When Tom reached the prostrate figure on the grass at the foot ofthe old oak tree, the youth bent quickly over the man. There was anugly cut on his head, and blood was flowing from it. But Tom quicklynoticed that the stranger was breathing, though not very strongly.
"Well, he's not dead--just yet!" exclaimed the youth with a sigh ofrelief. "But I guess he's pretty badly hurt. I must get help--no,I'll take him into our house. It's not far. I'll call dad."
Leaning his wheel against the tree Tom started for his home, aboutthree hundred feet away, and then he noticed that the stranger'smotor-cycle was running at full speed on the ground.
"Guess I'd better shut off the power!" he exclaimed. "No use lettingthe machine be ruined." Tom had a natural love for machinery, and ithurt him almost as much to see a piece of fine apparatus abused asit did to see an animal mistreated. It was the work of amoment to shut off the gasolene and spark, and then the youth racedon toward his house.
"Where's dad?" he called to Mrs. Baggert, who was washing thedishes.
"Out in one of the shops," replied the housekeeper. "Why, Tom," shewent on hurriedly as she saw how excited he was, "whatever hashappened?"
"Man hurt--out in front--motor-cycle smash--I'm going to bring himin here--get some things ready--I'll find dad!"
"Bless and save us!" cried Mrs. Baggert. "Whatever are we coming to?Who's hurt? How did it happen? Is he dead?"
"Haven't time to talk now!" answered Tom, rushing from the house."Dad and I will bring him in here."
Tom found his father in one of the three small machine shops on thegrounds about the Swift home. The youth hurriedly told what hadhappened.
"Of course we'll bring him right in here!" assented Mr. Swift,putting aside the work upon which he was engaged. "Did you tell Mrs.Baggert?"
"Yes, and she's all excited."
"Well, she can't help it, being a woman, I suppose. But we'llmanage. Do you know the man?"
"Never saw him before to-day, when he tried to run me down. Guess hedoesn't know much about motor-cycles. But come on, dad. He may bleedto death."
Father and son hurried to where the stranger lay. As they bent overhim he opened his eyes and asked faintly:
"Where am I? What happened?"
"You're all right--in good hands," said Mr. Swift. "Are you muchhurt?"
"Not much--mostly stunned, I guess. What happened?" he repeated.
"You and your motor-cycle tried to climb a tree," remarked Tom withgrim humor.
"Oh, yes, I remember now. I couldn't seem to steer out of the way.And I couldn't shut off the power in time. Is the motor-cycle muchdamaged?"
"The front wheel is," reported Tom, after an inspection, "and thereare some other breaks, but I guess--"
"I wish it was all smashed!" exclaimed the man vigorously. "I neverwant to see it again!"
"Why, don't you like it?" asked Tom eagerly.
"No, and I never will," the man spoke faintly but determinedly.
"Never mind now," interposed Mr. Swift. "Don't excite yourself. Myson and I will take you to our house and send for a doctor."
"I'll bring the motor-cycle, after we've carried you in," added Tom.
"Don't worry about the machine. I never want to see it again!" wenton the man, rising to a sitting position. "It nearly killed me twiceto day. I'll never ride again."
"You'll feel differently after the doctor fixes you up," said Mr.Swift with a smile.
"Doctor! I don't need a doctor," cried the stranger. "I am onlybruised and shaken up."
"You have a bad cut on your head," said Tom.
"It isn't very deep," went on the injured man, placing his fingerson it. "Fortunately I struck the tree a glancing blow. If you willallow me to rest in your house a little while and give me someplaster for the cut I shall be all right again."
"Can you walk, or shall we carry you?" asked Tom's father.
"Oh, I can walk, if you'll support me a little." And the strangerproved that he could do this by getting to his feet and taking a fewsteps. Mr. Swift and his son took hold of his arms and led him tothe house. There he was placed on a lounge and given some simplerestoratives by Mrs. Baggert, who, when she found the accident wasnot serious, recovered her composure.
"I must have been unconscious for a few minutes," went on the man.
"You were," explained Tom. "When I got up to you I thought you weredead, until I saw you breathe. Then I shut off the power of yourmachine and ran in for dad. I've got the motor-cycle outside. Youcan't ride it for some time, I'm afraid, Mr.--er--" and Tom stoppedin some confusion, for he realized that he did not know the man'sname.
