He dashed across the room and
paced helplessly about the tank. Within moments, excited men were
crowding into the laboratory.
Mr. Swift, among the first to arrive, took in the situation at a glance.
He dashed to the control board and slammed shut the main switch, thus
cutting off power to the ion-drive jet.
"Whew! Th-thanks, Dad!" Tom's chest was heaving as he gulped in air to
relieve his tortured lungs.
Tom Sr. helped him climb out of the tank.
"B-b-brand my rhubarb rockets," Chow stuttered. "What in tarnation
happened?"
"Guess I gunned my new skin-diving jet a bit too hard," Tom said
sheepishly. "It was almost a K.O. for me!"
Mr. Swift asked Tom about the invention. After explaining how it worked,
Tom added with a grin, "Maybe you'd better hang around, Dad, until I
install some sort of density-control gadget for my hydrolung. Then I can
go up or down, or stay at any level easily."
Such a device, Tom felt, might prove to be a lifesaver if he should ever
become trapped under water--perhaps far from help.
The elder scientist chuckled and threw an arm around Tom's shoulders.
"I'd say you could design something like that with your eyes shut, son!"
Warmed by his father's appreciation, Tom set to work improving his
diving apparatus.
An hour later Bud came bursting into the laboratory.
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