ented Tom. "But even with the one we have I'd take a
chance and look for the underground city."

"I'll mail the letter," went on Mr. Damon, who was as eager over the
prospective adventure as was Tom. "I'm going back home to Waterfield
I think. My wife says I stay here too much."

"Don't be in a hurry," urged Tom. "Can't you stay to supper? I'll
take you home to-night in the sky racer. I want to talk more about
the city of gold, and plan what we ought to take with us to Mexico."

"All right," agreed Mr. Damon. "I'll stay, but I suppose I
shouldn't. But let's mail the letter."

It was after supper, when, the letter having been posted, that Tom,
his father and Mr. Damon were discussing the city of gold.

"Will you go, even if Mr. Illingway can't send a better map?" asked
Mr. Damon.

"Sure" exclaimed Tom. "I want to get one of the golden images if I
have to hunt all over the Aztec country for it."

"Who's talking of golden images?" demanded a new voice, and Tom
looked up quickly, to see Ned Newton, his chum, entering the room.
Ned had come in unannounced, as he frequently did.

"Hello, old stock!" cried Tom affectionately. "Sir, there's great
news. It's you and me for the city of gold now!"

"Get out! What are you talking about?"

Then Tom had to go into details, and explain to Ned all about the
great quantity of gold that might be found in the underground city.

"You'll come along, won't you, Ned?" finished the young inventor.
"We can't get along without you. Mr. Damon is going, and Eradicate
too, I guess. We'll have a great time."

"Well, maybe I can fix it so I can go," agreed Ned, slowly, "I'd
like it, above all things. Where did you say that golden city was?"

"Somewhere about the central part of Mexico, near the city of--"

"Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Ned, holding up a hand to caution Tom to
silence.

"What is it?" asked the young inventor in a whisper.

"Some one is coming along the hall," replied Ned in a low voice.

They all listened intently. There was no doubt but that some one was
approaching along the corridor leading to the library where the
conference was being held.

"Oh, it's only Mrs. Baggert," remarked Tom a moment later, relief
showing in his voice. "I know her step."

There was a tap on the door, and the housekeeper pushed it open, for
it had been left ajar. She thrust her head in and remarked:

"I guess you've forgotten, Mr. Swift, that Andy Foger is waiting for
you in the next