TOM SWIFT

AND HIS BIG DIRIGIBLE

SPOUTING FIRE

“Such a big dirigible would cost a barrel of money, Mr. Jardine.”

“I know it, Mr. Swift. But my company is prepared to go the limit. We want the finest and fastest dirigible ever built, capable of carrying at least fifty passengers and enough supplies to travel ten thousand miles.”

A short, stout, fussy man, attired in a natty gray business suit, arose and nervously paced the office of the Swift Construction Company as he uttered these specifications. Tom Swift and his aged father looked at their visitor, but neither spoke. Tom’s face had just the suggestion of puzzled doubt. Mr. Swift was interested, but not unusually so. He was approaching the twilight of life and even great projects did not interest him as they once had done. He left them to Tom.

“Yes, it must be the biggest dirigible ever built!” exclaimed Martin Jardine. “And you must build it, Tom Swift!”

“That’s easier said than done,” returned Tom, with a smile.

“Oh, you can do it if anybody can,” snapped Mr. Jardine. That was his way of talking—snappily. He seemed to be all business from his brightly polished tan shoes to the top of his crisp, brown hair. As he continued to pace up and down, now and then shooting a glance at the Swifts, father and son, who were seated, he pulled out a cigar, snapped off the end, flicked out a pocket lighter, set it aglow with an impatient movement of his thumb and, a moment later, was puffing a cloud of smoke about the office.

“Oh, excuse me!” he exclaimed a moment later, his right hand slipping to the left upper pocket of his vest. “Have a cigar.”

He held out two, twins to the one he was smoking, and offered one to Mr. Swift.

“No, thank you,” said the aged inventor. “I don’t smoke.”

“Then you, Mr. Tom?” The cigars went in that direction.

“Thanks, but I don’t indulge,” Tom answered, with a smile. “And if I did I’d be afraid to tackle one of yours. They look particularly deadly, if you’ll excuse my saying so.”

“Well, they are a bit strong,” said the fussy little business man, who appeared to have called on a very important errand. “But I like to taste something when I smoke. It quiets my nerves.”

However, his nerves did not appear to be under very good control just then, for, in spite of his notion of a quieting smoke, this devotee of my Lady Nicotine was having all he could do to repress himself.

“Well, what about this proposition?” he asked, coming back to his seat and brushing aside a cloud of his own smoke.

“Do you really want us to undertake a big, expensive dirigible like this?” asked Tom, tapping some papers on his desk, papers of which the top one bore a rough sketch of a great airship, in shape like the Graf Zeppelin, but larger and differing radically in some of its parts.

“Of course! Why not?” demanded Mr. Jardine. He was out of his chair again, and had taken a fresh cigar from his pocket, though the one he had lighted only a few minutes before still contained much smokable material. “You haven’t any doubt of the ability of my company to foot the bills, have you, Mr. Swift?”

“Oh, no,” Tom answered. He had taken the precaution of having a commercial agency look up the rating of the Jardine company before one of its heads called on him, and the report was satisfactory. “But you don’t seem to realize, Mr. Jardine, that an airship of this size would take a long time to construct and you are evidently in a hurry.”

“I’m always in a hurry!” snapped the fussy little man. “But this is to be an all metal plane, and, as I told you, we can supply the metal. Have a cigar!” he shot at Mr. Swift who was examining some sketches and blue prints the visitor had brought with him.

“No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”

“Oh, so you don’t! I forgot! Excuse me! Then you, Mr. Tom.”

He held another out to the young inventor.

“I am still not smoking,” chuckled Tom.

“Oh, yes! Well, now let’s get down to business. When can you finish this dirigible for me?”

He sat down in the chair again and leaned back as if for a protracted visit, but as Tom paused before answering Mr. Jardine was up again and pacing the floor, while smoke came from his mouth like a small furnace under forced draft.

“Ten thousand miles,” murmured Tom, his gaze concentrated on nothing in particular, a trick he had when intently thinking.

“At least that,” stipulated Mr. Jardine.

“And fifty passengers,” went on Tom.

“More, if possible,” snapped the caller.

“Well——” began Tom Swift, but he was interrupted by the ringing of a telephone bell. His father picked up the receiver, he being nearest the instrument, and spoke into the transmitter while Tom reached out to take up one of the blue prints.

