All his close friends were with Tom in the office on the memorable night when his hopes became certainty. His father, Ned and Mr. Damon had hung breathlessly on his final calculations, and when he at last looked up with the triumphant smile that could mean only one thing, they were almost as jubilant as he and overwhelmed him with congratulations.

“Bless my oil stocks!” cried Mr. Damon, slapping him on the shoulder. “Tom, my boy, you’re a wonder.”

“You’ve got all other inventors tied to the mast and screeching for help,” affirmed Ned, as he wrung his friend’s hand.

“I knew you would do it,” said his father quietly, as he wiped his glasses. And to Tom this calm, affectionate assurance was the sweetest praise of all.

“Are you sure that the patent has been attended to all right?” asked Mr. Damon anxiously.

“You can bet,” answered Tom. “We had a wire from Reid and Crawford, our Washington lawyers, to-day, and they tell us that everything is O. K. It doesn’t infringe on any previous patent, and the idea of the drill is entirely new. The lawyers themselves think it’s great.”

“The next thing, I suppose,” went on Mr. Damon, “will be to get in touch with some of the big companies, tell them what your drill can do, give them a demonstration and then lean back and let them bid against each other.”

“N-no,” replied Tom thoughtfully, “I don’t think that will be the next thing. I’m not quite ready for that.”

The whole company looked at him in surprise.

“Just what do you mean by that?” asked Ned, in a puzzled way.

“Why,” said Tom, “I’ve been thinking that I might go down to the oil fields and take a whirl myself at oil-well digging. What’s the matter,” he added with a grin, “with becoming a magnate on my own account?”

There was a chorus of exclamations. None had had the slightest intimation that Tom had been thinking of anything of the kind.

“What’s put that idea into your head?” asked his father.

“I’ve been reading and thinking so much about oil lately that it’s sort of got a grip on me,” replied Tom. “I’m eager to see the thing at first hand. Then, too, I want to put the drill to work on a real honest-to-goodness well. I’ll be much better qualified after that to talk business to any one who may want to buy the invention. Then, too, I may find that we can make more money by keeping the invention for ourselves than we can by selling it to somebody. Of course, it’s only an idea as yet, and I haven’t thought it through. My present impression, however, is that I’ll go down there.”

“When do you think of going?” asked Ned.

“Just as soon as we get this oil-well machinery contract off our hands,” was the answer. “Say, about a month from now. How would you like to go with me, Ned?”

“I’d like it above all things,” answered Ned. “I guess we could get things in shape so that the business would go on all right for the few weeks we’d be gone. And your father would be here to supervise things generally.”

“Bless my railroad ticket! I’ll go along too,” exclaimed their eccentric friend. “I always like to keep an eye on what Tom is doing. I’ve had a hankering, too, for a long time to see what an oil field is like. Count me in on this. That is, of course, if you want me.”

“You bet we want you,” said Tom cordially. “It wouldn’t seem natural if you weren’t somewhere within hail. My airplane will easily carry the three of us.”

“Bless my life insurance! No, no,” cried Mr. Damon. “You young fellows can go that way, but I’m a little too much under the weather just now for that. The railroad will be plenty good enough for me this time. But I’ll make the trip so that I’ll get there about the same time you do.”

“Why, Mr. Damon, are you really going to give up sky flying?” questioned Tom, in surprise.

“Only this time, Tom. Bless my wings! I can’t be with you always. Besides, I’ve got to stop off at Washington and maybe one or two other cities on business. But, as I said before, I’ll fix it so I’ll get down there about the same time you do.”

There was some further discussion of the matter, and when they separated, the trip had been practically decided upon, only the exact date remaining to be fixed later on.

The next night Tom ran up to make a call on Mary. He had been so engrossed of late with his invention that he had been able to see her but seldom, although there had not been a day when they had not talked together over the telephone. But feeling toward each other as Tom and Mary did, the telephone, they found, was a very inadequate substitute for a face-to-face talk.

To Mary, Tom had confided the fact that he was working on a new invention, but he had not laid much stress upon it, as he did not want to raise her expectations so high that she would feel keenly disappointed if it should amount to nothing.

Now, however, he had succeeded and was in high feather. He pictured to himself the delight on her face when he should tell her of the new invention and what he hoped from it. Her praise would be his greatest reward. His happiness in success would be doubled by her sharing in it.

