"Hear what, Tom?" asked the old inventor, looking up.

"That ticking sound? I declare, I'd think it was one of those
death-watch beetles had got in here. Sounds like a big watch
ticking. I can't make it out."

"Where is it? What is it?" repeated Mr. Swift. "I hear nothing
down here on the floor of the shed."

"Well, it gets me," muttered Tom, and disappeared again. In a
moment he called out: "Say, you fellows! who left his bundle of
overalls in here? Better take 'em out to be manicured. Whose are
these?"

Two or three of the mechanics working near looked up from their
tasks. Mr. Swift turned back to the door of the cab again.

"What is the matter now, Tom?" he asked, in added curiosity.

"That bundle, Dad."

Tom once more appeared and addressed the workmen: "Whose bundle
of dirty overalls is this in here? Come and take 'em away. They
shouldn't have been left here."

"Why, Mr. Tom," said the foreman who was near, "I didn't see
any soiled overalls in there when I left last evening. Any of you
fellows," he asked the group of hands, "know anything about any
overalls?"