reciate what you have
done for me, and if at any time I can reciprocate the favor, I will
only be too glad to do so. Bless my soul, though, I hope I don't
have to rescue you from trying to climb a tree," and with a laugh,
which showed that he had fully recovered from his mishap, he shook
hands with father and son and left.

"A very nice man, Tom," commented Mr. Swift. "Somewhat odd and out
of the ordinary, but a very fine character, for all that."

"That's what I say," added the son. "Now, dad, you'll see me
scooting around the country on a motor-cycle. I've always wanted
one, and now I have a bargain."

"Do you think you can repair it?"

"Of course, dad. I've done more difficult things than that. I'm
going to take it apart now, and see what it needs."

"Before you do that, Tom, I wish you would take a telegram to town
for me. I must wire my lawyers at once."

"Dad looks worried," thought Tom as he wheeled the broken motor-cycle
into a machine shop, where he did most of his work. "Well, I don't
blame him. But we'll get the best of those scoundrels yet!"

CHAPTER VI.

AN INTERVIEW IN THE DARK

While Mr. Swift was writing the message he wished his son to take to
the village, the young mechanic inspected the motor-cycle he had
purchased. Tom found that a few repairs would suffice to put it in
good shape, though an entire new front wheel would be needed. The
motor had not been damaged, as he ascertained by a test. Tom rode
into town on his bicycle, and as he hurried along he noticed in the
west a bank of ugly-looking clouds that indicated a shower.

"I'm in for a wetting before I get back," he mused, and he increased
his speed, reaching the telegraph office shortly before seven
o'clock.

"Think this storm will hold off until I get home?" asked Tom.

"I'm afraid not," answered the agent. "You'd better get a hustle
on."

Tom sprinted off. It was getting dark rapidly, and when he was about
a mile from home he felt several warm drops on his face.

"Here it comes!" exclaimed the youth. "Now for a little more speed!"

Tom pressed harder on the pedals, too hard, in fact, for an instant
later something snapped, and the next he knew he was flying over the
handle-bars of the bicycle. At the same time there was a metallic,
clinking sound.

"Chain's busted!" exclaimed the lad as he picked himself up out of
the dust. "Well, wouldn't that jar you!" and he walked back to
where, in the dusk, he could dimly dis