gyroscope on which he had been working, came over to his son, and
said:

"Well, Tom, if you're going, that means you're going--I know enough
to predict that. I rather wish you weren't, for I'm afraid no good
will come of this."

"Now, dad, don't be talking that way!" cried Tom gaily. "Pack up and
come along with us." Lovingly he placed his arm around the bent
shoulders of his father.

"No, Tom, I'm too old. Home is the place for me."

"Bless my arithmetic tables!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "you're not so
much older than I am, and I'm going with Tom. Come on, Mr. Swift."

"No, I can't put up with dangers, hardship and excitement as I used
to. I'd better stay home. Besides, I want to perfect my new
gyroscope. I'll work on that while you and Tom are searching for the
city of gold. But, Tom, if you're going you'd better have something
more definite to look for than an unknown city, located on a map
drawn by some African bushman."

"I intend to, dad. I guess when Mr. Illingway wrote his letter he
didn't really think I'd take him up, and make the search. I'm going
to write and ask him if he can't get me a better map, and also learn
more about the location of the city. Mexico isn't such a very large
place, but it would be if you had to hunt all over it for a buried
city, and this map isn't a lot of help," and Tom who had shown it to
his father and Mr. Damon looked at it closely.