inner side.

But the fence held, or else the pressure was removed, for
the bulge went back into place, though some of the boards
were splintered.

"Have to patch that up in the morning," called another
voice, and Mr. Nestor recognized it as that of Tom Swift.

"What queer doings are going on here?" mused Mary's
father. "Have they got a wild bull shut up in there, and is
he trying to get out? Lucky for me he didn't," and he
hurried on, the rumbling noise become fainter until it died
away altogether.

That night, after his supper and while reading the paper
and smoking a cigar, Mr. Nestor spoke to his daughter.

"Mary, have you seen anything of Tom Swift lately?"

"Why, yes, Father. He was over for a little while the
other night, but he didn't stay long. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing special. I just came past his place and I
heard some queer noises, that's all. He's up to some more of
his tricks, I guess. Has be enlisted yet?"

"No.

"Is he going to?"