“Why, bless my shoe-laces, if it isn’t Tom Swift!” exclaimed Mr. Damon, who seemed very fond of calling down blessings upon himself or upon articles of his dress or person.

“Yes ’.  I’m here,” admitted Tom with a laugh.

“And in a motor-boat, too!  Bless my pocketbook, but did that run away with some one who sold it to you cheap?”

“No, not exactly,” and the lad explained how he had come into possession of it.  By this time he was ashore and had tied the arrow to an overhanging tree.  Then Tom proceeded to where Mr. Damon had left his stalled automobile.  The eccentric man was wealthy and his physician had instructed him to ride about in the car for his health.  Tom soon located the trouble.  The carburetor had become clogged, and it was soon in working order again.

“Well, now that you have a boat ’, I don’t suppose you will be riding about the country so much,” commented Mr. Damon as he got into his car.  “Bless my spark-plug!  But if you ever get over to Waterfield, where I live, come and see me.  It’s handy to get to by water.”

“I’ll come some day,” promised the lad.

“Bless my hat band, but I hope so,” went on the eccentric individual as he prepared to start his car.

Tom completed the remainder of the trip to his house without incident and his father came down to the dock to see the motor-boat.  He agreed with his son that it was a bargain and that it could easily be put in fine shape.

The youth spent all the next day and part of the following working on the craft.  He overhauled the ignition system, which was the jump-spark style, cleaned the magneto and adjusted the gasoline and compression taps so that they fitted better.  Then he readjusted the rudder lines, tightening them on the steering wheel, and looked over the piping from the gasoline tank.

The tank was in the forward compartment, and, upon inspecting this, the lad concluded to change the plan by which the big galvanized iron box was held in place.  He took out the old wooden braces and set them closer together, putting in a few new ones.

“The tank will not vibrate so when I’m going at full speed,” he explained to his father.

“Is that where the strange man was tampering with the lock the day of the auction?” asked Mr. Swift.

“Yes, but I don’t see what he could want in this compartment, do you dad?”

The inventor got into the boat and looked carefully into the rather dark space where the tank fitted.  He went over every inch of it, and, pointing to one of the thick wooden blocks that supported the tank, asked: 

“Did you bore that hole in there, Tom?”

“No, it was there before I touched the braces.  But it isn’t a hole, or rather, someone bored it and stopped it up again.  It doesn’t weaken the brace any.”

“No, I suppose not.  I was just wondering weather that was one of the new blocks or an old one.”