He stopped on his way to buy some candy; and flowers, and, thus furnished, hurried along to Mary’s house and rang the bell.

Instead of a happy face it was a frightened one that Tom saw when Mary opened the door. But it lighted with infinite relief when she saw who it was.

“Oh, Tom, I’m so glad, so glad that you’ve come!” she exclaimed. “I never needed you so much.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Tom, in quick alarm. “Any one sick?”

“No,” said Mary. “It’s that horrid man—that Hankinshaw. He forced himself into the house on the pretext that he wanted to talk business with father. He’s been drinking. He——”

But Tom had already dropped his packages. Be went into the living room with a rush. Mrs. Nestor, pale-faced and agitated, was standing in a corner wringing her hands. Mr. Nestor, still far from robust after his recent illness, was expostulating with Hankinshaw and trying to push him outside of the room.

Tom took it all in with a glance. The next instant he had grabbed Hankinshaw by the collar and whirled him around.

A look of fear came into the red mottled face of Hankinshaw when he saw who had hold of him.

“Leggo o’ me,” he said, in a thick voice. “Whazzer matter with you, anyhow? Regular Buttinski!”

Without saying a word, Tom, with one push of his sinewy arm, shoved the fellow out of the room. Without relinquishing his grasp on his collar he forced him through the hall. Mary shrank aside as she watched them coming.

“Hold the door open, Mary, please,” said Tom.

She did so and the two antagonists passed out.

“Now close it again, please,” called Tom, who did not want her to see what was going to happen.

The instant the door clicked Tom released his hold on Hankinshaw’s collar, measured the distance and gave him a tremendous kick that sent him forward as though he had been struck by a catapult. The man tried to keep his balance, but was unable to do so and went down to the sidewalk on his hands and knees. He scrambled snarling to his feet, to find himself facing Tom, whose face was blazing with wrath.

“Now take yourself off, you loafer,” commanded Tom. “That kick was only a sample of what I’ll do to you if you don’t. Get along now, or I’ll muss you up so that your best friends won’t know you.”

There was such deadly determination in the youth’s voice and the force of that kick had been so mighty that Hankinshaw, who had clenched his fists, thought better of it and, contenting himself with a string of coarse expressions, slouched on along the street. Tom watched him until he had disappeared and then returned to the door, which opened at his approach.

“I hope you didn’t get into a fight, Tom,” Mary said anxiously.

Tom’s eyes twinkled.

“Nothing like that,” he laughed. “Do I look it? Is my hair mussed? No, I simply had a little football practice. Hankinshaw was the football. I kicked him for a goal. I guess you won’t see any more of him. He’s due to get out of this town anyway in a few days more.”

Mary sighed happily.

“You’re our good angel, Tom,” she said. “You saved my father’s life once, and you always turn up when I need you most. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“You won’t have to do without me,” replied Tom. “In fact, you couldn’t lose me if you tried,” and he grinned broadly.

Mary’s parents thanked Tom heartily for his opportune appearance and the way he had rid them of their obnoxious visitor, and then, because they were wise parents, they slipped away on different pretexts and left the young people to themselves.

Tom’s new invention and his projected trip to Texas were eagerly discussed by the pair. As regards the first, Mary was enthusiastic.

“It’s simply wonderful,” she said, after Tom had detailed to her as far as he could the plan of his drill, what it had already done and what he expected it to do. “I don’t see where on earth you get all those ideas of yours from. Think of all the men who have been studying along those lines for years without hitting on the thing that you’ve developed in a few weeks.”

“Oh, some one has to think of it first,” replied Tom. “Then, too, remember that I had the benefit of what others have already done. It’s like a band of pioneers going through a forest and taking turns cutting down the trees to make a trail. Some one of them gets the axe that cuts down the last tree. But he wouldn’t be there to cut it down if he hadn’t walked up to it along the paths that the other fellows have made first.”

“That’s just your modest way of putting it,” said Mary. “In this case the last tree was the toughest, and you cut it down in half the time any one else would. So there.”

“I’d like to have you on the jury if I were being tried for my life,” laughed Tom.

But concerning the trip to Texas, Mary was not by any means so enthusiastic. In fact, her pretty lips had a decided pout.

