Tom needed but a single glance at the face of his father and Mr. Damon to see that something was troubling the two. The table in front of them was littered with papers, covered with rows of figures.
"What's the matter?" asked Tom.
"Well, I suppose I ought not to let it bother me, but it does," replied his father.
"Something wrong with your patents, dad? Has the crowd of bad men been bothering you again?"
"No, it isn't that. It's trouble at the bank, Tom."
"Has it been robbed again?" asked the lad quickly. "If it has I can prove an alibi," and he smiled at the recollection of the time he and Mr. Damon had been accused of looting the vault, as told in "Tom Swift and His Airship."
"No, it hasn't been robbed in just that way," put in Mr. Damon. "But, bless my shoe laces, it's almost as bad! You see, Tom, since Mr. Foger started the new bank he's done his best to cripple the one in which your father and I are interested. I may say we are very vitally interested in it, for, since the withdrawal of Foger and his associates, your father and I have been elected directors."
"I didn't know that," remarked the lad.
