"Now, then, let's finish this work."
The sand, falling from the ballast bags of the dirigible, had
so effectually quenched the fire that it was soon cool enough to
permit close approach. Koku, Tom and some of the men who best
knew how to handle the explosives, were soon engaged in the work
of salvage.
"I wish I could help you, Tom," said his aged father. "I don't
seem able to do anything but stand here and look on," and he
gazed about him rather sadly.
"Never you mind, Dad!" Tom exclaimed. "We'll get along all
right now. You'd better go up to the house. Mr. Damon will go
with you."
"Yes, of course!" exclaimed the odd man, catching a wink from
Tom, who wanted his father not to get too excited on account of
his weak heart. "Come along, Professor Swift. The danger is all
over."
"All right," assented the aged inventor, with a look at the
still smoking shed.
"And, Dad, when you haven't anything else to do," went on Tom,
rather whimsically, "you might be thinking up some plan to take
up the recoil of those guns on my aerial warship. I confess I'm
clean stumped on that point."
"Your aerial warship will never be a success," declared Mr.
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