Crewmen were also detailed for the trip.
It was six o'clock when the two boys finally piled into Tom's low-slung
sports car and drove to the Swifts' big, pleasant house on the outskirts
of Shopton. Sandra, Tom's blond, vivacious sister, greeted them at the
door.
"About time!" she teased. "We were beginning to think you two had taken
off somewhere."
"Think I'd leave town while you and that fried chicken are in Shopton?"
Bud grinned.
"What a line!" Sandy's blue eyes twinkled. "I know it's the fried
chicken you're really interested in."
"Where's the rest of that 'we' you were referring to?" Tom inquired.
"I'm sorry, Tom," Sandy said in a mournful voice. "Phyl couldn't make
it."
As Tom's face fell, she burst out giggling and a second later Phyllis
Newton emerged from the kitchen. Brown-eyed, with long dark hair, Phyl
was the daughter of Tom Sr.'s old comrade-in-arms and lifelong chum
"Uncle Ned" Newton. Like Sandy, she was seventeen.
"You didn't think I'd miss this rare evening, did you, Tom?" she said,
laughing. "After all, it isn't often we see you two."
Sandy and Phyl liked to needle the boys about their infrequent dates,
due to Tom's and Bud's busy schedules.
Mrs. Swift, slender and sweet-faced, gave Tom a hug and greeted Bud
warmly. Over the delicious dinner, the conversation turned to the
mysterious thief missile.
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