“Chain’s busted!” exclaimed the lad as he picked himself up out of the dust.  “Well, wouldn’t that jar you!” and he walked back to where, in the dusk, he could dimly discern his wheel.

The chain had come off the two sprockets and was lying to one side.  Tom picked it up and ascertained by close observation that the screw and nut holding the two joining links together was lost.

“Nice pickle!” he murmured.  “How am I going to find it in all this dust and darkness?” he asked himself disgustedly.  “I’ll carry an extra screw next time.  No, I won’t, either.  I’ll ride my motor-cycle next time.  Well, I may as well give a look around.  I hate to walk, if I can fix it and ride.”

Tom had not spent more than two minutes looking about the dusty road, with the aid of matches, for the screw, when the rain suddenly began falling in a hard shower.

“Guess there’s no use lingering here any longer,” he remarked.  “I’ll push the wheel and run for home.”

He started down the road in the storm and darkness.  The highway soon became a long puddle of mud, through which he splashed, finding it more and more difficult every minute to push the bicycle in the thick, sticky clay.

Above the roar of the wind and the swishing of the rain he heard another sound.  It was a steady “puff-puff,” and then the darkness was cut by a glare of light.

“An automobile,” said Tom aloud.  “Guess I’d better get out of the way.”

He turned to one side, but the auto, instead of passing him when it got to the place where he was, made a sudden stop.

“Want a ride?” asked the chauffeur, peering out from the side curtains which somewhat protected him from the storm.  Tom saw that the car was a large, touring one.  “Can I give you a lift?” went on the driver.

“Well, I’ve got my bicycle with me,” explained the young inventor.  “My chain’s broken, and I’ve got a mile to go.”

“Jump up in back,” invited the man.  “Leave your wheel here; I guess it will be safe.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” said Tom.  “I don’t mind walking.  I’m wet through now, and I can’t get much wetter.  I’m much obliged, though.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I can hardly take you and the bicycle, too,” continued the chauffeur.

“Certainly not,” added a voice from the tonneau of the car.  “We can’t have a muddy bicycle in here.  Who is that person, Simpson?”

“It’s a young man,” answered the driver.

“Is he acquainted around here?” went on the voice from the rear of the car.  “Ask him if he is acquainted around here, Simpson.”

Tom was wondering where he had heard that voice before.  He had a vague notion that it was familiar.

“Are you acquainted around here?” obediently asked the man at the wheel.

“I live here,” replied Tom.

“Ask him if he knows any one named Swift?” continued the voice from the tonneau, and the driver started to repeat it.