word from Dr. Hendrix. Now about all that needed to be done was to see that there was plenty of gasoline and oil in the reservoirs.
"I'll give you a note to Dr. Hendrix," said Dr. Gladby, as Tom was fastening on his face-guard. "I—I trust you won't be disappointed, Tom. I hope he will consent to return with you."
"He's got to come," said the young inventor, simply, as if that was all there was to it.
"Do you think you can make the trip in time?" asked Mr. Damon. "It is a little less than a hundred miles in an airline, but you have to go and go back. Can the aeroplane do it?"
"I'd be ashamed of her if she couldn't," said Tom, with a grim tightening of his lips. "She's just got to do it; that's all! But I know she will," and he patted the big propeller and the motor's shining cylinders as though the machine was a thing alive, like a horse or a dog, who could understand him.
He climbed to his seat, the other one holding a bag of sand to maintain a good balance.
"Start her," ordered Tom, and Mr. Jackson twisted the propeller. The motor caught at once, and the air throbbed with the noise of the explosions. Tom listened to the tune of the machinery. It sang true.