“It’s an awfully long way off,” she said, “and when you get down there with your old oil well you’ll forget all about poor little me.”

“Don’t worry, Mary,” he answered. “I’ll write every day.”

The next few days flew by as though on wings, for every waking hour was crowded. There were many details to be attended to in connection with the approaching trip. Tom had decided to take along with him the flying boat that he had used in his trip to Iceland. It was a bigger one than he ordinarily would have needed, but he wanted to carry along a good deal of material in addition to that which he would send by rail, so that he would lose no time in getting to work on the oil well he proposed to dig. The plane needed a good deal of overhauling to get it into perfect condition, and Tom often found himself wishing that he had a dozen hands instead of only two.

Ned, too, had troubles to adjust and was kept as busy, to use his expression, as a “one-armed paperhanger with the hives.” The contract with the Hankinshaw crowd had been completed and the material was ready for shipment. But the final check in payment was slow in coming. When at last it did come, Ned advised that they should not at once ship the machinery. He telegraphed the bank and found that there was not sufficient money on hand to meet the check when presented. The idea of the sharpers had been, of course, that in the ordinary course the check would not be presented for several days at the California bank. Then, if refused, several days more would elapse before the protested check would get back to Shopton. By that time they figured that the material would be far on its way to Texas and the Swift Construction Company could whistle for its money.

“But anybody that gets the best of Ned Newton in financial matters will have to get up pretty early in the morning, and the Hankinshaw crowd did not get up early enough,” laughed Tom.

Ned’s precautionary telegram thwarted the scheme, and the foiled conspirators, after lame explanations, were forced to pay in actual cash—no check this time—for the final payment. Then the stop order was lifted and the material was put on board the train for its long journey to the oil fields.

“And that’s that,” remarked Ned, with a sigh of relief after the last detail had been attended to. “Thank goodness, that’s off our hands. The Swift Construction Company never had so much bother with a contract in its life. When those fellows want some more machinery, I’d say, let them apply to some one else. We’re fed up with them.”

“Right you are,” agreed Tom. “Just what part of Texas did you ship it to?”

“Copperhead,” answered Ned. “That’s right in the heart of a newly developed oil region.”

“Copperhead,” repeated Tom. “Sounds like a snake.”

“There’ll be some snakes there when the Hankinshaw crowd get on the job,” affirmed Ned.

“I think we’ll make that our destination,” said Tom thoughtfully.

“Why?” asked Ned.

“Well,” said Tom, “we’ve got to pick out some place to begin, and that’s probably as good as any other. Then, too, I have some curiosity to see what Hankinshaw and his brother snakes are doing.”

“Whom they’re doing, you mean,” suggested Ned.

“I suppose that would be more correct,” said Tom with a smile. “What I’m thinking of especially is that old blind man that Mr. Damon told us about. You remember, don’t you, that he said that the Hankinshaw crowd were out to swindle him out of his property? Perhaps we can put a spoke in their wheel.”

Ned groaned.

“Great Scott, Tom!” he exclaimed. “Can’t you stick to business and stop looking for trouble?”

Tom grinned at the earnestness in Ned’s tone.

“Don’t be worried, old boy,” he said. “We’ll give all the attention to business that it needs. But if on the side we can at the same time help an old fellow along, why shouldn’t we? But that’s a matter that we can settle when we come to it. All we have to do now is to get ready for the trip.”

Before he left for Texas, Tom went up again to the hospital to get news of the young aviator.

“Oh, he’s getting along,” replied Dr. Sherwood to Tom’s question. “That is, physically. His leg has mended, though he still has to use a cane. But his head isn’t clear yet. He can’t talk intelligently. As a matter of fact, perhaps he never will.”

“You don’t mean that he may be insane for the rest of his life!” exclaimed Tom, genuinely shocked.

“That’s among the possibilities,” affirmed the doctor. “Though considering his youth and vitality—he’s a strong young fellow—the chances are that he’ll recover. Still, no one can tell. You can go out and take a look at him yourself if you like. He’s sunning himself on a bench in the garden.”

Tom went out and seated himself on the bench beside the invalid. He had a good look at him for the first time under anything like normal conditions. The young aviator had evidently been sinewy and stalwart when in health, judging from his frame, though now thin from his long illness. His face must have been a pleasant one, though marred now by the vacant look in his eyes.

