"Sure, Chow."
By this time, however, Tom had become so absorbed in the task of assembling some tiny monolithic blocks for the computer circuits of his analyzer, that the lunch remained untasted. When Chow returned a third time, Tom was startled by his bellow:
"Get your nose out o' that work, buckaroo, and eat!"
Realizing Tom's pie had cooled off, Chow had brought another serving, hot from the oven. Seeing the stern look on the Texan's face, Tom burst out laughing and obeyed meekly.
"I declare!" Chow chuckled. "One o' these days I'll have to force-feed you if you won't pay no mind to your own nourishment!"
"Sorry, old-timer." Tom smiled. "Sometimes I do get a bit wrapped up, I guess."
Hour after hour, Tom stayed glued to his workbench, sometimes busy with delicate electronic gear, sometimes lost in thought as he pondered a tricky problem in circuit design. It was long after dark when he drove home from the experimental station, yet he was back on the job in his laboratory early the next morning.
By lunchtime Tom had all the apparatus assembled. He was just trying on the plastic suit, with all its accompanying paraphernalia, when Chow made his usual appearance.
"Great sufferin' snakes!" the cook gasped. "You ain't goin' divin' in that getup, I hope! You look like a Christmas tree, boss!"
Tom nodded glumly. "Know something, Chow? That's just what I was thinking myself."