“It’s your wife, Tom,” said old Mr. Swift, handing the instrument to his son.

“Oh, hello, Mary!” Tom called into the mouthpiece. “Yes! No, I’m not too busy to talk. Oh, yes, about our Mt. Camon trip. It’s all arranged. I just got word about the hotel reservations. Yes, I’ll have the House on Wheels thoroughly gone over. Of course! Yes, my dear. All right! I’ll be over in a little while and show you the choice of rooms we can have. Good-bye.”

During this interruption Mr. Jardine had tried not to show his impatience, but it was difficult. He paced the floor more nervously and faster than before, while lighting another cigar, the third in less than fifteen minutes, and not one of them smoked more than half way.

“Excuse me,” said the young inventor to his caller. Tom put the phone back on the desk and added: “That was my wife, and we have just completed our plans for a summer vacation. We are going to Mt. Camon. Hope to get off next week.”

“Mt. Camon. I know it! Beautiful spot. Wonderful hotel there, but in the middle of a great wilderness. Wonderful food, though! Best meals I ever ate! How they manage it I don’t know. But you can’t be going there!”

“Why not?” asked Tom Swift with a half smile.

“Because you are going to undertake the construction of this big dirigible for us and that will take all your time and attention.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Tom easily. “I haven’t fully decided to undertake the work.”

“Oh, but you must!” insisted Mr. Jardine. “Excuse me for being so emphatic,” he went on, tossing the almost fresh cigar aside, “but you are the only one who can do it. You must do it!”

“Well, I’ll think about it,” said Tom, once more reaching for some blue prints. “But I must also take my wife on a vacation.”

“Tom hasn’t been married long,” observed old Mr. Swift, smiling.

“Congratulations,” murmured Mr. Jardine. “It’s a big contract, I know.”

“Do you mean marriage?” asked Tom, with a smile.

“No, I’m speaking of this big dirigible. When can you let me know?”

Tom was doing some mental calculations, having as much to do with the individual who had called on him as on the actual construction of the giant of the air. There had been some correspondence prior to the visit. Martin Jardine had first written guardedly of what he wanted the Swift Construction Company to undertake. Tom had had Ned Newton, his financial manager, look up the concern’s rating and, finding they were big producers of metals and machinery, at last consented to an interview which was now taking place.

At this talk Mr. Jardine had gone more into details than in his letters, and for the first time had given some definite idea of what he desired as to the size of the dirigible, the number of passengers and crew she could carry, and her cruising range. These figures rather surprised Tom Swift, accustomed as he was to gigantic undertakings.

“Now let’s go over it all again,” proposed Mr. Jardine, as Tom finished some hasty calculations in pencil. “There are one or two points I must insist on.”

Tom raised his eyebrows slightly at the word “insist,” but politely inquired:

“What are they?”

“This must be an all metal ship,” said Mr. Jardine.

“That is not impossible,” replied Tom. “We have made some ourselves for experimental work, and the United States Government has proved that a metal dirigible is feasible.”

“Another point,” went on Mr. Jardine, in his rather snappy manner.

“What is it?” Tom asked.

“The metal used for the gas bag—envelope I should say, as it will not be a fabric bag—this metal must be oralum.”

“Oralum?” questioned Tom.

“Yes,” went on Mr. Jardine. “That is a new, secret-process metal we have developed in our works. One of my objects in having you build this big dirigible for us is to advertise our oralum. It is much lighter and stronger than duralumin which, up to the present, was the only metal sheets that could be used in constructing dirigible envelopes. Aside from these points, you can use your own ideas on the craft, Mr. Swift.”

“Thank you,” said Tom, and if his caller had not been busy lighting another cigar he might have noticed a tinge of sarcasm in the words.

“When can you start?” snapped Mr. Jardine, puffing out more smoke.

“Well,” said Tom slowly, “I haven’t exactly made up my mind to start at all. Oh, I’m not turning down your order,” he was quick to add to forestall a vehement objection. “It’s just that my father and I must talk this over further before reaching a decision.”

“Then you can’t let me know now?”

“No, we must have a further conference. I will let you know when. And now, if you will excuse me, I must run over to the house to see my wife. She is anxious about our vacation plans.”

“Tom is just married,” said Mr. Swift, again, as if to excuse to the caller the young man’s rather precipitate closing of the interview.

