“Sounds as though you’ve had some trouble, Chow,” Tom said sympathetically.
“Trouble? Pardner, I’ve had real misery! And all on account o’ your experimentin’. My mixer went dead jest when I was beatin’ up some lemon meringy. My electronic range wouldn’t work. An’ there I was with two dozen half-baked pie shells.”
MORE POWER! 5
Chow grunted with disgust as he served the food off the cart. “So there’s your lunch, wranglers-cold beans an’ applesauce.”
“Looks good to me,” said Tom, as both boys piled into the food hungrily.
“It better be, son, ‘cause that’s all I got to offer. Jest lucky you didn’t electrocute yourself into the bargain, messin’ around with all them volts an’
killywatts!”
Tom chuckled silently. He knew that under the old Westerner’s leathery hide beat a heart as warm as Texas sunshine. Chow Winkler had been a chuck-wagon cook when he met the Swifts during one of their atomic research projects in the Southwest. He had become so fond of Tom that he agreed to go back to Shopton with them and take on the job of chef for the Swifts at Enterprises.
When they went on expeditions, he usually accompanied them as cook.
“In case you didn’t know it, Chow,” Bud put in slyly, “Tom’s inventing a new way to make all your groceries, so you won’t have to take any along on our next space trip.”
Chow glared at the young copilot. “None o’ your whoppers, Buddy boy!”
“It’s true,” Bud insisted. “He’s going to make all our food out of electricity.”
“Out o’ ^e-lec-tricity!” Chow’s tanned, lined face went pale with dismay.