“You’ve run a bus?” asked Tom.
“In France,” was the sufficient answer.
By this time the punt had been poled through the mud, water, and quicksand of the cranberry bog far enough so that all danger was past. It was shoved against the point of land on which the two men had run out as they leaped from their auto, which they said they had left back on the highway.
“Well, I guess you’ll be all right now,” remarked the tall man as Tom and Mary got out of the punt.
“Yes, thanks to you,” said the young inventor.
“If we can drop you anywhere in our flivver,” went on the short man, “we’ll do it.”
“If you can take us to the Swift plant,” said Tom, “it will be a great accommodation.”
“We’ll do that,” said the short man, as his companion made the punt fast to a stump. “That Tom Swift is the big inventor, isn’t he! Do you know him?”
“Slightly,” was the answer, with a smile.
“This is Tom Swift!” exclaimed Mary, unable to resist the opportunity. She indicated Tom.