“Oh, that’s all right. I understand,” and Mr. Jardine smiled. “The ladies first, always. I’m quite fond of ’em myself. Well, be sure to let me know when I can see you again, Mr. Swift.”

“I will. Good day!”

Mr. Jardine had not long left the office, hurrying away with his nervous air, his cigars and his smoke, when Ned Newton came in as Tom was about to depart for the Swift mansion where his wife, who had been Mary Nestor, was waiting for him.

“Hello, Ned!” Tom greeted his financial manager.

“Hello, Tom. Wasn’t that Martin Jardine I passed in the hall?”

“I suppose so. He just left here. Came in to have me sign that contract for building him a big dirigible.” Tom tossed a sheaf of typewritten sheets to Ned.

“Oh, yes, from the Jardine company. Um!” Ned picked up the documents.

“You’ve seen them before,” Tom reminded him. “You said the contract was well drawn, legal in every way, and properly safeguarded us.”

“Yes, I did,” Ned admitted. “It’s a perfectly legal contract as far as it goes.”

“Doesn’t it go far enough?” asked Tom.

“Well, yes,” Ned had to admit. “Oh, the contract is all right. It’s this Martin Jardine I was thinking about.”

“What’s the matter with him?” asked Tom.

“He smokes too much,” broke in Mr. Swift, with a chuckle. “Not that I object to smoking, though.”

“That isn’t it,” Ned stated slowly. “It’s just that to me Jardine seems to strike a false note. He’s snappy, businesslike, and up to snuff. For all that, I think there is something not quite true about him.”

“He’s eccentric, I’ll admit,” said Tom musingly. “But so is Mr. Damon.”

“Mr. Damon doesn’t want you to sink hundreds of thousands of dollars in building a freak dirigible,” remarked Ned.

“No, that’s true. But the Jardine company assumes half the risk and expense—even more,” Tom added, “for they will supply the oralum metal plates, and that’s a big item.”

“All the same, Tom,” went on Ned, “I’d go a bit slow about this, if I were you.”

“I intend to,” Tom said, looking out of the window of his office into the April sunshine. It was this warm, early spring sunshine that had set his blood and that of his wife tingling, so they had made plans for an early vacation. “Yes,” went on the young inventor, “nothing is settled yet. We are to have another conference and then——”

There came a sudden interruption in the shape and form of a veritable giant of a man who burst into the private office without any warning.

“What’s the matter, Koku?” asked Tom, for, obviously, something was wrong.

“O, Master!” cried the giant in a booming voice. “Him House on Wheels all bust up! Him spout fire! All blaze! Look!”

Tom, Mr. Swift, and Ned Newton peered from a back window. They saw a cloud of smoke and spurting streaks of fire near the garage where the wonderful traveling auto, a small house in itself, was kept. As they looked, they heard a sharp explosion.

A TREMENDOUS UNDERTAKING

“There she goes, Tom!” cried Ned Newton, as an even greater cloud of smoke enveloped the House on Wheels, following the sharp blast. “What caused the blaze?”

“It must be the fireworks I brought in last night!” cried Tom Swift, as, followed by Ned and Mr. Swift, he hurried from the office to the yard of the plant.

“Fireworks?” cried Ned.

“Yes. I meant to put them in a safe place, but I forgot them and left them in the House on Wheels. But what made them go off, I wonder?”

“What are you doing with fireworks at this time of year?” Ned wanted to know, as he hurried along beside his chum. “Independence Day is three months off.”

“I know it,” Tom replied. “But it’s Mary’s birthday to-morrow and ever since she was a little girl she has had fireworks on that occasion. I couldn’t omit it the first year she’s married to me.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” agreed Ned. “So you were going to have a fireworks display for Mary’s birthday. Well, the fireworks picked a good day for themselves.”

“What do you mean?” Tom exclaimed.

“To-day is April Fool’s day,” answered Ned.

“Well, it’s a poor joke to set off fireworks in my House on Wheels, even if it is April first,” declared Tom. “Look at ’em!”

By this time he and Ned were running directly toward the famous House on Wheels. Workmen from the shop were also congregating there, some carrying portable fire extinguishers.

From all appearances, these would be needed. Skyrockets, Roman candles, pinwheels, aerial bombs, and other pyrotechnics were making a grand display from within and about the House on Wheels.

“She’s a goner I’m afraid!” sighed Tom.

