"No, he said 'Bless my buttons,' or something like that; but he
blesses so many things I didn't pay much attention."
"That's right," agreed the lad. "But I wonder what the trouble
is about? I must go see."
As he passed along the hall, out of which his father's combined
study and library opened, the aged inventor came to the door.
"Is that you, Tom?" he asked.
"Yes, Dad."
"Come in here, if you haven't anything else to do. Mr. Damon is
here."
Tom needed but a single glance at the faces of his father and
Mr. Damon to see that something was troubling the two. The table
in front of them was littered with papers covered with rows of
figures.
"What's the matter?" asked Tom.
"Well, I suppose I ought not to let it bother me, but it does,"
replied his father.
"Something wrong with your patents, Dad? Has the crowd of bad
men been bothering you again?"
"No, it isn't that. It's trouble at the bank, Tom."
"Has it been robbed again?" asked the lad quickly. "If it has I
can prove an alibi," and he smiled at the recollection of the
time he and Mr. Damon had been accused of looting the vault, as
told in "Tom Swift and His Airship.
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