ollow it like a halo.

"Why don't you learn to ride before you come out on the road!" cried
Tom somewhat angrily.

Like an echo from the dust-cloud came floating back these words:

"I'm--try--ing--to!" Then the sound of the explosions became
fainter.

"Well, he's got lots to learn yet!" exclaimed Tom. "That's twice
to-day I've nearly been run down. I expect I'd better look out for the
third time. They say that's always fatal," and the lad leaped from his
wheel. "Wonder if he bent any of my spokes?" the young inventor
continued as he inspected his bicycle.

CHAPTER II.

TOM OVERHEARS SOMETHING

"Everything seems to be all right," Tom remarked, "but another inch
or so and he'd have crashed into me. I wonder who he was? I wish I
had a machine like that. I could make better time than I can on my
bicycle. Perhaps I'll get one some day. Well, I might as well ride
on."

Tom was soon at Mansburg, and going to the post-office handed in the
letter for registry. Bearing in mind his father's words, he looked
about to see if there were any suspicious characters, but the only
person he noticed was a well-dressed man, with a black mustache, who
seemed to be intently studying the schedule of the arrival and
departure of the mails.

"Do you want the receipt for the registered, letter sent to you here
or at Shopton?" asked the clerk of Tom. "Come to think of it,
though, it will have to come here, and you can call for it. I'll
have it returned to Mr. Barton Swift, care of general delivery, and
you can get it the next time you are over," for the clerk knew Tom.

"That will do," answered our hero, and as he turned away from the
window he saw that the man who had been inquiring about the mails
was regarding him curiously. Tom thought nothing of it at the time,
but there came an occasion when he wished that he had taken more
careful note of the well-dressed individual. As the youth passed out
of the outer door he saw the man walk over to the registry window.

"He seems to have considerable mail business," thought Tom, and then
the matter passed from his mind as he mounted his wheel and hurried
to the machine shop.

"Say, I'm awfully sorry," announced Mr. Merton when Tom said he had
come for the bolts, "but they're not quite done. They need
polishing. I know I promised them to your father to-day, and he can
have them, but he was very particular about the polish, and as one
of my best workers was taken sick, I'm a littl