"Yes, everything seems to point to success, Tom," agreed Mr. Damon. "That is, unless the slight accident we had means trouble."
"Oh, no, that had nothing to do with the operation of the silencer. But I'm going to do better yet. Some day I'll take you for a ride in a silent machine which will make so little noise that you can hear a pin drop."
"Well," remarked Mr. Damon' with a laugh, "I don't know that listening to falling pins will give me any great amount of pleasure, Tom, but I appreciate your meaning."
"Everything all right?" asked Mr. Swift, as he came out to hear the details from his son. "Do you think you have solved the problem?"
"Not completely, but I'll soon be able to write Q. E. D. after it. Some refinements are all that are needed, Dad."
"Glad to hear it. I was a bit anxious."
Mr. Swift questioned his son about the technical details of the trip, asking how the motor had acted under the pressure caused by so completely muffling the exhaust, and for some minutes the two inventors, young and old, indulged in talk which was not at all interesting to Mr. Damon. They went into the house, and Tom asked to have a little lunch, which Mrs. Baggert set out for him.
"It's rather late to eat," said the young inventor, "but I always feel hungry after I test a new machine and find that it works pretty well. Will you join me in a sandwich or two, Mr. Damon?"
"Why, bless my ketchup bottle, I believe I will."
And so they ate and talked. Tom was on the point of telling his father something of the queer cry for help they had heard on the lonely meadow when Mrs. Baggert produced a letter which she said had come for Tom that afternoon, but had been mislaid by a new maid who had been engaged to help with the housework.