“Well?” remarked Mr. Swift, questioningly, as his son finished reading the telegram.  “What are you going to do about it, Tom?”

“I don’t exactly know, dad.  I was going to ask your advice.  What would you do?  Who is this Mr. Fenwick?”

“Well, he is an inventor of some note, but he has had many failures.  I have not heard of him in some years until now.  He is a gentleman of wealth, and can he relied upon to do just as he says.  We are slightly acquainted.  Perhaps it would be well to aid him, if you can spare the time.  Not that you need the money, but inventors should be mutually helpful.  If you feel like going to Philadelphia, and aiding him in getting his electric airship in shape, you have my permission.”

“I don’t know,” answered Tom, doubtfully.  “I was just getting my monoplane in shape for a little flight.  It was nothing particular, though.  Dad, I think I will take a run to Philadelphia, and see if I can help Mr. Fenwick.  I’ll wire him that I am coming, to-morrow or next day.”

“Very well,” assented Mr. Swift, and then he and his son went into one of the shops, talking of a new invention which they were about to patent.

Tom little knew what a strange series of adventures were to follow his decision to go to the Quaker City, nor the danger involved in aiding Mr. Fenwick to operate his electric airship.

CHAPTER II

MISS NESTOR’S NEWS

“When do you think you will go to Philadelphia, Tom?” asked Mr. Swift, a little later, as the aged inventor and his son were looking over some blueprints which Garret Jackson, an engineer employed by them, had spread out on a table.

“I don’t exactly know,” was the answer.  “It’s quite a little run from Shopton, because I can’t get a through train.  But I think I’ll start tomorrow.”

“Why do you go by train?” asked Mr. Jackson.

“Why—­er—­because—­” was Tom’s rather hesitating reply.  “How else would I go?”

“Your monoplane would be a good deal quicker, and you wouldn’t have to change cars,” said the engineer.  “That is if you don’t want to take out the big airship.  Why don’t you go in the monoplane?”

“By Jove!  I believe I will!” exclaimed Tom.  “I never thought of that, though it’s a wonder I didn’t.  I’ll not take the Red cloud, as she’s too hard to handle alone.  But the butterfly will be just the thing,” and Tom looked over to where a new monoplane rested on the three bicycle wheels which formed part of its landing frame.  “I haven’t had it out since I mended the left wing tip,” he went on, “and it will also be a good chance to test my new rudder.  I believe I will go to Philadelphia by the butterfly.”

“Well, as long as that’s settled, suppose you give us your views on this new form of storage battery,” suggested Mr. Swift, with a fond glance at his son, for Tom’s opinion was considered valuable in matters electrical, as those of you, who have read the previous books in this series, well know.