"Who?"

"Mr. Baxter. He's a chemist. And though he says his formulae are about
dyes and fireworks, maybe he can put you in the way of inventing a
chemical solution that will be death to fires."

"He might," Tom agreed. "But I think he'll be out of business for some
time. This shock--being overcome by smoke and his secret formulae
having been stolen--seem to have affected his mind. I don't know that I
could depend on him."

"It's worth trying," declared Ned. "What do you suppose he means, Tom,
saying that Field and Melling stole his formulae?"

"Haven't the least idea. I only know those fireworks firm members
slightly, if at all. I'm not sure I'd recognize them if I met them. But
they are reputed to be wealthy, and I hardly think they would stoop to
stealing some inventor's formulae.

"We inventors are a suspicious lot, Ned, as you probably have found
out," he added with a smile. "We imagine the rest of the world is out
to cheat us, and I presume Josephus Baxter is no exception. Still,
there may be some truth in his story. I'll give him all the help I can.
But I'm going into the aerial fire-fighting game. I've been waiting for
something new, and this may be it."

"You may count on me!" declared Ned. "And now, unless you're going to
sit up all night and start studying chemistry, you'd better come to
bed."

"That's right. Tomorrow is another day. I hope Mr. Baxter gets some
rest. Sleep will improve him a lot, the doctor said."

"I know one friend of yours who will be glad to know that you are going
to start something," remarked Ned, as he and Tom started for their
rooms, for the young manager was staying with his friend for the night.

"Who?" Tom wanted to know.

"Mr. Wakefield Damon," was the answer. "He hasn't been over lately,
Tom."

"No, he's been off on a little trip, blessing everything from his
baggage check to his suspender buttons," laughed the young inventor, as
he recalled his eccentric acquaintance. "I shall be glad to see him
again."

"He'll be right over as soon as he learns what's in the wind,"
predicted Ned.

The hopes that Mr. Baxter would be greatly improved in the morning were
doomed to disappointment. He was in no actual danger, the doctor said,
but his recovery from the effects of the smoke he had breathed was not
as rapid as desired or hoped for.

"He's suffering from some shock," said the physician, "and his mental
condition is against him. He ought to be kept quiet, and if you