"
Tom was thrilled, and even Bud realized that Mr. Swift's cautious report
could well turn out to be of history-making importance.
"I'd say your news makes a phony space attack look pretty tame, Dad,"
Tom said, his eyes flashing enthusiastically. "With the earth's
population increasing, this could be the answer to the food problem."
"Don't tell Chow," Bud added, "or we may find spaceburgers on the next
menu!"
The Swifts chuckled. Chow's hobby of concocting weird dishes was a
standing joke at Enterprises, and already had led to such dubious
triumphs as armadillo stew and rattlesnake soup.
Monday morning Tom buckled down seriously to the job of designing an
undetectable sub. His drawing board was littered with sketches and
diagrams when the phone rang, breaking in on his thoughts. Tom answered
it with a scowl of impatience. The caller was Lester Morris.
"Could you meet me at the yacht club to talk over the dance program?"
Morris asked.
Tom hesitated. For Sandy's and Phyl's sakes he was eager to do
everything possible to make the square dance a success. But on the other
hand....
"I'm pretty busy today," Tom said. "But my sister and my friend Bud
Barclay can tell you what we want--probably better than I can. Suppose I
ask them to meet you there after lunch?"
There was a slight pause.
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