tite and the stout chef went off, secretly plotting to arrange the second half of his prescription.
When he reached the galley, Chow plucked the wall phone off its hook and called Bud at an airfield hangar. After a brisk conversation, he hung up, grinning contentedly.
At one o’clock Bud came bursting into Tom’s laboratory. “Snap to, skipperl”
he announced. “You have company!”
Tom looked up from his work in surprise.
“Ta-daaa!” Bud sang out, imitating a trumpet flourish.
Sandy and Phyl Newton marched in, smiling.
“Boy, this is a surprise!” Tom got up to greet them. “A mighty pleasant one.
But what’s the occasion?”
“The occasion is that you’re coming on a mountain hike with us, out in the nice fresh air and sunshine!” Sandy informed him.
“And please don’t argue,” Phyl said with a giggle. “It’s for your own good-not to mention ours.”
“I suppose Chow Winkler put you up to this.” Tom grinned.
“Never mind that,” Sandy said sternly. “Just come along quietly. It’s a beautiful day.”
Tom glanced at his workbench cluttered with drawings and electronic gear.
“Well, okay, since you’re twisting my arm,” he agreed. “I guess it might clear my brain at that.”
MOUNTAIN HIKE 145
“Now you’re talking.” Bud clapped Tom on the back and propelled him toward the two girls, who promptly seized his arms before he might change his mind.
On their way to the door, however, the telephone rang. Tom insisted upon answering it, in spite of the girls’ scolding.
“Tom Swift Jr. talking.”
“This is Chief Slater, Tom,” said the voice at the other end of the line. “Dimitri Mirov wants to see you. I don’t know what’s up, but he might be ready to tell something worth while. Could you drop by?”