“No; I was just riding for pleasure, and if you want me to do anything, I’m ready.”

“Then I wish you’d take this letter to Mansburg for me.  I want it registered, and I don’t wish to mail it in the Shopton post-office.  It’s too important, for it’s about a valuable invention.”

“The new turbine motor, dad?”

“That’s it.  And on your way I wish you’d stop in Merton’s machine shop and get some bolts he’s making for me.”

“I will.  Is that the letter?” and Tom extended his hand for a missive his father held.

“Yes.  Please be careful of it.  It’s to my lawyers in Washington regarding the final steps in getting a patent for the turbine.  That’s why I’m so particular about not wanting it mailed here.  Several times before I have posted letters here, only to have the information contained in them leak out before my attorneys received them.  I do not want that to happen in this case.  Another thing; don’t speak about my new invention in Merton’s shop when you stop for the bolts.”

“Why, do you think he gave out information concerning your work?”

“Well, not exactly.  He might not mean to, but he told me the other day that some strangers were making inquiries of him, about whether he ever did any work for me.”

“What did he tell them?”

“He said that he occasionally did, but that most of my inventive work was done in my own shops, here.  He wanted to know why the men were asking such questions, and one of them said they expected to open a machine shop soon, and wanted to ascertain if they might figure on getting any of my trade.  But I don’t believe that was their object.”

“What do you think it was?”

“I don’t know, exactly, but I was somewhat alarmed when I heard this from Merton.  So I am going to take no risks.  That’s why I send this letter to Mansburg.  Don’t lose it, and don’t forget about the bolts.  Here is a blue-print of them, so you can see if they come up to the specifications.”

Tom rode off on his wheel, and was soon spinning down the road.

“I wonder if I’ll meet Andy Foger and his cronies again?” he thought.  “Not very likely to, I guess, if they’re off on a tour.  Well, I’m just as well satisfied.  He and I always seem to get into trouble when we meet.”  Tom was not destined to meet Andy again that day, but the time was to come when the red-haired bully was to cause Tom Swift no little trouble, and get him into danger besides.  So Tom rode along, thinking over what his father had said to him about the letter he carried.

Mr. Barton Swift was a natural inventor.  From a boy he had been interested in things mechanical, and one of his first efforts had been to arrange a system of pulleys, belts and gears so that the windmill would operate the churn in the old farmhouse where he was born.  The fact that the mill went so fast that it broke the churn all to pieces did not discourage him, and he at once set to work, changing the gears.  His father had to buy a new churn, but the young inventor made his plan work on the second trial, and thereafter his mother found butter-making easy.