The fire was but a small incident in the day’s work at the Swift plant. Fires in such a big shop were not at all uncommon; so matters were soon running smoothly again. During the next two or three days Tom paid several visits to the pattern department, and each time he went there he found Barsky busily at work, using the slide rule with an expertness that gave Tom a good opinion of the fellow’s ability in his own line of work. “I’m glad I hired him—that is, so far as getting what I wanted done,” Tom said to his father. “He makes patterns better than any man we ever had.” “Yes, I have looked at some of the models he has turned out,” Mr. Swift replied. “But I can’t get over a certain uneasy feeling when I am near that man, Tom. It’s a sort of fear, I believe.” “Nonsense!” laughed the young fellow. “You are imagining things, Dad. Barsky is no ten-thousand-dollar beauty, I grant you that, for he has enough hair and whiskers for a dozen sofa cushions. But we aren’t running a beauty parlor, and he does do good work.” “Yes, Tom. Well, I’ll leave it to you. It’s more in your department than mine, anyhow. By the way, is there anything new in the case of Mr. Newton? We must do all we can to help him.” “We will, Dad. I don’t know that there are any new developments. I’ll ask Ned. But Plum has orders to look after that case to the best of his ability. Now I suppose you want to get back to your book, don’t you?” “If you don’t mind, Son,” answered Mr. Swift, with an anxious look toward his desk which was littered with papers. The talk had taken place in the older inventor’s private office. “All right, I’ll leave you with your pet,” laughed Tom, for the new book was Mr. Swift’s chief joy and pride. “But I’d like to have a talk with you this evening, Dad.” “By all means, Tom. I’ll be free then. Come and chat. But just now I want to finish that chapter on hydraulics. I find it most fascinating, and I am using some of the data you evolved when you built the big submarine.” “Yes, I fancy we discovered a new principle or two there,” answered Tom, with justifiable pride. “And you’re welcome to quote me at any length you wish, Dad,” he finished, with a laugh. “All right!” chuckled the old inventor. “You’re somewhat of an authority, Tom, on a few subjects.” Mr. Swift plunged into his literary work before Tom had reached the door on his way out, so eager was he to resume work on his book, and Tom was glad his father had something of this sort to interest him and give him an object in the declining years of his life. “Tom, what say, we go to a ball game this afternoon?” suggested Ned when the young inventor returned to his office. “It’s too nice a day to work.” Tom glanced out at the sunlight dancing over the green grass. He looked at his paper-laden desk and then at the clock.