" Mr. Damon was murmuring to himself
such remarks as:
"Bless my fountain pen! look at that chap turning upside
down! Bless my inkwell!"
"I beg your pardon," remarked Tom Swift, following the
remark of the man, whose face he was trying to recall. It
was not that Tom had not heard the question, but he was
trying to gain time before answering.
"I asked if you made this machine yourself," went on the
man, as he peered about at the Hawk. "It isn't like any I've
ever seen before, and I know something about airships. It
has some new wrinkles on it, and I thought you might have
evolved them yourself. Not that it's an amateur affair, by
any means!" he added hastily, as if fearing the young
inventor might resent the implication that his machine was a
home-made product.
"Yes, I originated this," answered Tom, as he put a new
turn-buckle in place; "but I didn't actually construct it--that
is, except for some small parts. It was made in the
shop--"
"Over at the army construction plant, I presume,"
interrupted the man quickly, as he motioned toward the big
factory, not far from Shopton, where aircraft for Uncle
Sam's Army were being turned out by the hundreds.
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