ent orders. That's why they came
to me, I guess."

"I shouldn't be surprised, Tom," conceded Mr. Damon. "Since the
government accepted your giant cannon and your great searchlight, you
have come into greater prominence than ever before. And those two
things are a wonderful success."

"Yes," admitted Tom, modestly enough, "the big electric light seems to
have been of some benefit on the European battle front, and though they
haven't been able to make and transport as many of my giant cannons as
I'd like to see over there, it is progressing, I understand."

And this is true. For the details of these two inventions of Tom
Swift's I refer my readers to the books bearing those titles.
Sufficient to state here that the government was using these two
inventions, and there had been no necessity for commandeering them
either, since Tom had freely offered them at the declaration of war
with Germany.

"Well, since I can't help you with my 'Whizzer,'" said Mr. Damon, with
a smile, "let me do what I can toward your silent motor, Tom. What are
you going to call it?"

"Oh, I don't know--hadn't thought of a name. I guess 'Air Scout' would
be as good as any. That's what it will be--a machine for silently
scouting in the air. And now to get down to brass tacks, as the poet
says, I believe I will--"

"Gentleman to see you, Mr. Swift," interrupted Jackson.

"Bless my penwiper!" cried Mr. Damon. "More visitors! I hope it isn't
Gale or Ware come back to see what they can spy on!"

CHAPTER VII

A PROBLEM IN SOUND

Tom Swift looked up with a distinct appearance of being annoyed that
was unusual with him, for he was, nearly always, good-natured. But the
frown that had replaced the pleasant look on his face while he was
talking to Mr. Damon about the projected new air scout was at once
wiped away as he looked at the card Jackson held out to him.

"Bring him in right away!" he ordered. "He needn't have stood on that
ceremony."

"Well, he said it was a business call," returned the mechanician with a
cheerful grin, "and he said he wanted it done according to form. So he
gave me his card to bring you."

"Who is it?" asked Mr. Damon, with the privilege of an old friend.

"It's Ned Newton," Tom answered; "though why he's putting on all this
formality I can't fathom."

Jackson went back to the main gate and told the man on guard there to
admit Ned, who had so formally sent in his card.

"Ah, Mr. Swift, I believe?" began th