“Looks bad,” agreed Ned, and then both ran on to help put out the blaze.

While they are doing this, it might be mentioned, for the benefit of new readers, who Tom Swift was and something told about him.

In the first book of this series, named “Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle,” Tom Swift was introduced. He was a young inventor, living with his father, Barton Swift, in the small city of Shopton where the Swift works were located. Tom’s mother was dead, but he and his father were looked after by Mrs. Baggert, their housekeeper.

As a lad Tom was interested in mechanics, and that he could develop ideas and invent machinery was proved when, after Wakefield Damon, of the neighboring town of Waterford, smashed his motor cycle by running up a tree, Tom bought the wreck, repaired it, and made it better than ever. Since then he and Mr. Damon, a most eccentric man, had been good friends.

In time Tom developed into a great inventor, like his father, and, as Mr. Swift grew infirm, Tom assumed entire charge of the plant.

The shops where new inventions were tried out and various machines manufactured now covered many acres of ground and, as the plant had grown, had been removed from near the Swift homestead, in which comfortable house Tom and his father lived with Mary Nestor, whom Tom had recently married. Tom frequently urged his chum, Ned Newton, to marry Helen Morton, a girl friend of Mary Nestor. But, somehow, Ned could not make up his mind to this. He said he was too busy managing Tom’s financial matters to think of getting married.

Tom and Ned were each in their early twenties now and were doing a fine business. For repairing a broken motor cycle was only one of Tom Swift’s achievements. He perfected motor boats, submarines, an aerial warship, an electric locomotive, and was one of the first to develop talking pictures.

The latest invention of the young mechanic had been a great auto, which he called his traveling home, and in the book immediately preceding this full details are given. That volume is called “Tom Swift and His House on Wheels; or, A Trip to the Mountain of Mystery.”

It was on this Mountain of Mystery that the young inventor solved some strange puzzles and had some breath-taking adventures, during which he nearly lost his queer House. It was right after this that he and Mary Nestor decided to get married.

Tom Swift brought his bride to the old homestead, and while he and Mary lived in one wing of the big place, with Koku, the giant, as a sort of bodyguard, Mr. Swift, well looked after by Mrs. Baggert and Eradicate, an aged Negro, lived in another part of the mansion.

Tom had only just returned from a short trip he and Mary had made in their House on Wheels when he received a letter from the Jardine company about building a big dirigible. There was some correspondence and the first interview was just over when Koku gave the alarm of fire.

“What started it, Koku?” asked Tom, as, with Ned and the giant, he stood in front of the House which was still spouting fireworks.

“No can tell. All of a quick go Boom!” answered the giant, whom Tom had brought back with him after a perilous trip to a wonderful land.

“Must have been spontaneous combustion!” gasped Ned, as a big skyrocket whizzed over their heads.

“I hope that’s the last!” cried Garret Jackson, the shop manager, as he edged in closer with a fire extinguisher.

“I bought an awful lot of fireworks,” Tom admitted, with a sort of groan as he saw what danger his precious House was in. “They can’t a quarter of them have gone off yet!”

“Some birthday celebration!” laughed Ned. “You ought to get Mary here!”

But it was no time for talking. There was great danger. However, the workmen in the Swift plant were accustomed to dealing with emergencies of this nature, and some well directed streams from the chemical containers soon had the worst of the fire out. A few crackers and some pinwheels continued to ignite, but the greatest danger, from some powerful aerial bombs, had been averted.

“But I can’t understand it,” murmured Tom as he went into the House on Wheels to view the damage. “Though I put the fireworks in here hurriedly, I was careful to see that there was nothing near that could set them off.”

“Was the motor running just before you put the Roman candles in here?” asked Ned. “If so, there might have been some heat in that.”

“The House wasn’t in use yesterday,” Tom said. “It was being put in shape for the trip Mary and I are to take.”

“What trip is that?” asked Ned.

“To Mt. Camon,” was the answer. “It’s quite a wonderful mountain resort in a big piece of woods. Mary’s father and mother used to go there and she thought she’d like to go back. Dad, too, needs a change, and I thought of running up there with him, Mary, and her parents and leaving them for a month or so. I’d have to come back, especially if I undertake this big dirigible.”

“Have you decided on that yet?” Ned wanted to know.

