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Gunmore, of the Eagle Park Aviation Association. This is my father, Mr. Gunmore." "I've heard of you," spoke the secretary as he shook hands with the aged inventor. "You and your son have made, in aeronautics, a name to be proud of." "And he wants us to go still farther, dad," broke in the youth. "He wants me to build a specially speedy aeroplane, and race for ten thousand dollars."
"Hum!" mused Mr. Swift. "Well, are you going to do it, Tom? Seems to me you ought to take a rest. You haven't been back from your gold-hunting trip to Alaska long enough to more than catch your breath, and now " "Oh, he doesn't have to go in this right away," eagerly explained Mr. Gunmore. "There is plenty of time to make a new craft." "Well, Tom can do as he likes about it," said his father.
Gunmore?" "Well, I guess we've gone as far as we can until I invent the new aeroplane," replied Tom, with a smile. "Then you'll really enter the meet?" asked the secretary eagerly. "I think I will," decided Tom. "The prize of ten thousand dollars is worth trying for, and besides that, I'll be glad to get to work again on a speedy craft. Yes, I'll enter the meet." "Good!" exclaimed Mr.
"It's too late!" exclaimed Tom. "There he goes in his car!" And knowing it would be useless to keep up the chase, the youth turned back toward his house. Mr. Swift is Ill "Who was it?" asked Mr. Gunmore as Tom again entered the library. "A friend of yours?" "Hardly a friend," replied Tom grimly.
"Is this Tom Swift, the inventor of several airships?" The man who had rung the bell glanced at the youth who answered his summons. "Yes, I'm Tom Swift," was the reply. "Did you wish to see me?" "I do. I'm Mr. James Gunmore, secretary of the Eagle Park Aviation Association. I had some correspondence with you about a prize contest we are going to hold. I believe "
"And can't you remember about Mr. Gunmore calling?" asked Tom. The aged inventor shook his head, with a puzzled air. "I can't remember it at all," he said. "The minister is the last person I remember calling here." Tom looked worried, but the physician said it was a common feature of the disease from which Mr. Swift suffered, and would doubtless pass away.
Once more Tom looked out. The moon had emerged from behind a thin bank of clouds, and gave a little light. "See anything?" asked Mr. Gunmore cautiously. "No," whispered the youth, for it being a warm might, the windows were open top and bottom, a screen on the outside keeping out mosquitoes and other insects. "I can't see a thing," went on Tom, "but I'm sure " He paused suddenly.
"I surely would like to try for that," said Tim, "but the only craft I have is a small monoplane, the Butterfly, I call it, and while it is very speedy, there have been such advances made in aeroplane construction since I made mine that I fear I would be distanced if I raced in her. And I wouldn't like that." "No," agreed Mr. Gunmore. "I suppose not. Still, I do wish we could induce you to enter.
"I thought we could do better, and perhaps come to some decision more quickly, if I came to see you, than if we corresponded," went on Mr. Gunmore. "I hope I haven't disturbed you at any of your inventions," and the secretary smiled at the youth. "No. I'm through for to-day," replied Tom. "I'm glad to see you. I thought at first it was my chum, Ned Newton. He generally runs over in the evening."
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