moment, that Dr. Hendrix was impressed by the calm demeanor of the young inventor.
"Very well," said the surgeon with a shrug of his shoulders, "I guess I'm game, Tom Swift."
The doctor took the seat Tom pointed out to him, with his bag of instruments on his knees: He put on the face protector, and had, at the suggestion of our hero, donned a heavy coat.
"For it's cold in the upper regions," said Tom.
Several servants in the physician's household had gathered to see him depart in this novel fashion, and the chauffeur of the auto, in which the specialist usually made his calls, was also there.
"I'll give you a hand," said the chauffeur to the young inventor. "I was at an aviation meet once, and I know how it's done."
"Good," exclaimed Tom. "Then you can hold the machine, and shove when I give the word."
Tom started the propeller himself, and quickly jumped into his seat. The chauffeur held back the Humming-Bird until the young aviator had speeded up the motor.
"Let go!" cried the youthful inventor, and the man gave the little craft a shove. Across the rather uneven ground of the doctor's yard it ran, straight for a big iron barrier.
"Look out! We'll be into the fence!" shouted
