“Hello, Rad,” called Tom.  “Anybody home?”

“Yais, Massa Tom,” answered the colored man.  “Yo’ dad an’ anodder gen’mans hab jest gone in de house.”

“Who’s the other gentleman, Rad?” asked Tom, and the negro, glad of an excuse to cease the weeding of the onion bed, came shuffling forward.

“It’s de gen’mans what is allers saying his prayers,” he answered.

“Saying his prayers?” repeated Tom.

“Yep.  Yo’ knows what I means, Massa Tom.  He’s allers askin’ a blessin’ on his shoes, or his rubbers, or his necktie.”

“Oh, you mean Mr. Wakefield Damon.”

“Yais, sah, dat’s who I done means.  Mr, Wakefull Lemon—­dat’s sho’ him.”

At that moment there sounded, within the house, the voices of Mr. Swift, and some one else in conversation.

“And so Tom has decided to make a run to the Quaker City in the butterfly, to-morrow,” Mr. Swift was saying, “and he’s going to see if he can be of any service to this Mr. Fenwick.”

“Bless my watch chain!” exclaimed the other voice.  “You don’t say so!  Why I know Mr. Fenwick very well—­he and I used to go to school together, but bless my multiplication tables—­I never thought he’d amount to anything!  And so he’s built an airship; and Tom is going to help him with it?  Why, bless my collar button, I’ve a good notion to go along and see what happens.  Bless my very existence, but I think I will!”

“That’s Mr. Damon all right,” observed Tom, with a smile, as he advanced toward the dining-room, whence the voices proceeded.

“Dat’s what I done tole you!” said Eradicate, and, with slow and lagging steps he went back to weed the onion bed.

“How are you, Mr. Damon,” called our hero, as he mounted the steps of the porch.

“Why, it’s Tom—­he’s back!” exclaimed the eccentric man.  “Why, bless my shoe laces, Tom! how are you?  I’m real glad to see you.  Bless my eyeglasses, but I am!  I just returned from a little western trip, and I thought I’d ran over and see how you are.  I came in my car—­ had two blowouts on the way, too.  Bless my spark plug, but the kind of tires one gets now-a-days are a disgrace!  However, I’m here, and your father has just told me about you going to Philadelphia in your monoplane, to help a fellow-inventor with his airship.  It’s real kind of you.  Bless my topknot if it isn’t!  Do you know what I was just saying?”

“I heard you mention that you knew Mr. Fenwick,” replied Tom, with a smile, as he shook hands with Mr. Damon.

“So I do, and, what’s more, I’d like to see his airship.  Will your butterfly carry two passengers?”

“Easily.  Mr. Damon.”

“Then I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.  If you’ll let me I’ll take that run to Philadelphia with you!”

“Glad to have you come along,” responded Tom, heartily.

“Then I’ll go, and, what’s more, if Fenwick’s ship will rise, I’ll go with you in that—­bless my deflection rudder if I don’t, Tom!” and puffing top his cheeks, as he exploded these words, Mr. Damon fairly raised himself on his tiptoes, and shook Tom’s hand again.