Chapter Twenty-One. "Will He Live?"

Soon there were busy scenes in the Swift home, as preparations were made for a serious operation on the aged inventor. Tom's father had sunk into deep unconsciousness, and was stretched out on the bed as though there was no more life in him. In fact, Tom, for the moment, feared that it was all over. But good old Dr. Kurtz, noting the look on the lad's face, said:

"Ach, Dom, doan't vorry! Maybe it vill yet all be vell, und der vater vill hear of der great race. Bluck up your courage, und doan't gif up. Der greatest surgeon in der vorld is here now, und if anybody gan safe your vater, Herr Hendriz gan. Dot vos a great drip you made--a great drip!"

Tom felt a little comforted and, after a sight of his father, and a silent prayer that God would spare his life for years to come, the young inventor went out in the yard. He wanted to be busy about something, for he knew, with the doctors, and a trained nurse who had been hastily summoned, there was no immediate need for him. He wanted to get his mind off the operation that would soon take place, and so he decided to look over his aeroplane.

Mr. Damon came out when Tom was going over the guy wires and braces, to see how they had stood the strain.

"Well, Tom, my lad," said the eccentric man, sadly, as he grasped our hero's hand, "it's too bad. But hope for the best. I'm sure your father will pull through. We will have to begin taking the Humming-Bird apart soon; won't we, if we're going to ship it to Eagle Park?" He wanted to take Tom's mind off his troubles.

"I don't know whether we will or not," was the answer, and Tom tried to speak unbrokenly, but there was a troublesome lump in his throat, and a mist of tears in his eyes that prevented him from seeing well. The Hamming-Bird, to him, looked as if she was in a fog.

"Nonsense! Of course we will!" cried Mr. Damon. "Why, bless my wishbone! Tom, you don't mean to say you're going to let that little shrimp Andy Foger walk away with that ten-thousand-dollar prize without giving him a fight for it; are you?"

This was just what Tom needed, and it seemed good to have Mr. Damon bless something again, even if it was only a wishbone.

"No!" exclaimed Tom, in ringing tones. "Andy Foger isn't going to beat me, and if I find out he is going to race with a machine made after my stolen plans, I'll make him wish he'd never taken them."

"But if the machine he had flying over here when he dropped that bomb on the shed roof, and set fire to it, is the one he's going to race with, it isn't like yours," suggested Mr. Damon, who was glad he had turned the conversation into a more cheerful channel.

"That's so," agreed the young inventor. "We'll, we'll have to wait and see." He was busy now, going over every detail of the Humming-Bird. Mr. Damon helped him, and