“We don’t know,” answered Ned.
“We can’t find him,” went on Mr. Swift gravely. “Do you know where he is, Mr. Damon?”
“Me? No, I haven’t seen him,” was the answer. “But I have some news, just the same.”
“News!” cried Ned. “What kind of news?”
“Not very good, I’m afraid. I’ll tell you about it.”
“How did you come to be flying so early in the morning?” Ned wanted to know.
“I came over specially to tell Tom the news,” was the answer. “I thought flying would be the quickest way. I tried to telephone, but I couldn’t raise you on the wire, Mr. Swift.”
“We have been using the wires to communicate with different parts of the plant,” said the old inventor. “That is probably why you could not get us. But I am anxious to hear anything about Tom.”
“I wish I could give you direct news of him,” went on Mr. Damon. “Bless my rubber boots! I’m so excited I hardly know which end I’m standing on—what with colliding with the mooring mast and all that! I wonder if I have damaged my new plane much?”
“Not much,” Ned reassured him. “We can soon put it in shape for you. But you can hardly fly back in it, and you might as well come into the private office and tell what you know.”