And then a queer thing happened. For the figure seemed to come to life, and Ned, who was watching through a telescope, saw a very much excited farmer looking up with an expression of the greatest wonder on his face. He saw the balloon over his head, and shook his fist at it, evidently thinking he had had a narrow escape. But the pasteboard bomb was so light that, had it hit him, he would not have been injured, though he might have been well dusted. "Why, that was a man! Bless my pocketbook!" cried Mr. Damon. "I guess it was," agreed Tom. "I took it for a scarecrow." "Well, it proved the accuracy of your aim, at any rate," observed Lieutenant Marbury. "The bomb dropping device of your aerial warship is perfect--I can testify to that." "And I'll have the guns fixed soon, so there will be no danger of a recoil, too," added Tom Swift, with a determined look on his face. "What's next?" asked Mr. Damon, looking at his watch. "I really ought to be home, Tom." "We're going back now, and down. Are you sure you don't want me to drop you in your own front yard, or even on your roof? I think I could manage that." "Bless my stovepipe, no, Tom! My wife would have hysterics. Just land me at Shopton and I'll take a car home." The damaged airship seemed little the worse for the test to which she had been subjected, and made her way at good speed in the direction of Tom's home. Several little experiments were tried on the way back. They all worked well, and the only two problems Tom had to solve were the taking care of the recoil from the guns and finding out why the propeller had broken. A safe landing was made, and the Mars once more put away in her hangar. Mr. Damon departed for his home, and Lieutenant Marbury again took up his residence in the Swift household. "Well, Tom, how did it go?" asked his father. "Not so very well. Too much recoil from the guns." "I was afraid so. You had better drop this line of work, and go at something else." "No, Dad!" Tom cried. "I'm going to make this work. I never had anything stump me yet, and I'm not going to begin now!" "Well, that's a good spirit to show," said the aged inventor, with a shake of his head, "but I don't believe you'll succeed, Tom." "Yes I will, Dad! You just wait." Tom decided to begin on the problem of the propeller first, as that seemed more simple. He knew that the gun question would take longer. "Just what are you trying to find out, Tom?" asked Ned, a few nights later, when he found his chum looking at the broken parts of the propeller. "Trying to discover what made this blade break up and splinter that way. It couldn't have been centrifugal force, for it wasn't strong enough." Tom was "poking" away amid splinters, and bits of broken wood, when he suddenly uttered an exclamation, and held up something. "Look!" he cried. "I believe I've found it." "What?" asked Ned.