"But, Dad, I'm sure it can!"

Tom Swift looked over at his father, who was seated in an easy
chair in the library. The elderly gentleman--his hair was quite
white now--slowly shook his head, as he murmured again:

"It can't be done, Tom! It can't be done! I admit that you've made
a lot of wonderful things--things I never dreamed of--but this is
too much. To transmit pictures over a telephone wire, so that
persons cannot only see to whom they are talking, as well as hear
them--well, to be frank with you, Tom, I should be sorry to see
you waste your time trying to invent such a thing."

"I don't agree with you. Not only do I think it can be done, but
I'm going to do it. In fact, I've already started on it. As for
wasting my time, well, I haven't anything in particular to do, now
that my giant cannon has been perfected, so I might as well be
working on my new photo telephone instead of sitting around idle."

"Yes, Tom, I agree with you there," said Mr. Swift. "Sitting
around idle isn't good for anyone--man or boy, young or old. So
don't think I'm finding fault because you're busy."

"It's only that I don't want to see you throw away your efforts,
only to be disappointed in the end. It can't be done, Tom, it
can't be done," and the aged inventor shook his head in pitying
doubt.

Tom only smiled confidently, and went on: