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 can yet save
the old bank after all!"

CHAPTER XVIII

AFTER THE CASH

Tom's proposal as a way out of the difficulty, and the prompt seconding
of it by Mr. Damon, seemed to deprive the other bank officials, Mr.
Swift included, of the power of speech for a few moments. Then, as
there came to the room where the scene had taken place, the sound of
the mob outside, clamoring for cash, Mr. Pendergast, the president,
remarked in a low voice:

"It seems to be the only way. Do you think you can do it, Tom Swift?"

"I'm sure of it, as far as my electric car is concerned," replied the
young inventor. "If we get the cash I'll have it back here on time. The
runabout is all ready for a fast trip."

"Then don't lose any time, Tom," advised his father. "Every minute
counts."

"Yes," added Mr. Damon. "Come on. I've got the securities in my valise,
and we can bring the cash back in the same satchel. Come on, Tom."

The eccentric character caught up his valise, and started from the
room. Tom followed.

"Now, my son, be careful," advised his father. "You know the need of
haste, but don't take unnecessary risks. You'd better go out the back
way, as the crowd is easily excited."

Little more was said. Mr. Swift clasped his son's hand in a firm
pressure, and the bank president nervously bade the lad good-by. Then,
slipping out of the bank, by the rear entrance, the porter closing the
door after them, Tom and Mr. Damon took their places in the electric
machine.

"Just imagine you're racing for that three-thousand-dollar prize,
offered by the Touring Club of America, Tom," observed Mr. Damon, as he
deposited the valise at his feet.

"I don't have to do that," replied the youth. "I'm trying for a bigger
prize than that. I want to save the bank, and defeat the schemes of the
Foger