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in on this here square dance too!"
    "Put ’er there, T-man!" said Ted and pumped Tom’s hand up and down.
    "Hold it, guys!" Tom spluttered with laughter, his face bright again. "This is serious business!"
    "Who said it wasn’t?" retorted Bud cheerfully.
    "I’d say anything that finally gets me up into space is way serious," Ted declared with a grin.
    Tom returned the grin. "Look! Some day I hope to colonize the moon. A base there would yield all sorts of valuable data—not just about the moon itself, but the earth and the rest of the solar system. What’s more, we might be able to mine valuable raw materials up there, such as that unknown hydrogen compound we detected in the spectrometer data from our moon flight."
    "I know all ’bout this, boys," Chow interjected proudly. "Right from the horse’s mouth! Y’see, in order to set up shop on the moon, ya need a Texas-size load o’ air and water. An’ mebbe food, too, ceptin’ I don’t recommend it. Only surefire way from here t’ there is Tom Swift’s solar-i-tronic matter cooker-upper!"
    "Got it, Chow-boy! But Tom, wouldn’t it be possible to grow plants on the moon to feed your lunar colony?" Ted asked. "Under a dome or something?"
    "And maybe a few cows for Chow to punch," Bud added with a wink.
    Tom shook his head. "No, because on the moon you’d get two weeks of daylight, followed by two weeks of darkness. Plants couldn’t survive under those conditions—not without a huge energy cost. And plants need water, and something to breath, just like people do."
    "Okay, I’m convinced!" Bud exclaimed happily. "How soon do we head off to the outpost?"
    Tom smiled. "I want to discuss the whole project with Dad first. We’ll start back to Shopton early tomorrow morning."
    "Hold on now, boss," Chow spoke up cautiously. "You ain’t said nothin’ yet about me goin’ along on this trail drive up yonder. I mean, y’know, if’n you plan t’ jest run off your own victuals like on a blame printin’ press—"
    Bud pretended to look worried. "Old-timer, we weren’t going to tell you the bad news just yet. But the fact is, crewmen with oversized bay windows won’t qualify for any more space flights. The strain is too great."
    "The strain is too great?" Chow snorted indignantly. "Why, brand my space boots, didn’t I stand the strain all right when we built the space wheel and explored Little Luna and even flew clear on up to the moon? Didn’t crack up on any o’ them space trips, did I?"
    "Oh, I’m not worried about you," said Bud. "I mean the strain of the extra poundage might be too great on the spaceship."
    A deep red flush spread over Chow’s tanned features. "I can’t help what my own cookin’ does to me," he said. "Now can I, Tom?"
    "Don’t let Bud kid you, Chow," Tom said. "I wouldn’t take off without my old pal any more than I’d take off without a space helmet. Why, a good space cook like you is the most important man in the crew!"
    Chow grinned in relief and threw out his chest until he seemed in danger of popping a button. "That’s shor the truth! An’ where-so-ever your food comes from, make it er grow it, somebody’s got t’ put it all t’gether and slap on on a plate for ya."
    That evening, work done for the day and supper behind them, Tom and Bud joined Ted in his room for some television and relaxed conversation. They had barely settled in when Ted’s personal cellphone announced a call. Glancing at the readout panel, he commented with surprise that the call was from his mother back in Shopton. But his pleasure dimmed when he heard how worried she sounded.
    "Ted, that Mr. Hampshire called again," Mrs. Spring reported. "Goodness, I just don’t know what to make of it, but I thought you’d better know."
    "You’re right, Momma. What did he say?"
    "Well, he asked for you. I knew that you were suspicious of him, so I said I’d be glad to pass along any message and tried to keep him talking. I had Ray pick up the other phone and listen