“Not yet,” Tom answered. “But now it looks as if I’d be busy getting this House in shape,” and he gazed ruefully about the blackened and still smoke-filled interior of the odd conveyance.

“It will need some repairs,” agreed Ned. “But perhaps not many. It’s lucky it wasn’t all blown apart.”

“Yes,” Tom assented.

“What possessed you to store fireworks in here?” Ned wanted to know.

“Well,” Tom said, “it may have been foolish; but as I came in with them last night, I thought I was followed by some one. It seemed as if some man was sneaking around the plant. I spoke to some of the watchmen and even got Koku on the job. Then I got to thinking even a stray cigarette in this mass of fireworks would set them off, and I judged that if I stuck them in this House no one would know where they were. So I did.”

“And did that mysterious individual who followed you set them off?” asked Ned.

“That I can’t tell. Koku and I and a watchman looked about the place after I had put the fireworks away, but we found no one. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“Well, there wasn’t any mistake about this fire,” said Ned grimly.

“Unfortunately, no,” agreed Tom. “But I’ll rush the repairs.”

The next few days were busy ones for Tom Swift. For one thing, he had to attend to his wife’s natal anniversary and this was a successful affair, in spite of the fact that most of the fireworks had gone off prematurely. There were enough left for a small display.

After the birthday party, Tom Swift spent much time superintending repairs to the big traveling home, in which he hoped to take his wife, his father, and the Nestors to Mt. Camon. In the midst of these busy operations fussy Mr. Jardine came back, at the time appointed, to get Tom’s decision regarding the big dirigible.

“Well, have you decided yet, Mr. Swift?” asked the caller, nervously lighting another cigar.

“I will soon,” Tom replied, with a smile. “We’ll go into a conference now. My father will be here in a moment and I will send for Mr. Newton.”

The conference was rather long and very important. Mr. Jardine was enthusiastic and insistent and urged that the work be started at once and rushed to completion before fall. He had the oralum metal plates all ready to use, he said.

“Even with them, we’ll need a lot of special machinery and motors,” objected Tom. “It’s going to be a big job.”

“That’s why I came to a big inventor,” said Mr. Jardine, with ready tact. “I know you can do it!”

“What do you say, Ned?” Tom asked.

“The financial end seems to be all right,” stated the manager. But he did not look at Mr. Jardine as he said this. Though keeping silent, Ned had not changed his opinion about the stout, fussy little man.

“What’s your word, Dad?” Tom asked his father.

Mr. Swift was slow and careful and, in spite of his age, had a keen business and inventive sense.

“I think it can be done, Tom, if you want to do it,” answered Mr. Swift.

“There’s no question about my wanting to do it,” Tom said. “I’d ask nothing better than to turn out a craft like that if we can do it at a fair profit. It will be a big advertisement for us.”

“And us. We appreciate that,” said Mr. Jardine. “We expect big things of our new metal, once it gets to be known as ideal for dirigible envelopes. We think we have a wonderful thing in oralum. I do hope you will go on with this, Mr. Swift.”

Tom was silent for a few seconds and then he made a momentous decision. He reached for his pen to sign the contracts and said:

“Yes, we’ll build the big dirigible.”

“Good!” cried Mr. Jardine.

THE “SILVER CLOUD”

“Well, Ned, there she is!” exclaimed Tom Swift, several weeks after the disastrous explosion of fireworks and the following decision to undertake the construction of the big dirigible. “What do you think of her?”

“Who? What? Where?” asked the financial manager, who had come into Tom’s private workshop to discuss some business matters.

“The Silver Cloud,” Tom replied, with a wave of his hand.

“Silver Cloud?”

“Yes. The new dirigible I’m building for the Jardine company.”

“Dirigible!” cried Ned. “I don’t see her,” and he looked around the room.

“You poor fish!” chuckled the young inventor, “you don’t suppose I have the giant dirigible in here, do you? I’m speaking of the model I just completed.”

He pointed to a shelf where a good view could be had of a wonderfully complete but small model of what would eventually be the big all-metal dirigible.

“I’ve named her the Silver Cloud,” went on Tom, and the reason was obvious, for while the model was constructed of fabric, it was painted with an aluminum preparation which made it look like a silver mass of vapor in a blue sky. A further semblance to a cloud was in several flat, wave-shaped fins protruding from the sides of the long gas bag, at the point of greatest diameter.

