Read Online Tom Swift in the Caves of Nuclear Fire by Victor Appleton II - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Victor Appleton II
Ads: Link
weighs two hundred and fifty pounds and has as many wives!"
"Stay away from him, Tom," ordered blond Jane Denton. "He may try to give you one of them!"
"There’s an old chief in that country who has nothing the matter with him," said Will, "but he’s too sacred to touch the dirty old ground, so he’s carried everywhere he goes—from bed to bath to table."
"Wow! What a life!" Bud exclaimed. "I think I’ll hunt up the guy and offer to pinch-hit for a while."
At the height of the gaiety supper was announced by Sandy and the guests began to file past the tables where refreshments, set out buffet style, were awaiting them. As the young people heaped their plates with food, Bud remarked to Tom with a grin: "This is swell! We ought to go to Africa every day!"
Suddenly there was a shriek from one of the girls, and the sound of a plate dropping from someone’s startled grasp.
"Tom!" Sandy cried. "Who— what —is it?"
CHAPTER 8
THE ACCUSATION
TOM WHIRLED and his expression turned to one of complete astonishment. Then he broke out laughing. Pointing to the swinging doorway to the kitchen, he jokingly exclaimed, "Ugh! Who let that in?"
Standing there was a grotesque figure. Upon second glance everyone recognized him as Chow, who had been asked by Bashalli and her brother Moshan to help with refreshments. Now he was attired in what appeared to be his idea of what a well-dressed African native would wear. He had daubed his forehead with streaks of red make-up. The headdress he wore was adorned with long feathers that drooped in his face like banana peelings. A short, red, sarong-type garment reached almost to his knees. His pudgy bow-legs looked like two pale and battered lawn-sprinkler pipes.
Though howls of laughter issued from the young people, Chow stood tall with a noble and dignified demeanor. He had not meant his entrance to be at all humorous. Muffled grumbling could be heard from behind the cluster of feathers.
Quickly seeking to spare his feelings, Tom rushed up and gave his rotund friend a hug, then led the room in a round of warm applause.
"I congratulate you, Chow Winkler," said Mandy Akwabo, who was radiant in her traditional African daishiki. "Your costume is perfectly authentic for the Maba culture, including the red scar-marks."
"I’m glad of that," said Tom. "We don’t want to seem to be making fun of African traditions."
Mandy laughed. "And what is wrong with making fun? Many traditions have earned the right to be made fun of—African, and perhaps some of yours as well." Her eyes twinkled in ironic good humor.
Commented Bashalli, "Now this is someone I could get to like!"
Though Chow appreciated the applause, he was obviously somewhat embarrassed. "It was her idea, Tom," he whispered, nodding in Mandy’s direction. "Made me do it, if’n I wanted to get any of her authentic recipes."
"I see," said Tom. "Er—did you say recipes?"
As the Texan turned grandly and retired to the kitchen, Bud sidled up and remarked, "Tom, if we start running now, we could reach the street before he comes back." Tom smiled wanly.
Chow returned in a few minutes with a huge tray, on which was a steaming mass of green plants.
"What’s that?" Tom asked. He added quickly, "Looks delicious!"
"I bought these here at one o’ them tropical fish an’ plant places," the cook replied. "An’ brand my burnin’ sagebrush, it’s good!" The expression on his face showed that anyone who dared disagree would get an argument in reply!
To avoid hurting Chow’s feelings again, everyone took a portion of his tropical concoction. Bud was first to put his fork in the greens and swallow a small mouthful. From his pained expression one would have thought that he had swallowed the fork instead!
"Are you sure it wasn’t the wrappings you cooked," Bud blurted out, "instead of what came in them?—mm, just kiddin’ ya, cowboy!"
Tom took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and placed some of the unusual food in his mouth. "It tastes
"Stay away from him, Tom," ordered blond Jane Denton. "He may try to give you one of them!"
"There’s an old chief in that country who has nothing the matter with him," said Will, "but he’s too sacred to touch the dirty old ground, so he’s carried everywhere he goes—from bed to bath to table."
"Wow! What a life!" Bud exclaimed. "I think I’ll hunt up the guy and offer to pinch-hit for a while."
At the height of the gaiety supper was announced by Sandy and the guests began to file past the tables where refreshments, set out buffet style, were awaiting them. As the young people heaped their plates with food, Bud remarked to Tom with a grin: "This is swell! We ought to go to Africa every day!"
Suddenly there was a shriek from one of the girls, and the sound of a plate dropping from someone’s startled grasp.
"Tom!" Sandy cried. "Who— what —is it?"
CHAPTER 8
THE ACCUSATION
TOM WHIRLED and his expression turned to one of complete astonishment. Then he broke out laughing. Pointing to the swinging doorway to the kitchen, he jokingly exclaimed, "Ugh! Who let that in?"
Standing there was a grotesque figure. Upon second glance everyone recognized him as Chow, who had been asked by Bashalli and her brother Moshan to help with refreshments. Now he was attired in what appeared to be his idea of what a well-dressed African native would wear. He had daubed his forehead with streaks of red make-up. The headdress he wore was adorned with long feathers that drooped in his face like banana peelings. A short, red, sarong-type garment reached almost to his knees. His pudgy bow-legs looked like two pale and battered lawn-sprinkler pipes.
Though howls of laughter issued from the young people, Chow stood tall with a noble and dignified demeanor. He had not meant his entrance to be at all humorous. Muffled grumbling could be heard from behind the cluster of feathers.
Quickly seeking to spare his feelings, Tom rushed up and gave his rotund friend a hug, then led the room in a round of warm applause.
"I congratulate you, Chow Winkler," said Mandy Akwabo, who was radiant in her traditional African daishiki. "Your costume is perfectly authentic for the Maba culture, including the red scar-marks."
"I’m glad of that," said Tom. "We don’t want to seem to be making fun of African traditions."
Mandy laughed. "And what is wrong with making fun? Many traditions have earned the right to be made fun of—African, and perhaps some of yours as well." Her eyes twinkled in ironic good humor.
Commented Bashalli, "Now this is someone I could get to like!"
Though Chow appreciated the applause, he was obviously somewhat embarrassed. "It was her idea, Tom," he whispered, nodding in Mandy’s direction. "Made me do it, if’n I wanted to get any of her authentic recipes."
"I see," said Tom. "Er—did you say recipes?"
As the Texan turned grandly and retired to the kitchen, Bud sidled up and remarked, "Tom, if we start running now, we could reach the street before he comes back." Tom smiled wanly.
Chow returned in a few minutes with a huge tray, on which was a steaming mass of green plants.
"What’s that?" Tom asked. He added quickly, "Looks delicious!"
"I bought these here at one o’ them tropical fish an’ plant places," the cook replied. "An’ brand my burnin’ sagebrush, it’s good!" The expression on his face showed that anyone who dared disagree would get an argument in reply!
To avoid hurting Chow’s feelings again, everyone took a portion of his tropical concoction. Bud was first to put his fork in the greens and swallow a small mouthful. From his pained expression one would have thought that he had swallowed the fork instead!
"Are you sure it wasn’t the wrappings you cooked," Bud blurted out, "instead of what came in them?—mm, just kiddin’ ya, cowboy!"
Tom took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and placed some of the unusual food in his mouth. "It tastes
Similar Books
