needed but a glance to show that he was more serious than was his
companion. "I'm not suffering from the heat, though the
thermometer is getting close to ninety-five in the shade. And if
you want to know where I get 'that stuff' read this!"

He tossed over to his chum, employer, and friend--for Tom Swift
assumed all three relations toward Ned Newton--part of a Sunday
newspaper. It was turned to a page containing a big illustration
of a diver attired in the usual rubber suit and big helmet,
moving about on the floor of the ocean and digging out boxes of
what was supposed to be gold from a sunken wreck.

"Oh, that stuff!" exclaimed Tom, with a smile of disbelief as
he saw the source of Ned's information. "Seems to me I've read
something like that before, Ned!"

"Of course you have!" agreed the young financial manager of the
newly organized Swift Construction Company. "It isn't anything
new. This wealth of untold millions has been at the bottom of the
sea for many years--always increasing with nobody ever spending a
cent of it. And since the Great War this wealth has been
enormously added to because of the sinking of so many ships by
German submarines."

"Well, what's that got to do with us, Ned?" asked Tom, as he
looked over some blue prints and other papers on his desk, for
the talk was taking place in his office. "You and I did our part
in the war, but I don't see what all this undersea wealth has to
do with us. We've got our work cut out for us if we take care of
all the new contracts that came in this week."