His clothes were rather rough, and he carried a valise that
had, evidently, seen much service. There was that about him which
proclaimed him for a westerner--a cattleman or a miner.
He walked slowly along, murmuring to himself.
"Wa'al, I might better have taken one of them wagons at th' depot,"
he said, "than t' try t' walk. It's quite a stretch out t' Tom
Swift's house. I hope I find him home."
He trudged on, and, a little later, his gaze was attracted by a
large shed, in the rear of a white house the pretentious appearance
of which indicated that persons of wealth owned it.
"I guess that must be the place," he remarked. "That shed is big
enough to hold the airship. Now to present myself."
As he walked up the front path of the house, he was met by one of
the gardeners, who was raking up the leaves.
"Is this the airship place?" asked the miner.
"Yes, that's where the young master is making his triplane,"
answered the man.
"Is he in?"
"Yes, I guess so. You can walk right back to the shed."
The miner did so. Through the open door of the building he had a
glimpse of big stretches of wings, propellers, rudders, and some
machinery.
"That's it," he murmured, "though it looks some different than I
remembered it. However, maybe Tom's changed it about.
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