"I beg your pardon for not introducing myself before," went on thestranger. "I'm Wakefield Damon, of Waterfield. But don't worry aboutme riding that machine again. I never shall."
"Oh, perhaps--" began Mr. Swift.
"No, I never shall," went on Mr. Damon positively. "My doctor toldme to get it, as he thought riding around the country would benefitmy health I shall tell him his prescription nearly killed me."
"And me too," added Tom with a laugh.
"How--why--are you the young man I nearly ran down this morning?"asked Mr. Damon, suddenly sitting up and looking at the youth.
"I am," answered our hero.
"Bless my soul! So you are!" cried Mr. Damon. "I was wondering whoit could be. It's quite a coincidence. But I was in such a cloud ofdust I couldn't make out who it was."
"You had your muffler open, and that made considerable dust,"explained Tom.
"Was that it? Bless my existence! I thought something was wrong, butI couldn't tell what. I went over all the instructions in the bookand those the agent told me, but I couldn't think of the right one.I tried all sorts of things to make less dust, but I couldn't. Then,bless my eyelashes, if the machine didn't stop just after I nearlyran into you. I tinkered over it for an hour or more before I couldget it to going again. Then I ran into the tree. My doctor told methe machine would do my liver good, but, bless my happiness, I'd assoon be without a liver entirely as to do what I've done to-day. Iam done with motor-cycling!"
A hopeful look came over Tom's face, but he said nothing, that is,not just then. In a little while Mr. Damon felt so much better thathe said he would start for home. "I'm afraid you'll have to leaveyour machine here," said Tom.
"You can send for it any time you want to," added Mr. Swift.
"Bless my hatband!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, who appeared to be veryfond of blessing his various organs and his articles of wearingapparel. "Bless my hatband! I never want to see it again! If youwill be so kind as to keep it for me, I will send a junk man afterit. I will never spend anything on having it repaired. I am donewith that form of exercise--liver or no liver--doctor or no doctor."
He appeared very determined. Tom quickly made up his mind. Mr. Damonhad gone to the bathroom to get rid of some of the mud on his handsand face.
"Father," said Tom earnestly, "may I buy that machine of him?"
"What? Buy a broken motor-cycle?"
"I can easily fix it. It is a fine make, and in good condition. Ican repair it. I've wanted a motor-cycle for some time, and here's achance to get a good one cheap."
"You don't need to do that," replied Mr. Swift. "You have moneyenough to buy a new one if you want it. I never knew you cared forthem."
"I didn't, until lately. But I'd rather buy this one and fix it upthan get a new one. Besides, I have an idea for a new kind oftransmission, and perhaps I can work it out on this machine."
"Oh, well, if you want it for experimental purposes, I suppose itwill be as good as any. Go ahead, get it if you wish, but don't givetoo much for it."
"I'll not. I fancy I can get it cheap."
Mr. Damon returned to the living-room, where he had first beencarried.
"I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me," he said."I might have lain there for hours. Bless my very existence! I havehad a very narrow escape. Hereafter when I see anyone on a motor-cycleI shall turn my head away. The memory will be too painful," and hetouched the plaster that covered a cut on his head.
"Mr. Damon," said Tom quickly, "will you sell me that motor-cycle?"
"Bless my finger rings! Sell you that mass of junk?"
"It isn't all junk," went on the young inventor. "I can easily fixit; though, of course," he added prudently, "it will cost something.How much would you want for it?"
"Well," replied Mr. Damon, "I paid two hundred and fifty dollarslast week. I have ridden a hundred miles on it. That is at the rateof two dollars and a half a mile--pretty expensive riding. But ifyou are in earnest I will let you have the machine for fiftydollars, and then I fear that I will be taking advantage of you."
"I'll give you fifty dollars," said Tom quickly, and Mr. Damonexclaimed:
"Bless my liver--that is, if I have one. Do you mean it?"
Tom nodded. "I'll fetch you the money right away," he said, startingfor his room. He got the cash from a small safe he had arranged,which was fitted up with an ingenious burglar alarm, and was on hisway downstairs when he heard his father call out:
"Here! What do you want? Go away from that shop! No one is allowedthere!" and looking from an upper window, Tom saw his father runningtoward a stranger, who was just stepping inside the shop where Mr.Swift was constructing his turbine motor. Tom started as he saw thatthe stranger was the same black-mustached man whom he had noticed inthe post-office, and, later, in the restaurant at Mansburg.