inventor, as he recalled his eccentric acquaintance. "I shall be
glad to see him again."

"He'll be right over as soon as he learns what's in the wind,"
predicted Ned.

The hopes that Mr. Baxter would be greatly improved in the
morning were doomed to disappointment. He was in no actual
danger, the doctor said, but his recovery from the effects of the
smoke he had breathed was not as rapid as desired or hoped for.

"He's suffering from some shock," said the physician, "and his
mental condition is against him. He ought to be kept quiet, and
if you can't have him here, Mr. Swift, I can arrange to have him
sent to a hospital."

"I wouldn't dream of it!" Tom exclaimed. "Let him stay here by
all means. We have plenty of room, and Mrs. Baggert has been
wishing for some one to nurse. Now she has him."

So it was arranged that the chemist should remain at the Swift
home, and he gave a languid assent when they spoke to him of the
matter. He really was much more ill than seemed at first.

But as everything possible had been done, Tom decided to go
ahead with the new idea that had come to him--that of inventing
an aerial chemical fire-fighting machine.

"And if we get a chance, Ned, we'll try to get back those
secret formulae Mr. Baxter claims to have lost," Tom declared. "I