“What are those dinguses for?” asked Ned.

“To keep her on a steady keel when we’re speeding along about two hundred miles an hour,” Tom answered.

“As fast as that?” exclaimed the manager.

“Faster, maybe,” was his chum’s answer.

“So that’s how she’s going to look, is it?” murmured Ned, putting his hands, containing several papers for Tom’s attention, behind him and standing in front of the model. “Nice lines to her!”

“It’s the most scientifically constructed dirigible I ever built. Planned to build, I should say,” Tom said, “for we’ve barely begun work on the frame. Things have got to rush to get her ready by fall.”

“Can you do it?”

“Got to! Luckily, I can buy ready-made many of the motor and other parts. The Jardine company has on hand all the oralum plates I’ll need, so the greatest problem is fitting the Silver Cloud together.”

“It’s a good name,” decided Ned. “I only hope the company will turn out to be as good as this model.”

“What company?” asked Tom quickly.

“The Jardine company,” was the reply.

“I thought you looked them up.”

“I did, and they are reported O. K. But every time I try to get a line on this Martin Jardine personally, I’m met with evasive answers or else silence. Tom, I’m afraid there’s something wrong about him.”

“But he has met his advance payments to the dot and he says if I need more money to call on him.”

“It isn’t all a question of money, though that’s usually the most important factor,” Ned stated, as he sat down in Tom’s private experimental office. “The company is all right. But it’s this nervous, fussy, eternal-cigar-smoking stout little man in the gray suit that I’m uncertain about, Tom.”

“Oh, I think you’re too fussy yourself, Ned. He seems all right. A bit dictatorial and impatient, but he and I have got along so far without difficulty.”

“Well, I hope it keeps up. Now about these papers. Here are some for you to sign.”

“All right. Let’s get through with them, and then I’ve got to go out in the shop and see how they’re coming on with the frame of the Silver Cloud. She’s going to be a great ship, Ned!” and Tom’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

“I believe you,” said the manager.

The Silver Cloud was, indeed, the most ambitious piece of aircraft work ever undertaken by Tom Swift and his associates. Not only the great size, but the cruising radius and the accommodations for passengers exceeded anything ever before attempted.

When the routine business was disposed of, Ned went out to the main shop with Tom and watched the workmen getting ready for the first step in the construction of the great airship.

Briefly, it may be said that while the generally familiar cigar-shaped envelope to hold the lifting gas was the design followed, there were some radical departures in construction. The stabilizing fins, for one item, were a novelty.

Instead of having the powerful motors suspended in more or less unstable gondolas protruding from and beneath the oralum frame and envelope, the driving apparatus was within the outer skin. Only the powerful propellers, six in all, were exposed. Each motor was accessible from the interior of the oralum envelope.

Within the metal envelope were the quarters for the crew and accommodations for passengers. The latter were forward, and were to be, in miniature, as elaborate as the living quarters on a palatial ocean liner.

The gasoline and oil for the motors, the stores of food and water that would be needed on a ten-thousand-mile voyage, and tools and spare parts for use in an emergency, were to be carried near the quarters for the crew and officers.

The greater part of the oralum envelope, of course, was filled with a new and powerful lifting gas, perfected by Tom Swift and his father. It was not as explosive as nitrogen, but not quite as safe as helium. However, it was easier and cheaper to make. One reason that Martin Jardine had come to them to build his giant dirigible, was because the Swifts held the secret of this gas. The craft was to be built on a cost-plus basis and would be the property of the Jardine company when finished, though of course much credit would accrue to Tom Swift for his work on it.

“She’s going to be big!” gasped Ned as he took in the lines of the skeleton, as yet only partly in place.

“She sure is!” admitted Tom. “Wait until we begin to fasten on the outside oralum plates and she’ll dwarf the Graf.”

“That’s going some!” exclaimed Ned. “But will she be as comfortable to ride in?”

“More so,” Tom promised. “Wait until you see the passengers’ staterooms, the electrically equipped kitchen, the dining room, and the recreation gymnasium. Why, this ship will be so big and steady you’ll never know she’s moving.”

“Even in a storm?”

“It will take some storm to bother the Silver Cloud!” declared Tom. “She’ll be as steady as a church!”

