“Mr. Damon!” exclaimed Tom, and, without knowing it, he had spoken aloud.

“Hold on there!  Hold on!  Who’s calling me in this forsaken locality?  Bless my shirt studs!  But who is it?” and the eccentric man who had sold Tom the motor-cycle looked intently at the bushes.

“Here I am, Mr. Damon,” answered the lad, stepping out into the road.  “I knew it was you as soon as I saw you.”

“Bless my liver, but that’s very true!  I suppose you heard my unfortunate automobile puffing along.  I declare I don’t know what ails it.  I got it on the advice of my physician, who said I must get out in the air, but, bless my gears, it’s the auto who needs a doctor more than I do!  It’s continually out of order.  Something is going to happen right away.  I can tell by the way it’s behaving.”

Mr. Damon had thrown out the clutch, but the engine was still running, though in a jerky, uncertain fashion, which indicated to the trained ear of the young inventor that something was wrong.

“Perhaps I can fix it for you as I did before,” ventured Tom.

“Bless my eyebrows!  Perhaps you can,” cried the eccentric man hopefully.  “You always seem to turn up at the right moment.  How do you manage it?”

“I don’t know.  I remember the time you turned up just when I wanted you to help me capture Happy Harry and his gang, and now, by, a strange coincidence, I’m after them again.”

“You don’t say so!  My good gracious!  Bless my hatband!  But that’s odd.  There!” he ejaculated suddenly as the automobile engine stopped with a choking sigh, “I knew something was going to happen.”

“Let me take a look,” proposed the lad, and he was soon busy peering into the interior of the machine.  At first he could not find the trouble, but being a persistent youth, Tom went at it systematically and located it in two places.  The clutch was not rightly adjusted and the carburetor float feed needed fixing.  The young inventor was not long in making the slight repairs and then he assured Mr. Damon that his automobile would run properly.

“Bless my very existence, but what a thing it is to have a head for mechanics!” exclaimed the odd man gratefully.  “Now it would bother me to adjust a nutmeg grater if it got out of order, but I dare say you could fix it in no time.”

“Yes,” answered Tom, “I could and so could you, for there’s nothing about it to fix.  But you can go ahead now if you wish.”

“Thank you.  It just shows how ignorant I am of machinery.  I presume something will go wrong in another mile or two.  But may I ask what you are doing here?  I presume you are in your motor-boat, sailing about for pleasure.  And didn’t I understand you to say you were after those chaps again?  Bless my watch charm, but I was so interested in my machine that I didn’t think to ask you.”

“Yes, I am after those thieves again.”

“In your motor-boat, I presume.  Well, I hope you catch them.  What have they stolen now?”