h
the boys could instantly feel. Tom was even able to make the robot aim
its wave energy so as to short-circuit a switch on an electrical control
panel.

Tom was both pleased and excited. "Bud," he exclaimed, "the brain reacts
as quickly as that of a highly intelligent being! Just imagine--without
any sort of decoding equipment, it can pick up and _understand_ the
radio signals I beam out to it!"

"What we need now," Tom went on, "is a simple language to get our ideas
across to Exman without having to use the electronic brain all the time.
That means I must find a way to give Exman senses as we humans
have--smell, touch, sight, hearing, taste. Then it could receive the
same reactions we do and talk directly to us!"

"Sounds like quite an order," Bud said wryly. "Speaking of which, how
about us phoning Chow an order for breakfast?"

He did so, and a short time later Chow wheeled a food cart into the
laboratory. As he dished out man-sized helpings of ham and eggs, the
cook kept a wary eye on Exman. Tom was putting the robot through a few
more lively maneuvers.

"A good meal'd calm down Ole Think Box," Chow observed grumpily. "But
what do you feed that there kind o' contraption?"

"Well, not gum, that's for sure!" Bud teased. After tasting his first
forkful of food, he gasped, "And none of this ham!"

Jumping up from his lab stool, Bud began whirling, dancing around, and
flapping his arms as if he were burning up.

"Help! Help!" he yelled. "Chow's poisoned me--just like he did Exman!"

Chow's leathery old face paled under its desert tan. "Great snakes,
Tom!" the Texan gulped. "Have I really pizened him? Maybe we should call
Doc Simpson!"

Doc was the medic in charge of the Enterprises infirmary.

Tom was unable to keep a straight face. "Better call someone with a
strait jacket--or a butterfly net!" he said, quaking with laughter. "I'm
afraid he's just pulling your leg, Chow!"

Chow's jaw clamped shut like a bear trap and he glared at the
pirouetting young flier. Bud collapsed on his stool, doubled over with
mirth.

"Sorry, old-timer," he gasped. "I just couldn't resist!"

"Okay, Buddy boy," Chow said darkly. "And mebbe I won't be able to
resist gettin' even one o' these days!" The cook stumped out of the
laboratory in his high-heeled cowboy boots, a picture of outraged
dignity.

"Better watch out, pal!" Tom warned with a grin. "Just remember: it's
never smart to bite the hand that feeds you!"

"I gues