“Mr. Nestor!” gasped Tom.
“Tom, my boy! Did you really come to find us? My brave fellow!”
“I did not come expecting to find such a picture of health, Mr. Nestor,” declared Tom, clasping hands with the ex-invalid. “That crazy Raddiker wasn’t so crazy as I feared, was he? Why, Mr. Nestor, you are a picture!”
“I am a picture of a homesick man, believe me,” declared Mary’s father earnestly. “I don’t know how you got here, Tom; but I hope you can take us back home in a hurry.”
“Bless my seven-leagued boots! how you must have traveled to get here so quickly, Tom Swift,” Mr. Damon suddenly shouted. “How did you do it? I see the skipper must have got word of the wreck to you. But how did you fellows get here?”
“Through the air,” said Ned, laughing.
“The new flying boat?” demanded Mr. Nestor. “Is it a success, Tom?”
“Bless my flying carpet of Bagdad!” chuckled Mr. Damon. “Never thought of that! Where is she? Can you take us all back?”
“We hope to. Though it may be close crowding with the five sailors. By the way,” added Tom, “where are they?”
Instantly Mr. Wakefield Damon was very grave. Mr. Nestor said slowly: