"To keep the air from cutting your cheeks and lips. We are going to travel a hundred miles an hour this trip."
"A hundred miles an hour!" Dr. Hendrix spoke as though he would like to back out.
"Maybe more, if I can manage it," went on Tom, calmly, as he proceeded to remove the bag of sand from the place where the surgeon was to sit. Then he looked to the various equilibrium arrangements and the control levers. He was so cool about it, taking it all for granted, as if rising and flying through the air at a speed rivaling that of the fastest birds, was a matter of no moment, that Dr. Hendrix was impressed by the calm demeanor of the young inventor.
"Very well," said the surgeon with a shrug of his shoulders, "I guess I'm game, Tom Swift."
The doctor took the seat Tom pointed out to him, with his bag of instruments on his knees. He put on the face protector, and had, at the suggestion of our hero, donned a heavy coat.
"For it's cold in the upper regions," said Tom.
Several servants in the physician's household had gathered to see him depart in this novel fashion, and the chauffeur of the auto, in which the specialist usually made his calls, was also there.
"I'll give you a hand," said the chauffeur to the young inventor. "I was at an aviation meet once, and I know how it's done."
"Good," exclaimed Tom. "Then you can hold the machine, and shove when I give the word."
Tom started the propeller himself, and quickly jumped into his seat. The chauffeur held back the Humming-Bird until the young aviator had speeded up the motor.