Tom Swift and His Sky Racer | Page 8

aroused.
Mrs. Baggert had the colored man help her get some kettles of hot
water in readiness for possible use by the doctor. Mr. Jackson aided
Tom to lift Mr. Swift up on the bed, and they got off some of his
clothes.
"I'll try to see if I can revive him with a little aromatic spirits of
ammonia," decided Tom, as he noticed that his father was still
unconscious. He hastened to prepare the strong spirits, while he was
conscious of a feeling of fear and alarm, mingled with sadness.
Suppose his father should die? Tom could not bear to think of that. He
would be left all alone, and how much he would miss the
companionship and comradeship of his father none but himself knew.
"Oh! but I mustn't think he's going to die!" exclaimed the youth, as he
mixed the medicine.
Mr. Swift feebly opened his eyes after Tom and Mr. Jackson had
succeeded in forcing some of the ammonia between his lips.
"Where am I? What happened?" asked the aged inventor faintly.
"We don't know, exactly," spoke Tom softly. "You are ill, father. I've
sent for the doctor. He'll fix you up. He'll be here soon."
"Yes, I'm--I'm ill," murmured the aged man. "Something hurts
me--here," and he put his hand over his heart.
Tom felt a nameless sense of fear. He wished now that he had insisted

on his parent consulting a physician some time before, when Mr. Swift
first complained of a minor ailment. Perhaps now it was too late.
"Oh! when will that doctor come?" murmured Tom impatiently.
Mrs. Baggert, who was nervously going in and out of the room, again
went to the telephone.
"He's on his way," the housekeeper reported. "His wife said he just
started out in his auto."
Dr. Gladby hurried into the room a little later, and cast a quick look at
Mr. Swift, who had again lapsed into unconsciousness.
"Do you think he--think he's going to die?" faltered Tom. He was no
longer the self-reliant young inventor. He could meet danger bravely
when it threatened himself alone, but when his father was stricken he
seemed to lose all courage.
"Die? Nonsense!" exclaimed the doctor heartily. "He's not dead yet, at
all events, and while there's life there's hope. I'll soon have him out of
this spell."
It was some little time, however, before Mr. Swift again opened his
eyes, but he seemed to gain strength from the remedies which Dr.
Gladby administered, and in about an hour the inventor could sit up.
"But you must be careful," cautioned the physician. "Don't overdo
yourself. I'll be in again in the morning, and now I'll leave you some
medicine, to be taken every two hours."
"Oh, I feel much better," said Mr. Swift, and his voice certainly seemed
Stronger. "I can't imagine what happened. I came upstairs, after Tom
had received a visit from the minister, and that's all I remember."
"The minister, father!" exclaimed Tom, in great amazement. "The
minister wasn't here this evening! That was Mr. Gunmore, the aviation
secretary. Don't you remember?"

"I don't remember any gentleman like that calling here to-night," Mr.
Swift said blankly. "It was the minister, I'm sure, Tom."
"The minister was here last night, Mr. Swift," said the housekeeper.
"Was he? Why, it seems like to-night. And I came upstairs after talking
to him, and then it all got black, and--and--"
"There, now; don't try to think," advised the doctor. "You'll be all right
in the morning."
"But I can't remember anything about that aviation man," protested Mr.
Swift. "I never used to be that way-- forgetting things. I don't like it!"
"Oh, it's just because you're tired," declared the physician. "It will all
come back to you in the morning. I'll stop in and see you then. Now try
to go to sleep." And he left the room.
Tom followed him, Mrs. Baggert and Mr. Jackson remaining with the
sick man.
"What is the matter with my father, Dr. Gladby?" asked Tom earnestly,
as the doctor prepared to take his departure. "Is it anything serious?"
"Well," began the medical man, "I would not be doing my duty, Tom,
if I did not tell you what it is. That is, it is comparatively serious, but it
is curable, and I think we can bring him around. He has an affection of
the heart, that, while it is common enough, is sometimes fatal.
"But I do not think it will be so in your father's case. He has a fine
constitution, and this would never have happened had he not been run
down from overwork. That is the principal trouble. What he needs is
rest; and then, with the proper remedies, he will be as well as before."
"But that strange lapse of memory,