Tom tried to get in conversation with him.

“How are you, Hillobie?” he asked, using the name at a venture.

The boy looked at him without any sign of interest and made no reply. Tom tried again several times but fruitlessly, and at last had to give it up. He left the hospital in a depressed mood, wondering if, after all, he had done the young man a real service in saving his life. Of what use was life without reason?

The Swift Construction Company hurried things along, and in about a week Tom was ready for the start. The young inventor had decided to take Koku with him, as his great strength and loyal devotion might prove invaluable. The giant was in great glee and grinned from ear to ear when apprised of Tom’s decision, but Rad was thoroughly disgusted.

“To hev dat big chunk o’ beef clutterin’ up the plane!” he snorted. “Doan know whut you must be t’inkin’ uv, Marse Tom.”

“But don’t you see, Rad,” said Tom soothingly, trying to keep a serious face, “that I wouldn’t dare go off and leave this place alone without you to take care of things? How could I have an easy minute unless I could keep saying to myself: ‘Everything’s all right at home. Rad’s on the job?’ ”

The old negro bridled up proudly.

“Guess yo’s right, Marse Tom,” he chuckled, all his resentment vanishing. “Didn’t see it dat way befo’. Takes brains to run dis yere house. An’ when it cums to brains, dat big grampus Koku ain’t dere. Nussah, he jes’ ain’t dere.”

So peace was reëstablished between Tom’s faithful retainers, each of whom thought the other had special reason to envy him.

At last all was ready. Tom had had a long and tender interview with Mary, the final directions had been given for the running of the works during the absence of Tom and Ned, and one bright morning, with many of Tom’s friends and all the workmen assembled to bid the voyagers Godspeed, the Winged Arrow rose like a huge bird from the grounds of the plant, soared high in air to the altitude of two thousand feet, and turned her nose toward the oil fields of Texas.

Tom had figured that, barring accidents and with ordinary good luck, he would be able to reach his destination on the following day. This was asking a good deal of the Winged Arrow, but the result justified Tom’s confidence. The engines ran like a dream, the weather was superb, neither fog nor storm intervened, and on the afternoon of the following day those in the airship sighted the town of which they were in search.

It lay beneath them sprawling in the heat of the Texas sun, one of the hastily built pioneer towns that spring up like magic in the wake of an oil strike. It was a mere collection of wooden shacks that looked as though little more than a breath would be required to blow them down. But they sufficed for the immediate needs of the hardy adventurers who were seeking a quick road to fortune. Many had found it, many more hoped to find it. The man “stony broke” in the morning might be a millionaire before night.

Tom circled about, looking for a likely landing place. This was not a matter of much difficulty, for there was a host of open spaces on the outskirts of the town. He soon found one suited to his purpose, and the Winged Arrow came down as softly as a swan.

Scarcely had she stopped before the passengers were out on the ground, stretching their cramped legs on Texas soil. It was a delightful change after their long confinement in the plane. The warmth, too, was congenial, contrasting as it did so strongly with the chill of the upper air. They were in high spirits over the successful termination of the flight. Tom and Ned laughed aloud, and Koku was one broad grin.

“So far, so good,” remarked Tom, patting the Winged Arrow proudly. “You certainly are the goods, old girl. Now for the town and a hot meal. You’ll have to stay here and mind the plane, Koku, but we’ll see that you get yours later.”

In a few minutes they were in the town. It was their first experience in such surroundings, and they looked about them curiously.

There was no pretence at order or regularity in the shacks that served as dwellings and business houses. It seemed as though they had been built wherever the traveler had dropped his pack. There was one main street, a long, straggling, crooked thoroughfare, from which a number of smaller streets branched off here and there at irregular intervals. The houses were of the rudest description. Two or three men and one day would have sufficed to build most of them. Many of them were of the one-story type with one or two rooms and earth floors. Others, more pretentious, had two stories, the lower part occupied for business purposes and the upper floor as a residence. Let the mere tail-end of a Texas norther come along and they would all have been leveled to the ground like a pack of cards.

