to the front myself. And now, as it happens, I've got something
else in mind that may help Uncle Sam."

"What is it?"

"A silent flying machine for scout work on the battle front,"
Tom told his friend, and then he gave a few details, such as
those he had been telling Mr. Damon.

"Then I don't wonder you turned down the offer of the Universal
people," remarked Ned, at the conclusion of the recital. "This
will be a heap more help to the government, Tom, than working for
those people, even at twenty-five thousand dollars a year. And if
you get short, and can't meet your newest Liberty Bond payments,
why, I guess the bank will stretch your credit a little."

"Thanks!" laughed Tom, "but I'll try not to ask them."

The friends talked together a little longer, and then Ned had
to take his departure to solicit more subscriptions, while Mr.
Damon went with him, the eccentric man saying he would go home to
Waterfield.

"But, bless my overshoes, Tom!" he exclaimed, as he departed,
"don't forget to let me know when you have your silent motor
working. I want to see it."

"I'll let you know," was the promise given by the young
inventor.