getting too old to do that."

"Well, it's a fact I'm no longer young. But I'm afraid I'm too
old to settle down. You can't teach an old dog new tricks,
pardner. This is my life, and I'll have to live it until I pass
out. Well, if you won't, you won't, I suppose. By the way, where
is Tom? I'd like to see him before I go back. He's a mighty fine
boy."

"That's what he is!" broke in a new voice. "Bless my overshoes,
but he is a smart lad! A wonderful lad, that's what! Why, bless
my necktie, there isn't anything he can't invent; from a button-
hook to a battleship! Wonderful boy--that's what!"

"I guess Tom's ears would burn if he could hear your praises,
Mr. Damon," laughed Mr. Swift. "Don't spoil him."

"Spoil Tom Swift? You couldn't do it in a hundred years!" cried
Mr. Damon, enthusiastically. "Bless my topknot! Not in a thousand
years--no, sir!"

"But where is he?" asked Mr. Peterson, who was evidently unused
to the extravagant manner of Mr. Damon.

"There he goes now!" exclaimed the gentleman who frequently
blessed himself, some article of his apparel, or some other
object. "There he goes now, flying over the house in that Humming
Bird airship of his. He said he was going to try out a new
magneto he'd invented, and it seems to be working all right. He
said he wasn't going to take much of a flight, and I guess he'll