“But that’s just the trouble,” went on Dolan, in a weak voice. “She isn’t acting properly.”
“Seems to be some obstruction in the oil feed line,” said Wright.
“Use the other,” Tom promptly advised.
“They’re both feeding slowly,” was the answer. “If the oil stops, we stop too!” Tom well knew that.
“You get down to the cabin, Dolan,” advised the young inventor. “Mr. Damon will look after you—he’s a traveling medicine chest. But have you been eating or drinking with strangers?”
“Nothing like that, Mr. Swift—no, sir! I only ate meals I was sure of, and at the hangar too. I never drank anything but water—not even sodas, for I know they can knock you out in hot weather. I think somebody got in the hangar and doped my food.”
“It’s possible,” admitted Tom. “How about you?” he asked the assistant.
“I’m all right—I can stick.”
“Well, we may need you later. You go down now with Dolan and look after him, and send Mr. Newton up here.”
Having given these orders, Tom began looking over the machinery. He was engaged in this when Ned came up to help, reporting that Mr. Damon was looking after the ill mechanician.