the microphone.
“Tom! Bring it down quick!” he cried.
As Bud’s words came over the loudspeaker in the laboratory, Tom was just turning on his TV viewer, designed to scan any area of Enterprises. He aimed at the test site and brought the picture into focus. On the screen was Chow, skimming high above the crowd of watchers, and flapping his arms like an hysterical eagle!