“Bless my brassbound luggage!” cried Mr. Damon. “Go alone to Iceland? I don’t believe I could ever find it!” The Swifts laughed at that joke; but Tom continued to shake his head. And it was a most decided shake, at that. “Iceland is perfectly civilized. The only danger you run is being cheated by hotel keepers and travelers’ agents.” “But, Tom, the treasure!” “You don’t even know how much it is,” chuckled the young inventor. “Perhaps it isn’t large enough to divide in half even! It maybe won’t pay you for going alone, let alone paying me. And I’m a sight too busy to go so far away from Shopton right now.” “I’ll guarantee you that the treasure is a big one. How much will you want to leave what you are doing and go with me?” demanded their strange friend, with much earnestness. “I tell you it can’t be done!” and Tom continued to wag his head negatively. “You’ve got something so important that you cannot possibly go with me?” It was plain that Mr. Wakefield Damon was going to be vastly disappointed. “Perhaps. Father and I were just talking over a scheme that greatly interests me, I admit. But there is another thing that stays me at this time. Mr. Nestor—perhaps you have heard it?—is very ill. I would not want to go away now. You know, Mary Nestor would feel—rightly so, I think—that I was neglecting her if I left for Iceland at this time.” “Bless my doctor’s book!” growled the disappointed Mr. Damon. “What is the matter with all the doctors nowadays? Don’t any of them know enough to help Mary’s father? I was over to see him myself last week. Looks to me as though the medicos were just experimenting with him. I’m thankful to say I seldom have any need for medicine or doctors.” “I fancy the physicians are puzzled about Mr. Nestor’s case,” said Mr. Barton Swift thoughtfully. “But they have sent for a specialist to come up from New York. We may learn shortly more about what is the matter with him. This New York doctor has had wonderful success. They say the cures he has to his credit are almost miraculous.” Mr. Damon looked rather gloomy. But he expressed sympathy for Mary’s father. “He’s a fine man. I wish him well. But I’m mighty sorry if his sickness stands in the way of your going with me, Tom,” he grumbled. “Oh, I might find other reasons, too,” declared Tom, smiling. “Bless my pocketbook, Tom! name your own price,” cried his eccentric friend. “It can’t be done, I tell you. You go on to Iceland. When you get back I may have something to show you that you will agree was quite worth my while.” Even to Mr. Damon the young inventor was not ready to talk about his plans for the flying boat that so engrossed his mind. The visitor remained to dinner; but Tom did not once mention this particular topic which he had been discussing with his father previous to Mr. Damon’s appearance.