you alone, if they haven't gumption enough to invent things for
themselves."

"Well, don't worry. Maybe it will come out all right," returned
Tom. "Now, let's go and have a look at my aerial warship. I
haven't shown it to you yet. Then we'll get ready for that
mysterious Frenchman, if he comes--but I don't believe he will."

The young inventor unlocked the door of the shed where he kept
his latest "pet," and at the sight which met his eyes Ned Newton
uttered an exclamation of surprise.

"Tom, what is it?" he cried in an awed voice.

"My aerial warship!" was the quiet answer.

Ned Newton gave vent to a long whistle, and then began a
detailed examination of the wonderful craft he saw before him.
That is, he made as detailed an examination as was possible under
the circumstances, for it was a long time before the young bank
clerk fully appreciated all Tom Swift had accomplished in
building the Mars, which was the warlike name painted in red
letters on the big gas container that tugged and swayed overhead.

"Tom, however did you do it?" gasped Ned at length.

"By hard work," was the modest reply. "I've been at this for a
longer time than you'd suppose, working on it at odd moments. I
had a lot of help, too, or I never could have done it. And now it
is nearly all finished, as far as the ship itself is concerned.