“He is still unconscious, though, isn’t he?” asked Mr. Swift. “Yes,” Dr. Layton admitted. “But that is nothing to worry about. Nature will take care of that. It is better to let his senses come back gradually rather than to give some strong stimulant that will shock him into wakefulness and perhaps do more harm than good. I’ll make him as comfortable as I can and we’ll just wait for him to rouse.” The burns and cuts were dressed, Koku being of great service because he could lift and move Tom as if the young man were a baby. Yet Tom was of husky build, strong and muscular. The giant made an ideal nurse in a case like this, though Eradicate, who had a deep love for Tom Swift, fluttered eagerly about, anxious to do something to help. Mrs. Baggert had him bring hot water and bandages, and this gave Eradicate as much pleasure as Koku found in ministering more personally to his young master. After the first alarm over Tom’s condition was over and when it was apparent that there was no immediate danger, Mr. Swift went out to see what damage had been done and if there was any further danger from the fire and explosion. The flames, by this time, were subdued. There had been a second but slight, explosion. This, however, did little damage, as the force of it was directed toward the outer corridor, part of the wall of which was blown away. The greatest force of the first explosion, likewise, had been in the same direction, and though the door of Tom’s private laboratory had been stove in and some of his valuable apparatus scattered about and burned, fortunately no great damage was done to the secret room. Ascertaining this and knowing how jealously Tom guarded the new secret, Mr. Swift had some of the men nail the laboratory up, an improvised door being made and boards being fastened over the shattered windows. Tom had been blown through a window in the corridor outside his laboratory. But, luckily, the window was up at the bottom, and Tom had shot through a wire mosquito screen instead of through the glass. In spite of this, and the fact that he had landed in a clump of deep, thick grass, the young inventor had not come off scatheless from the accident. “Things aren’t as bad as they seemed at first, Mr. Swift,” reported Mr. Jackson a few hours after the explosion. “The fire is all out now and Tom’s things don’t seem to be much damaged. I’ve got several men on guard. They’ll stay there the rest of the night.” “It will soon be morning,” murmured the old gentleman. “Thank you, Jackson.” “I wonder how much longer Tom will remain unconscious?” Mr. Swift said, entering the sickroom and glancing toward the bed on which his son lay. “I think he is coming around now,” said the doctor softly, as he moved to his patient’s side. “Yes, he is coming out of it,” he added. “How do you feel?” he asked as Tom opened his eyes and stared about.