"I think so," replied the other seriously.
"Come on back, and we'll see what damage was done," proposed Tom. "Maybe we can rig up another container, mix some fresh gas, and make the final experiment this afternoon."
"Now do be careful," cautioned Mr. Swift, the aged inventor, once more. "I'm afraid you two have set too hard a task for yourselves this time."
"No we haven't, dad," answered his son. "You'll see us yet skimming along above the clouds."
"Humph! If you go above the clouds I shan't be very likely to see you. But go slowly, now. Don't blow the place up again."
Mr. Swift went into the house, followed by Mrs. Baggert, who was loudly bewailing the fate of her bread. Tom and Mr. Sharp started toward the shop where they had been working. It was one of several buildings, built for experimental purposes and patent work by Mr. Swift, near his home.
"It didn't do so very much damage," observed Tom, as he peered in through a window, void of all the panes of glass. "We can start right in."
"Hold on! Wait! Don't try it now!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp, who talked in short, snappy sentences, which, however, said all he meant. "The fumes of that gas aren't good to breathe. Wait, until they have blown away. It won't be long. It's safer."
He began to cough, choking from the pungent odor, and Tom felt an unpleasant tickling sensation in his throat.
"Take a walk around," advised Mr. Sharp. "I'll be looking over the blue prints. Let's have 'em."