“How do you do?” called Miss Nestor, as she slowed down her motor.  “Don’t you think I’m improving, Mr. Swift?”

“What’s that?  I—­er—­I beg your pardon, but I didn’t catch that,” exclaimed the aged inventor quickly, coming out of a sort of day-dream.  “I beg your pardon.”  He thought she had addressed him.

Miss Nestor blushed and looked questioningly at Tom.

“My father,” he explained as he introduced his parent.  Ned needed none, having met Miss Nestor before.  “Indeed you have improved very much,” went on our hero.  “You seem able to manage the boat all alone.”

“Yes, I’m doing pretty well.  Dick lets me take the Dot whenever I want to, and I thought I’d come out for a little trial run this morning.  I’m getting ready for the races.  I suppose you are going to enter them?” and she steered her boat alongside Tom’s, who throttled down his powerful motor so as not to pass his friend.

“Races?  I hadn’t heard of them,” he replied.

“Oh, indeed there are to be fine ones under the auspices of the Lanton Motor Club.  Mr. Hastings, of whom you bought that boat, is going to enter his new Carlopa, and Dick has entered the Dot, in the baby class of course.  But I’m going to run it, and that’s why I’m practicing.”

“I hope you win,” remarked Tom.  “I hadn’t heard of the races, but I think I’ll enter.  I’m glad you told me.  Do you want to race now?” and he laughed as he looked into the brown eyes of Mary Nestor.

“No, indeed, unless you give me a start of several miles.”

They kept together for some little time longer, and then, as Tom knew his father would be restless at the slow speed, he told Miss Nestor the need of haste, and, advancing his timer, he soon left the Dot behind.  The girl called a laughing good-by and urged him not to forget the races, which were to take place in about two weeks.

“I suppose Andy Foger will enter his boat,” commented Ned.

“Naturally,” agreed Tom.  “It’s a racer, and he’ll probably think it can beat anything on the lake.  But if he doesn’t manage his motor differently, it won’t.”

The distance from Sandport to Shopton had been more than half covered at noon, when the travelers ate a lunch in the boat.  Mr. Swift was looking anxiously ahead to catch the first glimpse of his dock and Tom was adjusting the machinery as finely as he dared to get out of it the maximum speed.

Ned Newton, who happened to be gazing aloft, wondering at the perfect beauty of the blue sky after the storm, uttered a sudden exclamation.  Then he arose and pointed at some object in the air.

“Look!” he cried, “A balloon!  It must have gone up from some fair.”

Tom and his father looked upward.  High in the air, almost over their heads, was an immense balloon.  It was of the hot-air variety, such as performers use in which to make ascensions from fair grounds and circuses, and below it dangled a trapeze, upon which could be observed a man, only he looked more like a doll than a human being.