wipes his
scratched and bleeding face with a handkerchief.

"Bless my--bless my--" began the elderly gentleman, and he seemed at a
loss what particular portion of his anatomy or that of the horse, to
bless, or what portion of the universe to appeal to, for he ended up
with: "Bless everything, Tom Swift!"

"I heartily agree with you, Mr. Damon!" cried Tom. "But what in the
world happened?"

"That!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, pointing with his broken crop at the horse
on the piazza. "I was riding him when he ran away--just as my
motorcycle tried to climb a tree. No more horses for me! I'll stick to
airships," and slamming his riding crop down on the porch floor with
such force that the horse started back, Mr. Damon arose, painfully
enough if the contortions on his face and his grunts of pain went for
anything.

"Let me help you!" begged Tom, striding forward. "Mr. Titus, perhaps
you will kindly lead the horse down off the piazza?"

"Certainly!" answered the tunnel contractor. "Whoa now!" he called
soothingly, as the steed evinced a disposition to sit down on the side
railing. "Steady now!"

The horse finally allowed himself to be led down the broad front steps,
sadly marking them, as well as the floor of the piazza, with his sharp
shoes.

"Ouch! Oh, my back!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as Tom helped him to stand up.

"Is it hurt?" asked Tom, anxiously.

"No, I've just got what old-fashioned folks call a 'crick' in it,"
explained the elderly horseman. "But it feels more like a river than a
'crick.' I'll be all right presently."

"How did it happen?" asked Tom, as he led his guest toward the hall.
Meanwhile Mr. Titus, wondering what it was all about, had tied the
horse to a post out near the street curb, and had re-entered the
library.

"I was riding over to see you, Tom, to ask you if you wouldn't go to
South America with me," began Mr. Damon, rubbing his leg tenderly.

"South America?" cried Tom, with a sudden look at Mr. Titus.

"Yes, South America. Why, there isn't anything strange in that, is
there? You've been to wilder countries, and farther away than that."

"Yes, I know--it's just a coincidence. Go on."

"Let me get where I can sit down," begged Mr. Damon. "I think that
crick in my back is running down into my legs, Tom. I feel a bit weak.
Let me sit down, and get me a glass of water. I shall be all right
presently."

Between them Tom and Mr. Titus assisted the horseman into an easy
chair, and there, unde