Suddenly his face brightened.  A new thought had just struck the young inventor!  To Chow’s amazement, Tom slapped the cook happily on the back.

“I think you’ve done me a favor, Chow!” he exclaimed.

“I have?” The old Texan stared at his young boss, as if not sure whether or not to believe him.  “How come?”

“You saw how Ole Think Box reacted to the gum,” Tom explained.  “That shows the energy really is like a brain!  It’s responsive and sensitive to conditions of its environment, especially when coming up against something new and unexpected.”

“You mean they don’t have bubble gum on Planet X?” Chow asked with a grin.

Tom smiled as Bud said, “This means we should be able to communicate with it.”

“And the brain will probably be able to communicate back to us!” Tom went on excitedly.  “We may even be able to learn about Planet X!”

As he spoke, Ole Think Box’s whirling became slower and slower.  Finally it came to rest close to the three humans.

“What do you suppose happened to the gum?” Bud asked.  “Did he chew it all up?”

“It’s probably unchanged,” Tom replied.  “Our visitor is used to it now.”

Chow was still wide-eyed with awe.  He stared at the strange creature as if expecting it to snap at him in revenge for the gum.

“Don’t worry, old-timer.  Think Box won’t bite,” Bud teased.  “With that gum spree, he’s just been initiated into our American tribal customs!” The pilot grinned.  “Hey!  We haven’t given him a proper name.”

“You’re right.”  Tom looked at his pal and chuckled.  “Got any ideas?”

“Hmm.  Let me see.”  Bud scowled and paced about with his hands clasped behind his back.  “Firetop—­John Q. Pyro—­”

“But it ain’t on fire now,” Chow pointed out.

“Maybe not, but he sure blazed a trail getting here,” Bud argued.

Tom and Chow countered with several ideas of their own, but nothing seemed suitable until Bud suddenly stopped short and snapped his fingers.

“I have it!  He’s a visitor from Planet X, so let’s call him Exman!” Bud spelled it out.

“Perfect!” Tom was delighted and Chow agreed that it seemed “a right good monicker.”  The Texan insisted seriously that if the creature were going to be named, he should also have a proper christening.

“Why not?” Tom agreed, as both boys broke into laughter.  Bud also liked the idea.

Chow had a troublesome afterthought.  He shoved back his sombrero, squinted frowningly at the brain container, and scratched his bald head.  “For boat christenings and statues and what not, you break bottles on ’em or cut ribbons or pull a sheet off ’em,” the cook said.  “But how in tarnation do you christen a buckaroo from space?”

“Nothing to it, Chow,” Tom assured him.  “We’ll do the job up nice and fancy with a display of electricity.  But first let’s get Exman over to the lab.”