stopped.

"Bless my overshoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's that; a fuse
blown out?"

"No," replied Tom, with a puzzled air. "But something has gone
wrong." Hastily he got out, and made an examination. He found it
was only one of the unimportant wires which had short-circuited,
and it was soon adjusted. But they had lost five precious
minutes. Tom tried to make up for lost time, but came to a hill a
little later, and this reduced their speed.

"Do you think we can make it before twelve?" asked Mr. Damon
anxiously. "We've got to, if we're to get back before three,
Tom."

"I'll try," was the calm answer, and Tom's jaw was shut still
more tightly. Once again came more favorable roads and pushing
the car to the limit the occupants were rejoiced, a little later,
as they topped a hill, to come in sight of a fairly large city.

"There's Clayton!" cried Mr. Damon.

Ten minutes later they were rolling through the main street,
and as they stopped in front of the bank, the noon whistles blew
shrill and noisily.

"You did it, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, springing out with the
valise of securities. "Now be ready for the return trip. I'll be
with you as soon as possible."