ized that his chances were at an end for the present.
With great care the gun was hoisted from the mould. More eyes than Tom's anxiously regarded it as it came up out of the casting pit.
"Bless my buttonhook!" cried Mr. Damon, who had gone with the lads. "It's a monster; isn't it?"
"Oh, wait until you see it with the jackets on!" exclaimed Ned, who had viewed the completed drawings. "Then you'll open your eyes."
The great piece of hollow steel tubing was lifted to the boring lathe. Then Tom and the manager examined it for superficial flaws.
"Not one!" cried the manager in delight.
"Not that I can see," added Tom. "It's a success—so far."
"And that was the hardest part of the work," went on the manager of the steel plant. "I can almost guarantee you success from now on."
And, as far as the rifling was concerned, this was true. I will not weary you with the details of how the great core of Tom Swift's giant cannon was bored. Sufficient to say that, after some annoying delays, caused by breaks in the machinery, which had never before been used on such a gigantic piece of work, the rifling was done. After the jackets had been shrunk on, it
