However, the accident, while it was not a serious one from a mechanical standpoint, had a bad effect on Ned’s campaign to raise funds for putting the airline express into actual service. True as it is that nothing succeeds like success, nothing is more dampening to a money campaign than failure. Capital seems very timid in the face of failure, and deaf ears were turned to Ned’s urgent appeal to the public to buy stock. For while Tom was working on the mechanical end, Ned looked after the business interests. “Well, Ned, how goes it?” asked the young inventor at the close of a hard day’s work when Tom himself had been much cheered by the progress he had made in lightening his passenger car and installing a dual oiling system on the plane. “It doesn’t go at all,” was the somewhat gloomy answer. “People seem afraid to risk their money. If you could only make a successful flight, Tom, or get some millionaire to invest about a hundred thousand dollars without really seeing the thing fly, we’d be all right.” “I think I’ll be more successful in the first proposition than in the second,” replied Tom, with a smile. “I don’t know many millionaires who are letting go of dollars in hundred thousand lots.” “In fact, Tom, we’re almost at the end of our financial rope. We’ve got just about enough to complete the improvements you have begun.” “After that I’ll try another flight. If that succeeds I think public confidence will be restored,” returned Tom. “If we fall again—well——” “You’ll give up, I suppose,” finished Ned. “Not at all!” was the quick reply. “You’ll find some other means of financing the thing. This is going to succeed, Ned! I’m going to make it! We’ll go from ocean to ocean by daylight!” Tom banged his fist down on his desk with force enough to spill some ink out of the bottle, and then, getting up from his chair, began putting on his coat. “Where are you going—out to hunt for a kind millionaire?” asked Ned. “No; that’s your end of the job. I’m going for a ride with Mary,” was the smiling reply. “I want to get some of the cobwebs out of my brain. I can’t do any more now, and I promised Mary I’d take her for a spin in the electric runabout. It’s working all right, I suppose?” he asked, for Ned had been using that speedy machine in his financial campaign. “Yes, it works well, Tom—faster than ever. And I hope things will take a turn for the better to-morrow.” “So do I. See you later,” and Tom was off to keep his appointment with Mary Nestor. Tom and Mary were riding along a quiet country road back of a little village when Mary observed just ahead of them an old man driving a horse hitched to a light carriage. “Speaking of millionaires, Tom,” she said, “there goes one.” “Where?” he asked. “There! Jason Jacks. He has several millions, it’s said, but he holds on to them. Father knows him.” “Lucky boy!” exclaimed Tom. “I wish I were you, J. J.!”