"
"Den dot must stop," insisted the doctor. "You must haf gomplete
rest--dot's it--gomplete rest."
"We'll do just as you say, doctor," said Tom. "We'll give up the
aeroplane matters, dad, and go away, you and I, where we can t see a
blueprint or a pattern, or hear the sound of machinery. We'll cut it all
out."
"Dot vould he goot," said Dr. Kurtz ponderously.
"No, I couldn't think of it," answered Mr. Swift. "I want you to go in
that race, Tom--and win!"
"But I'll not do it, dad, if you're going to be ill."
"He is ill now," interrupted the doctor. "Very ill, Dom Swift."
"That settles it. I don't go in the race. You and I'll go away, dad--to
California, or up in Canada. We'll travel for your health."
"No! no!" insisted the old inventor gently. "I will be all right. Most
of the work on the monoplane is done now, isn't it, Tom?"
"Yes, dad."
"Then you go on, and finish it. You and Mr. Jackson can do it without me
now. I'll take a rest, doctor, but I want my son to enter that race,
and, what's more, I want him to win!"
"Vell, if you don't vork, dot is all I ask.
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