a young fellow who was at work near by to occupy the
gate-house, Tom led Mr. Titus toward the Swift homestead, and, a little
later, ushered him into the library.

"Now I'll listen to you," the youth said, "though I can't promise to
aid you."

"I realize that," returned Mr. Titus. "This is a sort of last chance
I'm taking. My brother and I have heard a lot about you, and when he
wrote to me that he was unable to proceed with his contract of
tunneling the Andes Mountains for the Peruvian government, I made up my
mind you were the one who could help us if you would."

"Tunneling the Andes Mountains!" exclaimed Tom.

"Yes. The firm represented by my brother and myself have a contract to
build a railroad for the Peruvian government. At a point some distance
back in the district east of Lima, Peru, we are making a tunnel under
the mountain. That is, we have it started, but now we can't advance any
further."

"Why not?"

"Because of the peculiar character of the rock, which seems to defy the
strongest explosive we can get. Now I understand you used a powder in
your giant cannon that--"

Mr. Titus paused in his explanation, for at that moment there arose
such a clatter out on the front piazza as effectually to drown
conversation. There was a noise of the hoofs of a horse, the fall of a
heavy body, a tattoo on the porch floor and then came an excited shout:

"Whoa there! Whoa! Stop! Look out where you're kicking! Bless my
saddle blanket! Ouch! There I go!"

Chapter II

Explanations

"What in the world is that?" cried Mr. Job Titus, in alarm.

Tom Swift did not answer. Instead he jumped up from his chair and ran
toward the front door. Mr. Titus followed. They both saw a strange
sight.

Standing on the front porch, which he seemed to occupy completely, was
a large horse, with a saddle twisted underneath him. The animal was
looking about him as calmly as though he always made it a practice to
come up on the front piazza when stopping at a house.

Off to one side, with a crushed hat on the back of his head, with a
coat split up the back, with a broken riding crop in one hand and a
handkerchief in the other, sat a dignified, elderly gentleman.

That is, he would have been dignified had it not been for his position
and condition. No gentleman can look dignified with a split coat and a
crushed hat on, sitting under the nose of a horse on a front piazza,
with his raiment otherwise much disheveled, while he