Read Online Tom Swift and the Mystery Comet by Victor Appleton II - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Victor Appleton II
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icing.
Chow's jaw sagged and his double chin quivered in helpless astonishment—with a Tabasco touch of indignation. Before his very eyes the gouge in the cake frosting was growing larger!
"Quit funnin’ me!" he bellowed, glaring at Bud. "My brain’s one thing, but now yuh’re messin’ with my cake! You’d best b’lieve me when I say yew don’t wanna do that! "
At Chow's ferocious expression, the boys gave way to howls of good-natured laughter.
Tom switched off the device. "Don’t mind flyboy, Chow. He’s not really the one who’s swiping your icing—my telesampler here is the culprit."
"Your telee-whozis?"
"Telesampler, my newest invention. It’s designed to obtain samples of any substance at a distance."
Chow stared at the complicated hookup of microcircuitry, enclosed in protective panels of transparent plastic. Clamped to the top of the assembly was a swivel-mounted dish antenna, from the center of which protruded an odd microwave emitter of latticework rings. The whole antenna was mounted in turn at the center of a much larger metal grillwork, curved in the manner of a trough. A flexible tube led from the rear of the assembly to a large Tomaquartz beaker, which Bud now brought into view. Chow could see a few smears of cake frosting in the bottom.
Chow walked closer, scowling, and pointed a finger suspiciously at the antenna. "You mean t’say this here thingumabob sucked the frosting right off the cake— my cake!—like a—like a gol-blame vacky-oom cleaner?"
Tom grinned. "Well, not quite like a vacuum cleaner. But it’s the guilty party all right. The device operates by an electromagnetic wave action. In principle at least, the final version can work at ranges of hundreds of millions of miles."
"Hoppin’ horned toads!" the cook blurted. "Then if I cooked up a mess o’ frijole beans out in Texas, you could sample ’em right here in Shopton—is thet what yuh’re sayin’?"
"I could if I had a clear line of sight and my telesampler had enough power to work with. This experimental lab setup couldn’t do it, of course. Anyhow," Tom added with a chuckle, "I’d rather have you working your chuckwagon here at Enterprises, pard."
Though Chow never held a grudge, his wide face did hold a frown as he eyed his victimized cake. "Nice t’ hear! Don’t look to these eyes like you two got much ree -spect fer my perfession. Didn’t need to take out sech a holy hunk to make a point."
"Just funnin ’ ya, Chow," said Bud apologetically. "And, er—besides―"
"Besides, old Tom needed some cheering up," Tom finished wryly. "Don’t let the telesampler spook you, though. It was only able to grab such a large amount of material―"
"Frosting!"
"—because the distance was only a few feet. Under its normal conditions of use, it will only be able to convey a stream of individual molecules, just enough for an analysis at the receiving end."
Mollified, Chow began to dish out an appetizing lunch of lean steak and fatless French fries—much more flavorful than its description. "Jest a few bitty mollycules, huh. Don’t plan t’ make much of a hole fer yer minin’ operations, I guess."
"It’s not for mining, pardner," Tom explained. "You see, really long-range instrumental analysis of distant objects—planets and other space bodies, like asteroids—isn’t as precise as scientists might want. Telespectrometry, Doppler radar analysis—it gives a general picture, but it’s like taking a snapshot of a distant mountain. Some of the details get blurred out."
"Cain’t see th’ forest fer th’ trees, hm?"
"Yep. And of course some things out there are two attenuated or distant to reflect light back to optical instruments. That’s why we send landers to planetary surfaces, or let them fall into atmospheres: it’s the only way to get actual samples of matter to examine in detail."
"Tom’s going to try it out on the comet," Bud said through a few French fries.
"That so?" Chow continued to peer at
Chow's jaw sagged and his double chin quivered in helpless astonishment—with a Tabasco touch of indignation. Before his very eyes the gouge in the cake frosting was growing larger!
"Quit funnin’ me!" he bellowed, glaring at Bud. "My brain’s one thing, but now yuh’re messin’ with my cake! You’d best b’lieve me when I say yew don’t wanna do that! "
At Chow's ferocious expression, the boys gave way to howls of good-natured laughter.
Tom switched off the device. "Don’t mind flyboy, Chow. He’s not really the one who’s swiping your icing—my telesampler here is the culprit."
"Your telee-whozis?"
"Telesampler, my newest invention. It’s designed to obtain samples of any substance at a distance."
Chow stared at the complicated hookup of microcircuitry, enclosed in protective panels of transparent plastic. Clamped to the top of the assembly was a swivel-mounted dish antenna, from the center of which protruded an odd microwave emitter of latticework rings. The whole antenna was mounted in turn at the center of a much larger metal grillwork, curved in the manner of a trough. A flexible tube led from the rear of the assembly to a large Tomaquartz beaker, which Bud now brought into view. Chow could see a few smears of cake frosting in the bottom.
Chow walked closer, scowling, and pointed a finger suspiciously at the antenna. "You mean t’say this here thingumabob sucked the frosting right off the cake— my cake!—like a—like a gol-blame vacky-oom cleaner?"
Tom grinned. "Well, not quite like a vacuum cleaner. But it’s the guilty party all right. The device operates by an electromagnetic wave action. In principle at least, the final version can work at ranges of hundreds of millions of miles."
"Hoppin’ horned toads!" the cook blurted. "Then if I cooked up a mess o’ frijole beans out in Texas, you could sample ’em right here in Shopton—is thet what yuh’re sayin’?"
"I could if I had a clear line of sight and my telesampler had enough power to work with. This experimental lab setup couldn’t do it, of course. Anyhow," Tom added with a chuckle, "I’d rather have you working your chuckwagon here at Enterprises, pard."
Though Chow never held a grudge, his wide face did hold a frown as he eyed his victimized cake. "Nice t’ hear! Don’t look to these eyes like you two got much ree -spect fer my perfession. Didn’t need to take out sech a holy hunk to make a point."
"Just funnin ’ ya, Chow," said Bud apologetically. "And, er—besides―"
"Besides, old Tom needed some cheering up," Tom finished wryly. "Don’t let the telesampler spook you, though. It was only able to grab such a large amount of material―"
"Frosting!"
"—because the distance was only a few feet. Under its normal conditions of use, it will only be able to convey a stream of individual molecules, just enough for an analysis at the receiving end."
Mollified, Chow began to dish out an appetizing lunch of lean steak and fatless French fries—much more flavorful than its description. "Jest a few bitty mollycules, huh. Don’t plan t’ make much of a hole fer yer minin’ operations, I guess."
"It’s not for mining, pardner," Tom explained. "You see, really long-range instrumental analysis of distant objects—planets and other space bodies, like asteroids—isn’t as precise as scientists might want. Telespectrometry, Doppler radar analysis—it gives a general picture, but it’s like taking a snapshot of a distant mountain. Some of the details get blurred out."
"Cain’t see th’ forest fer th’ trees, hm?"
"Yep. And of course some things out there are two attenuated or distant to reflect light back to optical instruments. That’s why we send landers to planetary surfaces, or let them fall into atmospheres: it’s the only way to get actual samples of matter to examine in detail."
"Tom’s going to try it out on the comet," Bud said through a few French fries.
"That so?" Chow continued to peer at
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