Appleton, Victor – Tom Swift Jr 19 – And His Triphibian Atomicar

38 TRIPHIBIAN ATOMICAR

“Brand my apple dumplin’s, you ain’t headin’ West without me, are you, boss?” Chow Winkler, the genial cook on all Swift expeditions, came stalking out on the airfield, dragging a cartful of groceries behind him.

The former chuck-wagon cook from the Texas Panhandle had first met the Swifts on one of their research trips to New Mexico. As usual, the roly-poly chef was decked out in a ten-gallon hat and gaudy sport shirt.

“Hey! Look out!” Bud warned the girls loudly, eying Chow’s flame-colored shirt with a fearful expression. “I thought we had that atomic explosion all caged up!”

“You’re jest jealous, Buddy boy,” Chow snapped, as Sandy and Phyl laughed. Turning to Tom, he added, “Well, how about it, boss? Am I comin’?”

“Sure you’re coming, old-timer,” Tom said soothingly, throwing his arm around the old Texan. “We planned this trip on such short notice, I forgot to let you know.”

In five minutes the Sky Queen roared off the runway. Streaking westward at transonic speed, the sleek, swept-wing, three-deck craft reached New Mexico in an hour.

As the painted canyons and mesas flattened into barren scrubland, the Citadel came into sight below-a pinwheel formation of ultramodern laboratory buildings and dormitories. They were

AROUSED SUSPICIONS 39

grouped around a massive central dome of white concrete which housed the main reactor. The whole research plant was ringed with barbed wire and guarded by drone planes and radar.

As soon as they landed, Tom buried himself in his private laboratory. He was still deep in work the following afternoon. Bud and the two girls, knowing it was useless to disturb him, drove off in a jeep for a picnic at one of their favorite spots.