“Don’t worry about my money, Med!” snapped out Mr. Swift, who, in spite of his age, seemed to have plenty of pep. He went on: “Ten thousand dollars won’t break me if I lose it, but I’m not going to. I say Tom can do it, but my saying so doesn’t seem to make you believe it. They say money talks, so I’m going to let mine do a little conversing for me. I say again, I’ll wager you ten thousand dollars that Tom can do it!”
“Bless my fountain pen, but I agree with you, Bart!” exclaimed Wakefield Damon, an eccentric friend of Tom and his father. “If anybody can turn that trick it’s my friend Tom.”
“But be reasonable,” suggested Mr. Trace. “Granting that Tom Swift has some speedy machines and that he has made good with them in the past, he hasn’t a piece of apparatus now capable of speed enough and varied activities enough, to enable him to make that trip in the time you are claiming he can do it in, Bart. It’s impossible!”
“I say it isn’t impossible!” replied the aged Mr. Swift. “And to show I’m in earnest I’ll wager a second ten thousand dollars with you, Medwell Trace, that Tom can complete the journey inside of the time mentioned.”
“Better go slow, Bart,” advised Mr. Burch, with a smile. “I may hold you to the wager you made with me. I didn’t turn it down. Why do you go to betting with Med before you close with me?”
“I thought I had closed with you,” stated Mr. Swift, in some surprise. He had drawn some sheets of paper toward him on his desk and was taking the top off his fountain pen ready to write out a memo of the wager.
“What!” cried Mr. Burch. “Are you making a double bet? With Med and with me?”
“That’s what I’m doing!”
“For ten thousand dollars each?”
“That’s right!” and Mr. Swift seemed surprised that anybody should doubt his word.