As Tom struggled with the problem, he lost all track of time. A door
swung open and high-heeled boots clumped on the floor tiles. Tom looked
up and saw the portly, aproned figure of Chow Winkler entering.
"Hi, boss! Can I borrow a radio?" Chow asked. "Kinda like a lil music
while I wrassle them pots an' pans in the galley."
"Sure, pardner." Tom pointed toward a portable radio on a shelf nearby.
Chow's leathery face broke into a grin as he picked it up. "One o' them
slick lil transistor doodads, eh?"
The cook flicked on the dial knob and the twangy strains of Hawaiian
guitar music came throbbing out. A split second later the volume swelled
as the same music echoed back to them from the two-room apartment
adjoining the lab, where Tom ate and slept when engaged in some
round-the-clock experiment.
Chow was startled by the blare. "You got a stereo hookup here, boss?" he
inquired.
"Not exactly." Tom explained that the music had merely been picked up by
the mike on his workbench, then fed into the adjoining apartment and
amplified over a speaker there.
Chow grinned, snapping his fingers to the catchy melody. "Comes out even
louder'n it does from the radio!"
"Yes, but the sound quality's not so good," Tom said. "You'd notice the
difference with real stereo."
Chow walked out with the portable, crooning contentedly to the music.
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