"You must only speak a few words to him," cautioned the specialist, who
had performed such a rare and delicate operation, near the heart of the
invalid. "He is very weak, Tom."
Mr. Swift opened his eyes as his son approached. He looked around
feebly.
"Tom--are you there?" he asked in a whisper.
"Yes, dad," was the eager answer
"They tell me you--you made a great trip to get Dr. Hendrix--broken
bridge--came through the air with him. Is that right?"
"Yes, dad. But don't tire yourself. You must get well and strong."
"I will, Tom. But tell me; did you go in--in the Humming-Bird?"
"Yes, dad."
"How did she work?"
"Fine. Over a hundred, and the motor wasn't at its best."
"That's good. Then you can go in the big race, and win."
"No, I don't believe I'll go, dad."
"Why not?" Mr. Swift spoke more strongly.
"I--because--well, I don't want to."
"Nonsense, Tom! I know; it's on my account. I know it is. But listen to
me. I want you to go in! I want you to win that race! Never mind about
me.
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