"Let me help you!" begged Tom, striding forward. "Mr.
Titus, perhaps you will kindly lead the horse down off the
piazza?"

"Certainly!" answered the tunnel contractor. "Whoa now!"
he called soothingly, as the steed evinced a disposition to
sit down on the side railing. "Steady now!"

The horse finally allowed himself to be led down the broad
front steps, sadly marking them, as well as the floor of the
piazza, with his sharp shoes.

"Ouch! Oh, my back!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as Tom helped
him to stand up.

"Is it hurt?" asked Tom, anxiously.

"No, I've just got what old-fashioned folks call a 'crick'
in it," explained the elderly horseman. "But it feels more
like a river than a 'crick.' I'll be all right presently."

"How did it happen?" asked Tom, as he led his guest toward
the hall. Meanwhile Mr. Titus, wondering what it was all
about, had tied the horse to a post out near the street
curb, and had re-entered the library.

"I was riding over to see you, Tom, to ask you if you
wouldn't go to South America with me," began Mr. Damon,
rubbing his leg tenderly.