Letter for you, Tom Swift."
"Ah, thanks, Mr. Wilson. This is the first mail I've had this week.
You've been neglecting me," and the young inventor took the missive
which the Shopton postman handed to him over the gate, against which
Tom was leaning one fine, warm Spring day.
"Well, I get around as often as I can, Tom. You're not home a great
deal, you know. When you're not off in your sky racer seeing how much
you can beat the birds, you're either hunting elephants in Africa, or
diving down under the ocean, or out in a diamond mine, or some such
out-of-the-way place as that. No...