If only he could reach the inspection door and shut it, he might be able to halt the hardening process. With a tremendous effort, Tom stretched out his arms. No use-the door was out of reach.
As another thought struck him, Tom began turning the jet nozzles to make the apertures smaller. This would slow down the output, but Tom realized that he dare not adjust them too finely. If the nozzles clogged again, the whole machine might explode from the back pressure!
By this time, the plastic foam was chest-high and hardening almost instantly. Tom was finding it difficult to breathe. He squirmed his shoulders, trying desperately to enlarge his body space. His
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skin was clammy as he felt himself giving way again to panic.
Suddenly Tom heard the door of the laboratory being opened.
“Tom!-Tom? Are you here?” It was his father!
The boy’s throat felt so dry and tight that it was a moment before he could make any sound come out. “Dad!” he croaked. “I’m-inside-the-machine!”
“Great Scott!” the elder scientist gasped. He dashed across the laboratory and switched off the motor. “What happened, son?”
“Th-the Durafoam hardened, Dad. Get a solvent -you know the formula.”
Mr. Swift hurried to a shelf of chemicals, selected a huge glass bottle, then returned and began pouring its contents slowly into the mixing chamber. Minutes passed as the liquid filtered down through the hard but porous Durafoam, dissolving the material layer by layer. At last it had softened enough for Tom to move about in the slush. He made his way to the hatch, and his father’s strong arms reached in to pull him through the opening.