"I don't dare to, for the sake of my reputation," was the reply, for the balloonist who had made many ascensions, and dropped thousands of feet in parachutes, was naturally a brave man.
So he and Mr. Damon climbed into the rear seats of the odd-looking electric car, while Tom took his place at the steering wheel.
"Are you all ready?" he asked.
"Let her go!" fired back Mr. Sharp.
"Bless my galvanometer, don't go too fast on the start," cautioned Mr. Damon, nervously.
"I'll not," agreed the young inventor. "I want to get it warmed up before I try any speeding."
He turned on the current. There was a low, humming purr, which gradually increased to a whine, and the car moved slowly forward. It rolled along the gravel driveway to the road, Tom listening to every sound of the machinery, as a mother listens to the breathing of a child.
"She's moving!" he cried.
"But not much faster than a wheelbarrow," said his father, who sometimes teased his son.
"Wait!" cried the youth.