he?"

"Out in the shop, I think. I believe Mr. Damon is with him."

"And blessing everything as usual, from his hat to his shoe laces,
I'll wager," murmured Tom as he made his war to the shop where his
father, also an inventor like himself, spent much of his time.
"Well, well, I'm glad Mr. Damon is here, for he'll be interested in
this."

Tom fairly rushed into the building, much of the space of which, was
taken up by machinery, queer tools and odd devices, many of them
having to do with the manufacture of aeroplanes, for Tom had as many
of them as some people have of automobiles.

"I say, dad!" cried Tom, waving the letter above his head, "what do
you think of this? Listen to--"

"Easy there now, Tom! Easy, my boy, or you'll oblige me to do all my
work over again," and an aged man, beside whom a younger one was
standing, held up a hand of caution, while with the other hand he
was adjusting some delicate piece of machinery.

"What are you doing?" demanded the son.

"Bless my scarf pin!" exclaimed the other man--Mr. Wakefield Damon--
"Bless my rubbers, Tom Swift! What SHOULD your father be doing but
inventing something new, as he always is. I guess he's working on
his new gyroscope, though it is only a guess, for he hasn't said ten
words to me since I came out to talk to him. But that's like all