"You do?" cried Tom. "Who is he?"

"Name's Baxter, Josephus Baxter. He's a chemist, and he works
in the fireworks factory here. Not as one of the hands, but in
the experiment laboratory. I've seen him there late at night lots
of times. That's how I got acquainted with him. He was going in
around two o'clock one morning, and I stopped him, thinking he
was a thief. He proved his identity, and I've passed the time of
day with him many a time since"

"Where does he live?" asked Mr. Nestor.

"Down on Clay Street," and the officer mentioned the number.
"He lives all alone, so he told me. He's some sort of an
inventor, I guess. At least I judged so by his talk. Do you want
an ambulance, Doctor?" he asked the physician.

"No, I think he's coming around all right," was the answer. "If
we had an auto we could send him home."

"I'll take him in the runabout," eagerly offered Tom. "But if
he lives all alone will it be safe to leave him in his house?"

"He ought to be looked after, I suppose," the doctor stated.
"He'll be all right in a day or so if no complications set in,
but he'll be weak for a while and need attention."

"Then I'll take him home with me!" announced Tom. "We have
plenty of room, and Mrs. Baggert will feel right at home with