Whipping off his eyeshade, Tom went into the apartment next door and stretched out to snatch a few hours' sleep. But as usual when in the midst of an exciting new project, he was too keyed up to rest for long. Before daylight, Tom was back at his workbench ready to begin assembling the units of his new sonar gear. Later he phoned Chow but scarcely paused to eat when the cook arrived with his order. "Brand my solar stovepipe!" Chow scolded. "Take time to eat your vittles properly, boss!" "Hmm?... Oh, sure." Tom looked up and grinned. The stout old Texan stomped out, shaking his head. As the morning wore on, the pace at which Tom had been working began to tell on the young inventor. His head nodded again and again. Gradually he fell forward into an exhausted doze. The next thing Tom knew, he was sailing through the air, high above Swift Enterprises. Lake Carlopa was a tiny blue puddle below, and the town of Shopton a mere cluster of toy buildings in the distance. "Good grief!" Tom exclaimed with a gulp. "What's keeping me up?" He was floating freely, without the support of any aircraft--or even one of his amazing force-ray repelatrons! The discovery triggered off disaster. Like a character in a movie cartoon, now that he knew he had nothing to support him, Tom instantly went plunging downward--down, down, straight into the lake! _Splash!_ Tom gasped and shuddered and shook his head like a drenched terrier. _Another splash!_ As Tom 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?"