“Oh, yes, I ordered some extra helium in case I want to use it,” said Tom.
“Bring it in.”
Chow hurried through the door, then returned wheeling an orange-banded tank on a hand truck.
“Where do you want this, boss?”
“Over there by the wall for now, thanks,” Tom said. “Better leave it on the truck so I can move it later.”
The Texan parked his heavy load but seemed reluctant to leave. He stood staring at the tank for a moment, scratched his double chin, and cleared his throat loudly.
“Brand my space galluses,” he murmured, 82
A SUDDEN WARNING 83
“that sure is a purty orange color-jest like my shirt.”
“Hm?” Tom glanced up. “Oh, you mean the orange color on the tank. That shows it contains helium. Different colors are used for different gases,” he added.
“Oh, so that’s what it’s fer, huh?” The Westerner sounded faintly disappointed.
Tom looked at him, puzzled. Suddenly a great light dawned. “Hey! Where’d you get that little number you’re wearing, old-timer?” he exclaimed.
Chow’s fondness for loud haberdashery, especially in shirts, was a standing joke around Enterprises. It was a whim that gave the cook endless pleasure. He boasted about owning the choicest wardrobe of cowboy shirts east of the Pecos, and it contained a peacocklike assortment in every color of the rainbow.
But the present number topped them all, Tom thought, almost wincing at the glare. The shirt was not only a dazzling orange in color-it was trimmed in sequins!
“Kinda eye-catchin’, eh?” Chow beamed. “I picked it up fer only a fraction of its value.”
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