Mr. Barton Swift burst into a laugh, as he almost always did when Eradicate Sampson, or “Rad” for short, made one of his suggestions. Even Tom, earnest as he was about the flying boat, grinned. “I’ll take that up some day and fix it for you, Rad,” the young fellow said. “Hope yo’ does it ’fore I done git all dis bag of ’taters used up. Dey is sho’ right eye-y. Sho’ is!” “If you want to carp and criticize at ‘English as she is spoke,’ there’s your chance, father,” grumbled Tom. “Look after Rad. But this flying boat idea—a craft that will sail on the water, roll on the ground, and fly through the air——” “Old stuff, Tom,” Mr. Swift answered bruskly. “There are very good inventions of that nature already.” “Quite true,” admitted Tom, but not at all discouraged. “But none of them so far built would satisfy me if I were the inventor and builder.” “Ah-ha!” “There are faults in every one already launched. I bet there are faults in all those now under construction, no matter how much money there may be behind the invention. I am going after the perfect flying boat, or I’ll not build any.” “Well? Tell me how you will overcome the rough-sea obstacle, for instance?” asked the very practical Mr. Swift. “That has been puzzling the flying boat folks ever since the beginning. It is unsafe to descend in a heavy sea, therefore they dare not take long voyages from land.” “I mean to overcome that very thing if I tackle the thing at all.” “You speak very confidently, my son,” said his father, looking at Tom seriously. “I have thought about the invention for some time.” Mr. Barton Swift threw up his hands in mock despair. “Incurable!” he cried. “Once you get your teeth set in a thing, Tom, there is no shaking you loose.” “I come honestly enough by that trait of character,” said Tom, with a grin. “They say I’m a chip off the old block.” He sat up suddenly in his reclining chair and stared toward the front of the house. Idly at first he had heard the noise of a motor-car arriving before the house. It had stopped there. Mr. Swift had not appeared to notice it at all, but Tom suddenly overheard voices. “Yes, sah. Dey is at home, but dey mebbe is engaged on ’portant business,” said a sonorous voice that could belong to nobody save Koku, Tom’s giant servant whom the young inventor had brought with him some years before from far parts, and who had served him well and faithfully ever since. “I isn’t sure, sah. But I go see,” went on the important sounding Koku. “Listen to dat giant!” grumbled old Rad Sampson. “Jes’ to hear him, yo’d think he was bossin’ dis hyer fambly. Sho’ nuff! Huh!” The ancient colored man and the half-civilized Koku were sworn enemies up to a certain point. Both professed to scorn the other’s efficiency and abilities. And both usurped the authority of speaking for either Tom or his father on almost any occasion.