While Dr. Hendrix was in his office, getting ready to make the thrilling trip through the air with Tom, the young inventor spent a few minutes going over his monoplane. The wonderful little craft had made her first big flight in excellent time, though Tom knew she could do better the farther she was flown. Not a stay had started, not a guy wire was loose. The motor had not overheated, and every bearing was as cool as though it had not taken part in thousands of revolutions.  
"Oh, I can depend on you!" murmured Tom, as he looked to see that the propeller² was tight on the shaft³. He gave the bearing a slight adjustment to make sure of it.
 
He was at this when the specialist reappeared. Dr. Hendrix, after his first show of excitement, when he had made his decision to accompany Tom, had resumed his usual calm demeanor⁴. Once again he was the grave surgeon, with his mind on the case before him.
 
"Well, is my auto⁵ ready?" he asked absentmindedly. Then, as he saw the little aeroplane, and Tom standing⁶ waiting beside it, he added: "Oh, I forgot for the moment that I was to make a trip through the air, instead of in my car. Well, Mr. Swift, are we all ready?"
 
"All ready," replied the young inventor. "We're going to make fast time, Dr. Hendrix. You'd better put this on," and Tom extended a face protector.
 
"What's it for?" The physician looked curiously⁷ at it.
 
"To keep the air from cutting your cheeks and lips. We are going to travel a hundred miles an hour this trip."
 
"A hundred miles an hour!" Dr. Hendrix spoke⁸ as though he would like to back out.
 
"Maybe more, if I can manage it," went on Tom, calmly, as he proceeded to remove the bag of sand from the place where the surgeon was to sit. Then he looked to the various equilibrium⁹ arrangements and the control levers. He was so cool about it, taking it all for granted, as if rising and flying through the air at a speed rivaling that of the fastest birds, was a matter of no moment, that Dr. Hendrix was impressed by the calm demeanor of the young inventor.
 
"Very well," said the surgeon with a shrug¹⁰ of his shoulders, "I guess I'm game, Tom Swift."
 
The doctor took the seat Tom pointed¹¹ out to him, with his bag of instruments on his knees. He put on the face protector, and had, at the suggestion of our hero, donned a heavy coat.
 
"For it's cold in the upper regions," said Tom.
 
Several servants in the physician's household had gathered to see him depart in this novel fashion, and the chauffeur¹² of the auto, in which the specialist usually made his calls, was also there.
 
"I'll give you a hand," said the chauffeur to the young inventor. "I was at an aviation meet once, and I know how it's done."
 
"Good," exclaimed Tom. "Then you can hold the machine, and shove when I give the word."
 
Tom started the propeller himself, and quickly jumped into his seat. The chauffeur held back the Humming-Bird until the young aviator¹³ had speeded up the motor.
 
"Let go!" cried the youthful inventor, and the man gave the little craft a shove. Across the rather uneven¹⁴ ground of the doctor's yard it ran, straight for a big iron barrier.
 
"Look out! We'll be into the fence!" shouted the surgeon. "We'll be killed!" He seemed about to leap off.
 
"Sit still!" cried Tom, and at that instant he tilted¹⁵ the

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