way, where is Tom? I'd like to see him
before I go back. He's a mighty fine boy."

"That's what he is!" broke in a new voice. "Bless my overshoes, but he
is a smart lad! A wonderful lad, that's what! Why, bless my necktie,
there isn't anything he can't invent; from a button-hook to a
battleship! Wonderful boy--that's what!"

"I guess Tom's ears would burn if he could hear your praises, Mr.
Damon," laughed Mr. Swift. "Don't spoil him."

"Spoil Tom Swift? You couldn't do it in a hundred years!" cried Mr.
Damon, enthusiastically. "Bless my topknot! Not in a thousand
years--no, sir!"

"But where is he?" asked Mr. Peterson, who was evidently unused to the
extravagant manner of Mr. Damon.

"There he goes now!" exclaimed the gentleman who frequently blessed
himself, some article of his apparel, or some other object. "There he
goes now, flying over the house in that Humming Bird airship of his. He
said he was going to try out a new magneto he'd invented, and it seems
to be working all right. He said he wasn't going to take much of a
flight, and I guess he'll soon be back. Look at him! Isn't he a great
one, though!"

"He certainly is," agreed Mr. Peterson, as he and Mr. Swift went to the
window, from which Mr. Damon had caught a glimpse of the youthful
Inventor in his airship. "A great lad. I wish he could come on this
mine-hunt with me, though I'd never consent to go in an airship.
They're too risky for an old man like me."

"They're as safe as a church when Tom Swift runs them!" declared Mr.
Damon. "I'm no boy, but I'd go anywhere with Tom."

"I'm afraid you wouldn't get Tom to go with you, Alec," went on Mr.
Swift, as he resumed his chair, the young inventor in his airship
having passed out of sight. "He's busy on some new invention now, I
believe. I think I heard him say something about a new rifle."

"Cannon it was, Mr. Swift," said Mr. Damon. "Tom has an idea that he
can make the biggest cannon in the world; but it's only an idea yet."

"Well, then I guess there's no hope of my interesting him in my opal
mine," said the fortune-hunter, with rather a disappointed smile. "Nor
you either, Mr. Swift."

"No, Alec, I'm afraid not. As I said, I'd rather give you outright
three or four thousand dollars, if you wanted it, provided that you
used it for your own personal needs, and promised not to sink it in
some visionary search."

Mr. Peterson shook his head.

"I'm not actually in want," he said, "and I couldn't a