my check book!"

"The Clayton National Bank," remarked Mr. Swift, and his voice
was hopeless. "It's forty miles away, Mr. Damon, and no railroad
around here runs anywhere near it. No one could get there and
back with the cash to-day, in time to save us from ruin. It's
impossible! Our last chance is gone."

"How far did you say it was, Dad?" asked Tom quickly.

"Forty miles there, over forty, I guess, and not very good
roads. We would need to have the cash here before three o'clock
to be of any service to us. No, it's out of the question. The
bank will have to fail!"

"No!" cried the young inventor, and his voice rang out through
the room. "I'll get the cash for you!"

"How?" gasped Mr. Damon. "You can't get there and back in
time?"

"Yes, I can!" cried Tom. "In my electric runabout! I can make
it go a hundred miles an hour, if necessary! Probably I'll have
to run slow over the bad roads; but I can do it! I know I can.
I'll get the sixty thousand dollars for you!"

For a moment there was silence. Then Mr. Damon cried:

"Good! And I'll go with you and deliver the securities to Mr.
Chase. Come on, Tom Swift! Bless my collar button, but maybe we