There was
an unexpected note in the man's voice. The face of the young
inventor lightened, and the doubts melted away.
"No, it isn't far," Tom answered, shouting to be heard
above the crackling bangs of the motor. And then, as the
craft soared into the air, he cried exultingly:
"I have it! I know who he is! The scoundrel! His beard
fooled me, and he probably didn't know me with these goggles
on. But now I know him!"
"Bless my calendar!" cried Mr. Damon. "What are you
talking about?"
But Tom did not answer, for the reason that just then the
Hawk fell into an "air pocket," and needed all his attention
to straighten her out and get her on a level course again.
And while Tom Swift is thus engaged in speeding his
aircraft along the upper regions toward his home, it will
take but a few moments to acquaint my new readers with
something of the history of the young inventor. Those who
have read the previous books in this series need be told
nothing about our hero.
Tom Swift was an inventor of note, as was his father. Mr.
Swift was now quite aged and not in robust health, but he
was active at times and often aided Tom when some knotty
point came up.
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