quietly, seeing that he must relieve her mind. "I let that fellow
get away with my wallet; but I won't let him hurt me. Don't
fear."

She had opened the door. The lamplight fell across porch and
steps, and in a broad white band even to the gate and sidewalk.
There was a motor-car slowing down right before the open gate.

"Who's this?" queried Tom, puzzled.

A sharp voice suddenly was raised in an exclamatory explosion.

"Bless my breakshoes! is that Tom Swift? Just the chap I was
looking for. Bless my mileage-book! this saves me time and
money."

"Why, it's Mr. Wakefield Damon," Mary cried, with something
like relief in her tones. "You can ride home in his car, Tom."

"All right, Mary. Don't be afraid for me," replied Tom Swift,
and ran down the walk to the waiting car.

"Bless my vest buttons! Tom Swift, my heart swells when I see
you--"

"And is like to burst off the said vest buttons?" chuckled the
young fellow, stepping in beside his eccentric friend who blessed
everything inanimate in his florid speech.

"I am delighted to catch you--although, of course," and Tom