Most of the “business” houses were saloons and dance halls. The prohibition law was largely a dead letter as far as Copperhead was concerned. From almost every door the young men passed came the rattle of dice and the clink of bottle against glass, the wheeze of an old accordion or raucous jazz music from a phonograph.

Through the main street passed an almost endless column of wide-wheeled trucks with tugging horses straining in the harness, the trucks themselves loaded with iron casings, and, some of them, with red flags at the back, carrying enough nitro-glycerine to blow the town sky-high in the event of a collision. Weaving in and out of these were dusty automobiles, mule carts driven by negroes, “buggies,” every kind of conveyance, some of them looking as though they dated back to Revolutionary times. Other vehicles were parked in rows about saloons, on the front porches of which loungers sat in tipped-back chairs.

And derricks! There were derricks everywhere, some of them in the town itself, in back yards where the precious fluid had been discovered. Some of the buildings were plastered with oil that had spattered against them in a black flood when a strike had been made. And all about the town for as far as the eye could reach rose a multitude of derricks in a perfect forest, towering, some of them, to the height of eighty or a hundred feet.

Through the roughly dressed multitudes that thronged the principal street, Tom and Ned threaded their way. Airplanes had become common in that locality, and no one paid any especial attention to the aviator suits in which the youths were clad. There was little choice as to restaurants. None of them was good, and it was only a question of which was the least bad. Even this could not be determined at a glance, and the lads finally entered one that seemed to be at least no worse than the others.

Nor was there much choice as to food. The rough-looking waiter in a dirty apron told them they could have corned beef and cabbage or ham and eggs. They ordered the latter, which soon made their appearance, accompanied by cups of weak, muddy coffee. Then, while they ate, they looked curiously about them.

The restaurant, like all others in the town, was only an adjunct to a saloon, and the sale of drinks was much more profitable than that of food. Before the bar a long line of the thirsty stood.

Suddenly Ned nudged Tom.

“Look who’s here,” he whispered.

Tom looked in the direction indicated, and among the men standing at the bar saw Hankinshaw. The mottled face was even redder than usual.

“Can’t seem to avoid that fellow,” remarked Tom disgustedly. “He’s a regular jinx.”

Either Hankinshaw had not seen them or he had not recognized them in their aviators’ suits, for he paid no attention to them. He took one drink more and then lurched unsteadily out of the place.

Tom and Ned finished their meal and went to the shack that served as post-office and telegraph station. Tom sent off messages to his father and Mary, announcing their safe arrival, and then made some inquiries of the telegraph operator, a bright young college boy who was “fingering the key” to earn some extra money during his vacation.

“Is the town of Goby near here?” asked Tom.

“No town of that name in this section,” was the answer. “But there’s a Goby farm owned by a man of that name about four miles from here.”

“I guess that’s the place I have in mind,” said Tom, “though from what a friend of mine told me I thought it was the name of a town. Is the owner of it a blind man?”

“Yes,” was the answer. “A nice old fellow he is, too, and he has a daughter that’s a perfect peach.”

“Tell me about him, will you?”

“I understand that he’s a Northerner who came down to this part of the country to regain his health. Since he came here he’s gone blind. I imagine he’s had rather hard sledding to get along on his half section of land. That is, before the oil craze began. As far as I can learn, his property is right in the midst of the oil region, and he’ll probably be able to sell it at a good price. That is, if he doesn’t get cheated out of it. Some of these oil prospectors are a pretty slick lot. They’d steal the penny off a dead man’s eyes, and they’d rob a blind man as quickly as they’d take a drink.”

“I suppose so,” remarked Tom. “You say that this farm is about four miles from here. Could you give us more exact directions?”

The obliging operator could and did, and Tom and Ned hurried back to their plane, taking with them two quarts of coffee and a double portion of ham and eggs and rolls that they had had put up for the faithful Koku.

While the giant feasted, Tom took his bearings, and as soon as Koku had finished they climbed into the Winged Arrow and turned it in the direction of the Goby farm. To make a mile a minute was nothing to the powerful plane, and in less than five minutes it was hovering over a homestead which answered to the description that the operator had given. It was in slightly rolling country with several hills in the vicinity, differing from the unrelieved flat plain on which Copperhead stood. It was a pleasant place and seemed like an oasis amid the throng of derricks that reared themselves on every side.

