"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.
Swift. "You might as well give that up, Tom."

"Don't you believe it, Dad!" cried Tom, with more of a jolly
air of one chum toward another than as though the talk was
between father and son. "You solve the recoil problem for me, and
I'll take care of the rest, and make the air warship sail. But
we've got something else to do just now. Lively, boys."

While Mr. Swift, taking Mr. Damon's arm, walked toward the
house, Tom, Ned, Koku, and some of the workmen began carrying out
the explosives which had so narrowly escaped the fire. With long
hooks the men pulled the shed apart, where the side walls had
partly been burned through. Tom maintained an efficient
firefighting force at his works, and the men had the proper tools
with which to work.

Soon large openings were made on three sides of the red shed,
or rather, what was left of it, and through these the dangerous
chemicals and carbide, in sheet-iron cans, were carried out to a
place of safety. In a little while nothing remained but a heap of
hot sand, some charred embers and certain material that had been