m's answer, smilingly given.

"Well, all I've got to say is that you've got a wonderful car there,
Mr.--er--er--" He paused suggestively.

"Swift is my name," our hero answered. "Thomas Swift, of Shopton."

"Ah, I've heard of you. My name is Layton--Paul Layton. I'm from
Netherton. Let's see, you built an airship, didn't you?"

"I helped," Tom admitted modestly.

"Well, you beat me fair and square, and if I do say it myself I've got
a fairly speedy car. Took two firsts at the Indianapolis meet last
month. But you certainly scooted ahead of me. Where did you buy that
electric, if I may ask?"

"I made it."

"I might have known," admitted the man. "But are you going to put them
on the market? If you are I'd like to get one. I want the fastest car
going, and you seem to have it."

"I hadn't thought of manufacturing them for sale," said the young
inventor. "If I do, I'll let you know."

"I wish you would. My! I had no idea you could beat me, but you
did--fair and square."

There was some more talk, and then Mr. Layton started on, after
exacting from Tom a further promise to let him know if any electrics
were to be made for sale.

"You certainly have a wonderful car," complimented Ned, as he and his
chum took a short cut to Shopton.

"Well, I'm not quite satisfied with it," declared Tom.

"Why not?"

"Well, I've set a hundred miles an hour as my limit. I didn't make but
eighty to-day. I've got to have more speed if I go up against the crowd
that will race for the touring club's prize."

"Can you make a hundred miles?"

"I think so. I've got to change my gears, though, and use heavier
fuses. I was afraid every second that one of the fuses would melt, and
leave me stranded. But they stood pretty well. Of course, when the car,
geared as it is now, has been run a little longer it will go faster,
but it won't come up to a hundred miles an hour. That's what I want,
and that's what I'm going to get," and the lad looked very determined.

Ned was taken to the bank, and, as Tom turned his machine around, to go
home, he saw, standing on the steps of the new bank, which was almost
across the street from the old one, Andy Foger, and the bully's father.
The red-haired lad laughed at Tom's rough looking car, and said
something to his parent, but Mr. Foger did not notice Tom. Not that
this caused our hero any uneasiness, however.

But, as he swung away from the bank, he saw, coming up the street a
figure that instant