"No we haven't, dad," answered his son. "You'll see us yet skimming along above the clouds."
"Humph! If you go above the clouds I shan't be very likely to see you. But go slowly, now. Don't blow the place up again."
Mr. Swift went into the house, followed by Mrs. Baggert, who was loudly bewailing the fate of her bread. Tom and Mr. Sharp started toward the shop where they had been working. It was one of several buildings, built for experimental purposes and patent work by Mr. Swift, near his home.
"It didn't do so very much damage," observed Tom, as he peered in through a window, void of all the panes of glass. "We can start right in."
"Hold on! Wait! Don't try it now!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp, who talked in short, snappy sentences, which, however, said all he meant. "The fumes of that gas aren't good to breathe. Wait until they have blown away. It won't be long. It's safer."
He began to cough, choking from the pungent odor, and Tom felt an unpleasant tickling sensation in his throat.
"Take a walk around," advised Mr. Sharp. "I'll be looking over the blue prints. Let's have 'em."
Tom handed over the roll he had grabbed up
