“Well, Dad, I’ve got the money safely put away,” he remarked to an aged gentleman who sat in the library reading a book.  “Now we won’t have to worry about thieves until we get some more cash in.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s coming in so plentifully,” said Mr. Swift with a smile.  “Since my illness I haven’t been able to do much, Tom, and it all depends on you, now.”

“Don’t let that worry you, Dad.  You’ll soon be as busy as ever,” for, following a serious operation for an ailment of the heart, Mr. Swift, who was a veteran inventor, had not been able to do much.  But the devices of his son, especially a speedy monoplane, which Tom invented, and sold to the United States Government, were now bringing them in a large income.  In fact with royalties from his inventions and some gold and diamonds which he had secured on two perilous trips, Tom Swift was quite wealthy.

“I’ll never be as busy as I once was,” went on Mr. Swift, a little regretfully, “but I don’t know that I care as long as you continue to turn out new machines, Tom.  By the way, how is the electric rifle coming on?  I haven’t heard you speak of it lately.”

“It’s practically finished, Dad.  It worked pretty well the time I took it when we went on the trip to the caves of ice, but I’ve improved it very much since then.  In fact I’m going to give it a severe test to-night.  Ned Newton is coming over, and it may be that then we’ll find out something about it that could be bettered.  But I think not.  It suits me as it is.”

“So Ned is coming over to see it; eh?  You ought to have Mr. Damon here to bless it a few times.”

“Yes, I wish I did.  And he may come along at any moment, as it is.  You never can tell when he is going to turn up.  Mrs. Baggert says you were out walking while I was at the bank, Dad.  Do you feel better after it?”

“Yes, I think I do, Tom.  Oh, I’m growing stronger every day, but it will take time.  But now tell me something about the electric gun.”

Thereupon the young inventor related to his father some facts about the improvements he had recently made to the weapon.  It was dinner time when he had finished, and, after the meal Tom went out to the shed where he built his aeroplanes and his airships, and in which building he had fitted up a shooting gallery.

“I’ll get ready for the trial to-night,” he said “I want to see what it will do to a dummy figure.  Guess I’ll make a sort of scarecrow and stuff it with straw.  I’ll get Eradicate to help me.  Rad!  I say, Rad!  Where are you?”

“Heah I is, Massa Tom!  Heah I is” called a colored man as he came around the corner of a small stable where he kept his mule Boomerang.  “Was yo’-all callin’ me?”

“Yes, Rad, I want you to help make a scarecrow.”

“A scarecrow, Massa Tom!  Good land a’ massy!  What fo’ yo’ want ob a scarecrow?  Yo’-all ain’t raisin’ no corn, am yo’?”

“No, but I want something to shoot at when Ned Newton comes over to-night.”