om brought his eyes into focus, he realized he was
back at his workbench in the laboratory. Chow was standing in front of
him, holding a half-empty pail of water, ready to splash him again!

"Hey! Cut it out!" Tom cried out, jerking bolt upright. Then, as he saw
the disturbed look on Chow's face, Tom burst out laughing. "Okay. Relax,
old-timer! Guess I was dreaming."

"Brand my snake oil!" Chow said. "You looked so pale an' pasty, you had
me plumb scared, Tom! I couldn't wake you nohow!" Worriedly the cook
added, "What you need is a good beefsteak and some sunshine. You been
under water too long."

"In more ways than one!" Tom chuckled as he grabbed a towel and dried
himself off.

The beefsteak, with crisp golden-brown French fried potatoes, was
already at hand on Chow's lunch cart. Tom ate with a hearty appetite
and the stout chef went off, secretly plotting to arrange the second
half of his prescription.

When he reached the galley, Chow plucked the wall phone off its hook and
called Bud at an airfield hangar. After a brisk conversation, he hung
up, grinning contentedly.

At one o'clock Bud came bursting into Tom's laboratory. "Snap to,
skipper!" he announced. "You have company!"

Tom looked up from his work in surprise.

"_Ta-daaa!_" Bud sang out, imitating a trumpet flourish.

Sandy and Phyl Newton marched in, smiling.

"Boy, this _is_ a surprise!" Tom got up to greet them. "A mighty
pleasant one. But what's the occasion?"

"The occasion is that you're coming on a mountain hike with us, out in
the nice fresh air and sunshine!" Sandy informed him.

"And please don't argue," Phyl said with a giggle. "It's for your own
good--not to mention ours."

"I suppose Chow Winkler put you up to this." Tom grinned.

"Never mind that," Sandy said sternly. "Just come along quietly. It's a
beautiful day."

Tom glanced at his workbench cluttered with drawings and electronic
gear. "Well, okay, since you're twisting my arm," he agreed. "I guess it
might clear my brain at that."

"Now you're talking." Bud clapped Tom on the back and propelled him
toward the two girls, who promptly seized his arms before he might
change his mind.

On their way to the door, however, the telephone rang. Tom insisted upon
answering it, in spite of the girls' scolding.

"Tom Swift Jr. talking."

"This is Chief Slater, Tom," said the voice at the other end of the
line. "Dimitri Mirov wants to see you. I don't know what's up, but he
m