Chapter Twenty-Two. Off to the Meet

Softly Tom tiptoed into the room where his father lay. At the bedside were the three doctors, and the nurse followed the young inventor in. Mrs. Baggert stood in the hall, and near her was Garret Jackson. The aged housekeeper had been weeping, but she smiled at Tom through her tears.

"I think he's going to get well," she whispered. She always looked on the bright side of things. Tom's heart felt better.

"You must only speak a few words to him," cautioned the specialist, who had performed such a rare and delicate operation, near the heart of the invalid. "He is very weak, Tom."

Mr. Swift opened his eyes as his son approached. He looked around feebly.

"Tom--are you there?" he asked in a whisper.

"Yes, dad," was the eager answer

"They tell me you--you made a great trip to get Dr. Hendrix--broken bridge--came through the air with him. Is that right?"

"Yes, dad. But don't tire yourself. You must get well and strong."

"I will, Tom. But tell me; did you go in--in the Humming-Bird?"

"Yes, dad."

"How did she work?"

"Fine. Over a hundred, and the motor wasn't at its best."

"That's good. Then you can go in the big race, and win."

"No, I don't believe I'll go, dad."

"Why not?" Mr. Swift spoke mort strongly

"I--because--well, I don't want to."

"Nonsense, Tom! I know; it's on my account. I know it is. But listen to me. I want you to go in! I want you to win that race! Never mind about me. I'm going to get well, and I'll recover all the more quickly if you win that race. Now promise me you'll go in it and--and--win!"

The invalid's strength was fast leaving him.

"I--I---," began Tom.

"Promise!" insisted the aged inventor, trying to rise. Dr. Hendrix made a hasty move toward the bed.

"Promise!" whispered the surgeon to Tom.

"I--I promise!" exclaimed Tom, and the aged inventor sank back with a smile of satisfaction on his pale face.

"Now you must go," said Dr. Gladby to Tom. "He has talked long enough. He must sleep now, and get up his strength."

"Will he get better?" asked Tom, anxiously.

"We can't say for sure," was the answer. "We have great hopes."

"I don't want to enter the race unless I know he is going to live," went on Tom, as Dr. Gladby followed him out of the room.

"No one can say for a certainty that he will recover," spoke the physician. "You will have to hope for the best, that is all, Tom. If I were you I'd go in the race. It will occupy your mind, and if you could send good news to your father it