“Mr. Swiftski?” asked the man in questioning tones, and with a trace of surprise, seemingly. “You can leave off the _ski_,” said Tom. “But I’m Mr. Swift.” “Pardon—but eet is that I do not the talk of your country know so well. In my talk there are so many who are like that. But your pardon I again ask—eet is to see so young a man that I am taken by astonishment.” “You’re a pretty slick article,” said Tom to himself. “I don’t know that I’m going to like you, but I’ll give you one more chance.” CHAPTER VI FIRE “SIT DOWN,” said Tom, realizing that he had not as yet extended this ordinary courtesy to his visitor. “What can I do for you?” he went on. “You are the one I want to see—yes?” inquired Ivan Barsky, in laborious English, halting for many of his words. “Well, I’m Tom Swift,” was the answer. “I have documents to Tom Swift,” went on the man. “But I had—what you say—expected to see an older personage.” “Oh, I guess I’m old enough,” replied Tom, with a smile. “But my father is older. However, he has retired from the active business of the concern, so I reckon you’ll have to deal with me.” “It is of a pleasure to do so, I assure you,” and the man smiled, showing his white teeth amid the blackness of his beard. “Please to read these.” He extended to Tom a sheaf of letters and documents, which appeared to be epistles of introduction. Some were written in what Tom recognized as Russian and bore imposing stamps. These last, with a smile, the inventor passed back to Mr. Barsky saying: “These don’t mean anything to me.” “They vouch for me in my country—Russia,” was the reply. “They are from—what shall I call heem—the Central Committee.” “I don’t know much about Russian affairs,” said Tom. “But I’ll see what these letters in English have to say. But before I go on, what is it you want of me? If it is to help you finance an invention, I tell you now I will take on nothing new. If it is to work on some machine you have started, that, too, is out of the question. So it may save your time, and mine, also, if I tell you this.” “Thank you, I have nothing of these,” said the visitor. “Eet is that I wish to work for you. I am an expert—what you call—mecheechanic,” and he put several unneeded syllables in the word. “Also I make those what you call—models.” “Oh, a pattern-maker!” exclaimed Tom. “I understand. Well, excuse me and I’ll look over your credentials.” He found several letters from well known firms in the United States, saying that Ivan Barsky had worked for them and had been most satisfactory. He was spoken of as a good mechanic and model-maker. One letter rather raised Tom’s suspicions, for at the conclusion it stated: “We do not vouch for the morals of Ivan Barsky, though, as far as we have observed, he has a quiet, orderly disposition.”