The house itself was a substantial two-story structure with a sloping roof. There were white curtains at the windows and a perfect riot of flowers at the front and around two sides of the building. The whiteness and the daintiness of the curtains seemed to show the presence of a feminine hand.

Tom made a landing about three hundred feet from the house. A movement among the curtains showed that the roar of the engine had attracted attention from at least one of the inmates. Leaving Koku with the plane, Tom and Ned made their way to the house.

Tom knocked and the door was promptly opened by one of the most charming girls imaginable. She was slightly above medium height, had a perfect figure, beautifully formed features, and wavy chestnut hair and limpid brown eyes. It was evident that the enthusiastic young telegraph operator had not erred when he had described her.

To Tom, with his mind and heart full of Mary, she was simply a very pretty girl. To Ned, she seemed a heavenly vision, the sweetest thing he had ever seen.

“Does Mr. Goby live here?” asked Tom, removing his cap.

“Yes,” was the reply, in a soft, musical voice that completed Ned’s undoing. “I am his daughter. Won’t you walk in?”

“My name is Swift,” said Tom, as they accepted her invitation, “and this is my friend, Mr. Newton. We came to see your father on a little business matter.”

“If you will sit down,” she said, as she ushered them into the living room and indicated chairs, “I will call him.”

She vanished, followed by Ned’s eyes. Tom, looking at his friend, saw him staring at the door through which she had disappeared.

“Hard hit, old boy?” he bantered. “Come out of your trance.”

Ned glared at him, but before he could frame a suitable retort the young girl came back, accompanied by a man whom she introduced as her father. Then she excused herself, flushing a trifle as she caught the all too evident admiration in Ned’s eyes.

Mr. Goby was a medium-built man somewhat over fifty, with a kindly and intelligent face. He wore a pair of colored spectacles, evidently to cover his loss of sight. The young men took to him at once.

After a few preliminary remarks, Tom launched into the object of their visit. He told him that he and a few of his friends had decided to go into an oil venture, and were looking about for a likely spot to commence operations. They had selected the Copperhead district and had noted that his farm was right in the center of the producing field. Did Mr. Goby care to sell or lease all or part of his property? If he did, Tom thought they might make a deal, as he and his associates were prepared to offer perfectly fair terms.

The blind man listened attentively, though, for a time, the boys could not tell whether interestedly or not.

“Well,” said he, “it seems highly probable that oil abounds on this farm of mine. All my friends have told me so, and the fact that rich strikes have been made all around it seems to confirm the probability. Then, too, I’ve had a number of offers from speculators and prospectors. One group in particular have been especially pressing. A man named Thompson with two of his friends have seemed very anxious to make some arrangement. But—” here Mr. Goby hesitated for a moment—“perhaps it isn’t fair to say so, but there’s something about them that doesn’t seem to ring quite true. What they offer sounds fair enough, but, somehow, I don’t quite feel as though I could trust them. My daughter, Carol, who is pretty shrewd, feels the same way about it.”

“I see,” murmured Tom, nodding.

“You see,” continued Mr. Goby, after some further talk concerning the offer Tom was prepared to make, “I’m at a disadvantage on account of my blindness. So I have to leave most of my business affairs in the hands of an old friend of mine, Judge Wilson, of the district court. I’ve referred this Mr. Thompson and his partners to the judge, but for some reason or other they seem reluctant to deal with him. They say that I’m the owner of the property, and they’d rather deal direct with me than through my attorney. But how can I sign papers that I haven’t read? To be sure, my daughter could read them to me, but even then I’m not versed in legal matters, and there might be some clause in the contract that would seem perfectly innocent and yet be used to rob me. This farm is all I have in the world, and I have to look out for the future of my daughter.”

“You are perfectly right, Mr. Goby,” declared Tom. “Men who refuse to submit a contract to a lawyer are to be distrusted on general principles. No honest man would object. As far as myself and my associates are concerned, we are ready, with your approval, to submit our proposition to Judge Wilson and have him draw up the papers.”

“That sounds fair,” replied the blind man. “If you like, I’ll have my daughter telephone to the judge and ask him to come over to-morrow. By the way, where are you stopping in town?” Mr. Goby had taken a liking to the boys, both so frank and friendly.

