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Page 40
Once the clogged oil feed was cleared the motor ran as before,
and just as silently, though, as Tom had said, he was not
entirely satisfied with the quietness, but intended to do further
work toward perfecting it.
"I'll start the propellers now, Mr. Damon," said Tom, when the
trouble had been remedied. "You know how to throw the switch,
don't you?"
"I guess so," was the answer. Mr. Damon and Tom had traveled so
often together in gasoline craft that the young inventor had
taught his friend certain fundamentals about them, and in an
emergency the eccentric man could help start an aeroplane. This
he now did, taking charge of the controls which could be operated
from his seat as well as from Tom's. Tom whirled the propellers,
and soon the motor was in motion.
Mr. Damon, once the big wooden blades were revolving, slowed
down the apparatus until Tom could jump aboard, after which the
latter took charge and soon speeded up the machine, sending it
aloft.
As the green meadow, dimly seen in the light of the moon,
seemed to drop away below them, and the clump of trees vanished
from sight, both Tom and Mr. Damon wondered who it was that had
called for help, and if the matter were at all serious. They were
inclined to think it was not, but Tom could not rid himself of a
faint suspicion that there might have been trouble.
However, thoughts of his new silent Air Scout soon drove
everything else from his mind, and as he guided the comparatively
silent machine on its quiet way toward his own home he was
thinking how he could best improve the muffler.
"Well, here we are again, safe and sound," remarked Tom, as he
brought the craft to a stop in front of the hangar, and Jackson
and his helpers, who were awaiting the return, hurried out to
take charge.
"Yes, everything seems to point to success, Tom," agreed Mr.
Damon. "That is, unless the slight accident we had means
trouble."
"Oh, no, that had nothing to do with the operation of the
silencer. But I'm going to do better yet. Some day I'll take you
for a ride in a silent machine which will make so little noise
that you can hear a pin drop."
"Well," remarked Mr. Damon' with a laugh, "I don't know that
listening to falling pins will give me any great amount of
pleasure, Tom, but I appreciate your meaning."
"Everything all right?" asked Mr. Swift, as he came out to hear
the details from his son. "Do you think you have solved the
problem?"
"Not completely, but I'll soon be able to write Q. E. D. after
it. Some refinements are all that are needed, Dad."
"Glad to hear it. I was a bit anxious."
Mr. Swift questioned his son about the technical details of the
trip, asking how the motor had acted under the pressure caused by
so completely muffling the exhaust, and for some minutes the two
inventors, young and old, indulged in talk which was not at all
interesting to Mr. Damon. They went into the house, and Tom asked
to have a little lunch, which Mrs. Baggert set out for him.
"It's rather late to eat," said the young inventor, "but I
always feel hungry after I test a new machine and find that it
works pretty well. Will you join me in a sandwich or two, Mr.
Damon?"
"Why, bless my ketchup bottle, I believe I will."
And so they ate and talked. Tom was on the point of telling his
father something of the queer cry for help they had heard on the
lonely meadow when Mrs. Baggert produced a letter which she said
had come for Tom that afternoon, but had been mislaid by a new
maid who had been engaged to help with the housework.
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