The days that followed were exceptionally busy ones for Tom Swift. Never before had he agreed to construct a craft for such a fussy individual as Martin Jardine. That representative of the company which furnished the oralum plates seemed to live in Shopton, he was there so often. More than once he got Tom out of bed by sunrise to ascertain how the work was coming on, or to make some new suggestions about the craft.

But as Tom was working for him, and as all payments had, so far, been promptly met, and as there was to be a good profit in the enterprise, Tom found no great fault.

“We’re in business to do business,” he said to Ned, who criticized Mr. Jardine. “I might as well have his money, as any of our competitors.”

“Well, he needn’t be so fidgety.”

“He is a bit fussy,” Tom admitted. “But then, this is a big undertaking.”

Tom Swift found the work more and more exacting and vexatious as the days went on, for many and troublesome matters cropped up in connection with the construction of the big dirigible. At one time a shipment of oralum plates would be held up. Another time the wrong kind would be sent and delays ensued from that fact. Then, too, there were disappointments in getting motor and other parts from outside sources. But the Swift plant, big as it was, never could have undertaken to build the ship by fall if all the work had been done in Shopton.

“Well, how’s the Silver Cloud coming?” asked Ned one day, as he and Tom sat in the private office, talking.

“Good,” Tom answered. “She’ll be ready by September. I hope, in a few days, to leave with Mary and the others on that little vacation to Mt. Camon.”

“Going in the House on Wheels?”

“Yes. Mary wants to travel that way because the House was so intimately associated with our wedding trip.”

“How is Mary?” Ned asked.

“Just fine,” Tom answered. “She——”

The telephone interrupted him, and as he answered it he smiled and said:

“Ned’s here, Mary. He was just asking me how you are, so I’ll let you tell him yourself. Yes, I’ll slip out while you’re doing that and see when the House will be ready.”

Work at repairing the damage done by the fireworks explosion had been proceeding on the House on Wheels while Tom was busy with the Silver Cloud.

“Keep Mary there until I come back,” Tom said to his friend, as he turned the telephone over to him and went out to the building where the House was being renovated.

“Hear you’re going to Mt. Camon,” Ned said to Mary.

“Oh, yes. Don’t you wish you were coming?”

“Indeed, I do! But I’m too busy. What sort of place is it up there?”

“Oh, wild scenery, mountains, great stretches of uncleared woods—quite isolated, in short.”

“Good place for a honeymoon then, or is yours over?”

“Indeed it isn’t!” laughed Mary. “Tom is wonderful!”

“Well, I’ll let you talk to the wonderful man,” chuckled Ned, as he gave the phone to Tom who hurried in. There was a rather serious look on the young inventor’s face as he spoke to his wife and said:

“I’m sorry, Mary; but it will have to be postponed.”

“What, Tom?”

“Our trip to Mt. Camon.”

“Oh! Why?”

“The House is worse damaged than I had any idea of and it will take at least a month, maybe more, to get it in shape to use. I’m sorry!”

“Oh, well, let’s go by airship, Tom. In the new, big dirigible.”

“That will hardly be ready, either. We’ll have to make some other plans, my dear. I’ll be home soon, and we’ll talk it over. Bring Ned to dinner? Why, of course. How about it?” he looked away to ask his chum.

“I’m on,” Ned answered.

There was a little more talk between Tom and his wife and as he hung up the receiver Eradicate, the aged colored man who now did nothing much but look after Mr. Swift, shuffled into the office with a look of concern on his face.

“What’s the matter, Rad?” asked Tom jokingly. “Have you and Koku been having another run in?”

The giant and the Negro were always more or less at swords’ points because of each one’s devotion to the Swifts.

“No, sah, Massa Tom, ’tain’t dat big, silly giant dis time!”

“What is it then? Are you mourning over your old mule Boomerang?”

“No, sah, ’tain’t dat, Massa Tom. It’s yo’ pa!”

“Dad! What’s the matter?” and Tom jumped to his feet.

“He’s tuck mighty bad, dat’s whut’s de mattah,” said Eradicate. “I didn’t want him to come down heah to-day, but he did, an’ now he’s tuck bad! Yo’ all better come an’ see to him.”

“Of course I’ll come at once.”

Tom hurried from his private office, followed by Ned, and hastened to that part of the plant where Mr. Swift had his own rooms, though he seldom came to them now.

“I hope nothing serious has happened!” mused Ned, as he followed his chum and the shuffling Eradicate.