“Why, the fact is,” answered Tom, “we haven’t made any arrangements yet. We just reached here to-day and came right over. We’ll have to fix that up when we go back.”

“You don’t need to do anything in a rush,” said Mr. Goby heartily. “We have plenty of room here, and maybe we could let you stay with us, especially if we come to a deal to work the farm for oil. You might stay to-night, if you care to.” And so, a little later, with Carol’s consent, it was arranged.

“Seem to be mighty nice people, Ned,” remarked Tom, after the young inventor and his chum had been shown to a room where they might wash and make themselves otherwise presentable.

“You are right, Tom; and I hope we come to a satisfactory arrangement with them.”

“So do I.”

“It would be great to strike something big down here, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, we mustn’t let our imagination run away with us. We’ll have to take what comes.”

They had an excellent supper, prepared by Carol with the assistance of an old colored mammy, and a very delightful evening, spent chiefly by Tom in conversation with Mr. Goby, whom he found to be well informed and an entertaining talker.

Ned had developed a sudden interest in flowers, and was very anxious to have Carol show him her garden. She was not unwilling, for this handsome young man who seemed to have dropped down on them from the skies was not an unwelcome visitor.

“Carol’s a beautiful name,” murmured Ned later that night, as he and Tom were getting ready for bed in the comfortable room to which they had been shown.

Tom stopped in his work of unlacing a shoe and stared at him.

“Sounds like the singing of birds,” mused Ned dreamily.

“For the love of Pete!” cried Tom, “what’s the matter with you?”

“Oh,” said Ned in some confusion, “did I say anything? Guess I must have been thinking out loud.”

The next day Judge Wilson came over to the farm. He was a keen, cultivated man of high standing in the legal profession.

“Swift,” he repeated, when he was introduced to Tom. “That’s a famous name. Any relation to the inventor, Tom Swift?”

Tom flushed with embarrassment.

“A slight relation,” put in Ned, with a laugh. “In fact, he’s the man himself.”

“But you’re only a boy, lad!” exclaimed the judge, in wonderment.

“Old enough to have a number of good inventions to his credit,” affirmed Ned.

“I’m amazed!” cried the judge, when finally convinced that the boy before him was the noted inventor, Tom Swift. “Well, well, this is indeed an honor! I’ve heard a lot about your wonderful inventions—who hasn’t?—but I never expected to have the pleasure of shaking you by the hand.”

As a matter of fact, the recognition stood Tom in good stead. It simplified matters immensely. His standing was established at once, and the tedious delay otherwise necessary in looking up his references was obviated.

They were deep in the discussion of terms, when Ned, who happened to be facing the window, saw an automobile coming up the road. It stopped at the gate and three men got out.

Ned gave a low whistle of surprise as he recognized them, and Tom and the judge looked up inquiringly.

“Hankinshaw and his partners,” explained Ned.

“Friends of yours?” asked the judge.

“No,” replied Ned. “We’ve known them chiefly in a business way. We——”

Further explanations were prevented by a knock on the door. Carol opened it and ushered the three men into the room.

Blank surprise showed in the faces of all of them when they caught sight of Tom and Ned, who had risen on their entrance. The blank looks were quickly succeeded by looks of intense vexation. Thompson and Bragden, as the more diplomatic of the trio, banished these promptly, but Hankinshaw’s brows remained drawn together in a forbidding scowl.

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” said Thompson suavely, as the visitors seated themselves. “Who would have thought that you were down in this part of the country? On a little pleasure trip, I suppose?”

“More business than pleasure,” answered Tom coolly.

“Looking for contracts to make some more oil-well machinery?” asked Bragden.

“No,” returned Tom. “Though if any came our way we might consider them. We’re going to do a little digging on our own account.”

“In this neighborhood?” asked Thompson, looking with alarm at the papers that lay on the table near Judge Wilson’s elbow.

“Yes,” replied Tom, who was getting a little impatient at this cross-examination. “Right on this farm, if Mr. Goby and I can come to terms.”

“Cutting in under us, eh?” snarled Hankinshaw. “Poaching on our preserves.”

“That remark is quite uncalled for,” remarked Judge Wilson, entering the conversation for the first time since the introduction. “Why do you use the phrase ‘our preserves’? These gentlemen have no option or claim of any kind on the property, have they, Mr. Goby?” he continued, turning to the blind man.

