nearly mechanically perfect as it was possible to be, Tom Swift
finished his trip around it and stood near the big propeller,
waiting for Mary Nestor to reappear. Presently she did so, and
Tom gaily waved his hand to her.

"You're a picture!" he cried, as he saw how particularly
"fetching" she looked in the aviator's costume which was like his
own. Because of the danger of entanglement, Miss Nestor had
doffed her skirts, and wore the costume of all aviators--men and
women.

"I wish I had my camera!" cried Tom. "You look--stunning!"

"I hope that isn't any comment on how I'm going to feel if we
have to make a--forced landing, I believe you call it," she
retorted.

"Oh, I'll take care of that!" exclaimed Tom. "Now up you go,
and we'll start," and he helped her to climb into the padded seat
of the cockpit, behind where he was to sit.

"Oh, Tom! Don't be in such a hurry !" expostulated Mary. "Let
me get my breath!"

"No!" laughed the young inventor. "If I did you might back out.
Get in, fasten the strap around you and sit still. That's all you
have to do. Don't be afraid, I'll be very careful. And don't try
to yell at me to go slower or lower once we're up in the air.

"Why not?" Mary wanted to know, as she settled herself in her