business... Naw, dang it, it shor is my business!" After his outburst he looked sheepish.
"It’s about Bud, isn’t it," Tom pronounced coolly.
"It’s about you, son. This here thing—"
Tom half-sighed. "I suppose I owe you this conversation, pardner. I’ve had it with just about everybody else, one by one. Sandy’s riled up. Bashalli wants to be supportive but keeps nudging . Mom and Dad don’t know what to say. Hank Sterling doesn’t either—and says it. Know who agrees with me, Chow? Bud’s parents!"
"Th-they do?" Chow’s forehead folded upward. "What kinda blame parents is that ? Didden they see that there little movie he made?"
"They did," Tom replied. "Now tell me the Wide Open Spaces take on all this." He immediately cut himself off with a headshake. "No—sorry. I’m... a little—"
Chow eyed a chair but didn’t ease his way toward it. "Aw, I know, son, I unnerstan’. He’s ever’body’s friend, but fer you—"
"It’s just been four days, pardner."
"Four days is four days. Buddy Boy said he’d be back in th’ corral in—"
"I know what he said!" snapped the young inventor, shadow under his deep-set blue eyes.
Chow finally descended on the chair. "Don’t need t’ pertend with ole Chow, Tom. Yuh’re not takin’ all this any more easy than th’ rest of us."
Tom now sighed all the way. "Just what is it people want me to admit? That I’m concerned? Sure I am."
"That gal’s a mite loco, clear as sky. I heerd these wimmin sometimes boil people’s pet rabbits, and I don’t mean fer stew! Or mebbe she pushed him over blame Niagaree Falls!"
"If that’s what happened, Chow, it’s a little late to fret over it." Tom’s face hardened with stubborn determination. "Maybe you’ll understand this, cowpoke. Mr. and Mrs. Barclay do, and agree."
"Hit me with it, boss."
"People are overlooking the most important part of the vidcap. He wants to deal with the problem on his own! He asks the rest of us to butt out! He doesn’t want to make this another Tom Swift invention adventure. He doesn’t want me to mobilize Harlan Ames or my sensitector tracker—or any of that. Don’t we all owe it to Bud to respect his request?"
Chow half-winced and scratched his head. "Wa-aal, I guess he did say please . Butcha know, sometimes—dealin’ with these here romance-brained wimmin—and you know I’ve had m’ share—even more than m’ share—"
"That’s the point!" Tom declared. "The whole thing is kind of—intimate. Bud could barely bring himself to tell us about it at all." He fell into musing. "He jokes about it, never complains, but—what does it do to a guy, always being in somebody’s shadow? ‘The guy standing next to Tom Swift in the pictures.’ Even if he doesn’t admit it to himself, it must eat away at him. Now he finally has a chance to untangle a knot without Tom Swift and His Swift Enterprises charging in to rescue him.
"What do you think, Chow? That Bud should phone home, tell us he’s gonna be a little late?"
"Now you well know I didden say that."
"If the, the matter took longer than expected—if it takes a week... or..." Tom was frowning, looking away. "Maybe they decided to spend some time together, take a vacation. Why not? Good grief, am I supposed to use the megascope to peek into motel rooms across New York State?—! He’s a big boy."
"Hmm," responded Chow, rising. "He shor is."
"I’ve got to get back to—to the dyna-4 capsule, to the project..."
"Yep," said the cook. "Speedin’ up time. That’d be handy right now, wudden it. Sorry t’ bother you, son. Like I said, it was about you . An’ now I know sumpin about you, and you know sumpin about me."
He ambled away, leaving Tom to think and—to fret.
He submerged his fretting for a time by wandering over to Lab 3, on the third floor of technical labs facility, Building H. "Hi, you two," he said listlessly to Enterprises’ talented modelmaker and miniaturizer Arvid Hanson and his assistant Linda Ming.
"It’s about Bud, isn’t it," Tom pronounced coolly.
"It’s about you, son. This here thing—"
Tom half-sighed. "I suppose I owe you this conversation, pardner. I’ve had it with just about everybody else, one by one. Sandy’s riled up. Bashalli wants to be supportive but keeps nudging . Mom and Dad don’t know what to say. Hank Sterling doesn’t either—and says it. Know who agrees with me, Chow? Bud’s parents!"
"Th-they do?" Chow’s forehead folded upward. "What kinda blame parents is that ? Didden they see that there little movie he made?"
"They did," Tom replied. "Now tell me the Wide Open Spaces take on all this." He immediately cut himself off with a headshake. "No—sorry. I’m... a little—"
Chow eyed a chair but didn’t ease his way toward it. "Aw, I know, son, I unnerstan’. He’s ever’body’s friend, but fer you—"
"It’s just been four days, pardner."
"Four days is four days. Buddy Boy said he’d be back in th’ corral in—"
"I know what he said!" snapped the young inventor, shadow under his deep-set blue eyes.
Chow finally descended on the chair. "Don’t need t’ pertend with ole Chow, Tom. Yuh’re not takin’ all this any more easy than th’ rest of us."
Tom now sighed all the way. "Just what is it people want me to admit? That I’m concerned? Sure I am."
"That gal’s a mite loco, clear as sky. I heerd these wimmin sometimes boil people’s pet rabbits, and I don’t mean fer stew! Or mebbe she pushed him over blame Niagaree Falls!"
"If that’s what happened, Chow, it’s a little late to fret over it." Tom’s face hardened with stubborn determination. "Maybe you’ll understand this, cowpoke. Mr. and Mrs. Barclay do, and agree."
"Hit me with it, boss."
"People are overlooking the most important part of the vidcap. He wants to deal with the problem on his own! He asks the rest of us to butt out! He doesn’t want to make this another Tom Swift invention adventure. He doesn’t want me to mobilize Harlan Ames or my sensitector tracker—or any of that. Don’t we all owe it to Bud to respect his request?"
Chow half-winced and scratched his head. "Wa-aal, I guess he did say please . Butcha know, sometimes—dealin’ with these here romance-brained wimmin—and you know I’ve had m’ share—even more than m’ share—"
"That’s the point!" Tom declared. "The whole thing is kind of—intimate. Bud could barely bring himself to tell us about it at all." He fell into musing. "He jokes about it, never complains, but—what does it do to a guy, always being in somebody’s shadow? ‘The guy standing next to Tom Swift in the pictures.’ Even if he doesn’t admit it to himself, it must eat away at him. Now he finally has a chance to untangle a knot without Tom Swift and His Swift Enterprises charging in to rescue him.
"What do you think, Chow? That Bud should phone home, tell us he’s gonna be a little late?"
"Now you well know I didden say that."
"If the, the matter took longer than expected—if it takes a week... or..." Tom was frowning, looking away. "Maybe they decided to spend some time together, take a vacation. Why not? Good grief, am I supposed to use the megascope to peek into motel rooms across New York State?—! He’s a big boy."
"Hmm," responded Chow, rising. "He shor is."
"I’ve got to get back to—to the dyna-4 capsule, to the project..."
"Yep," said the cook. "Speedin’ up time. That’d be handy right now, wudden it. Sorry t’ bother you, son. Like I said, it was about you . An’ now I know sumpin about you, and you know sumpin about me."
He ambled away, leaving Tom to think and—to fret.
He submerged his fretting for a time by wandering over to Lab 3, on the third floor of technical labs facility, Building H. "Hi, you two," he said listlessly to Enterprises’ talented modelmaker and miniaturizer Arvid Hanson and his assistant Linda Ming.
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