“Not at all,” replied the owner of the farm. “They have discussed the matter with me several times, but no agreement has been reached.”

“No written agreement perhaps,” broke in Thompson. “But I certainly thought that we had reached a verbal agreement, or at least a practical understanding the last time we were over here.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Bragden, backing up his partner.

“Sure we did,” growled Hankinshaw.

“Nothing of the kind,” returned Mr. Goby indignantly. “That is wholly your own assumption. I distinctly told you then, as I had told you before, that you would have to take the matter up with Judge Wilson and that I would do nothing without his approval.”

The judge looked at the three men keenly.

“I have always been within easy reach,” he remarked. “May I ask why you have not brought the matter to my attention?”

“Our plan has always been to save expense and delay by dealing directly with the owners of property,” replied Thompson.

“Even when that owner happens to be a blind man?” asked the judge, with a tinge of sarcasm in his tone.

“His daughter could read the papers to him,” replied Thompson defensively.

“A blind man and an inexperienced young girl,” mused Judge Wilson, and before the contempt expressed, Thompson and Bragden winced, while Hankinshaw glared.

“Do you give me authority to deal with these gentlemen, Mr. Goby?” asked the judge.

“Absolutely,” returned the blind man. “Whatever you say or do will be wholly satisfactory to me.”

“That being the case, gentlemen,” said the judge, turning to the three partners, “I think we will not detain you any longer. You are doubtless busy men and have many things to attend to.”

It was a clear case of dismissal. Thompson fumed white with anger, as he and Bragden rose from their chairs.

“You may regret this,” said Thompson threateningly, moving toward the door.

“Possibly,” replied Judge Wilson indifferently, turning toward his papers.

“You bet you will,” bullied Hankinshaw, who remained obstinately planted in his chair.

Tom sprang to his feet.

“Miss Goby,” he said, “would you mind stepping from the room for a moment?”

The young girl vanished through a door at the back.

Tom went to the front door and threw it open.

“Just to save Mr. Hankinshaw the trouble,” he remarked.

“I’ll go when I get ready,” snarled Hankinshaw, who was fighting mad at the collapse of his scheme. “I’ll——”

He stopped short as the gigantic form of Koku blocked the door.

“Come in, Koku,” said Tom. “By the way, Hankinshaw, you remember Koku, don’t you? You met him the night that you couldn’t sleep. He’s a genial sort of fellow, and——”

But Hankinshaw at the sight of Koku had risen from his chair with alacrity and followed his partners from the room.

When they had gone, Tom and Ned and the judge got down to business, and it was not long before they had settled on terms.

Tom had agreed previously with Ned and Mr. Damon that they would go into the oil venture as partners with equal investments and equal profits or losses. And the terms that were made with Mr. Goby were not only fair, but generous. He was to receive a large lump sum at once for the privilege accorded Tom and his partners of drilling on his farm. If the venture failed, he would still have the farm and a large sum of money. If oil were struck, he was to have a good share of the profits. So that either way he would win.

With the contract signed, Tom and Ned set to work. Through the aid of Judge Wilson, they were able to secure the services of experienced and reliable drillers. Much of their material had already arrived, and other necessaries were secured from the owners of abandoned wells in the vicinity.

In a surprisingly short time, a derrick was rigged, the machinery installed, and all was ready for the venture.

“Now,” said Tom, on the morning they started work, as he patted lovingly his new patent drill, “don’t fall down on me. Show me what you can do.”

While he was busy with these preparations, Tom had not come across any of the Hankinshaw crowd, but from various sources he heard that they were furious at their failure to get hold of the Goby farm and that they were making dire threats of getting even. But he was too busy to pay any attention to these. He felt perfectly confident of his ability to take care of himself no matter what they might do. Not so Mr. Damon.

“They’ll be after us, Tom,” said the eccentric man, one day, and his manner showed his nervousness.

“You bet they’ll be after us,” put in Ned. “Especially if we strike oil.”

“We’ll keep our eyes trimmed for them,” answered the young inventor. “For Hankinshaw especially,” he added soberly. He had seen a look in that rascal’s eyes that proved the unscrupulous fellow was becoming desperate.