Lessons over, Tom hurried to his own particular shop, and began taking apart the damaged motor-cycle.

“First I’ll straighten the handle-bars, and then I’ll fix the motor and transmission,” he decided.  “The front wheel I can buy in town, as this one would hardly pay for repairing.”  Tom was soon busy with wrenches, hammers, pliers and screw-driver.  He was in his element, and was whistling over his task.  The motor he found in good condition, but it was not such an easy task as he had hoped to change the transmission.  He had finally to appeal to his father, in order to get the right proportion between the back and front gears, for the motor-cycle was operated by a sprocket chain, instead of a belt drive, as is the case with some.

Mr. Swift showed Tom how to figure out the number of teeth needed on each sprocket, in order to get an increase of speed, and as there was a sprocket wheel from a disused piece of machinery available, Tom took that.  He soon had it in place, and then tried the motor.  To his delight the number of revolutions of the rear wheel were increased about fifteen per cent.

“I guess I’ll make some speed,” he announced to his father.

“But it will take more gasolene to run the motor; don’t forget that.  You know the great principle of mechanics—­that you can’t get out of a machine any more than you put into it, nor quite as much, as a matter of fact, for considerable is lost through friction.”

“Well, then, I’ll enlarge the gasolene tank,” declared Tom.  “I want to go fast when I’m going.”

He reassembled the machine, and after several hours of work had it in shape to run, except that a front wheel was lacking.

“I think I’ll go to town and get one,” he remarked.  “The rain isn’t quite so hard now.”

In spite of his father’s mild objections Tom went, using his bicycle, the chain of which he had quickly repaired.  He found just the front wheel needed, and that night his motor-cycle was ready to run.  But it was too dark to try it then, especially as he had no good lantern, the one on the cycle having been smashed, and his own bicycle light not being powerful enough.  So he had to postpone his trial trip until the next day.

He was up early the following morning, and went out for a spin before breakfast.  He came back, with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, just as Mr. Swift and Mrs. Baggert were sitting down to the table.

“To Reedville and back,” announced Tom proudly.

“What, a round trip of thirty miles!” exclaimed Mr. Swift.

“That’s what!” declared his son.  “I went like a greased pig most of the way.  I had to slow up going through Mansburg, but the rest of at time I let it out for all it was worth.”

“You must be careful,” cautioned his father.  “You are not an expert yet.”

“No, I realize that.  Several times, when I wanted to slow up, I began to back-pedal, forgetting that I wasn’t on my bicycle.  Then I thought to shut off the power and put on the brake.  But it’s glorious fun.  I’m going out again as soon as I have something to eat.  That is, unless you want me to help you, dad.”