“No, not this morning.  Learn to ride the motor-cycle.  It may come in handy.”

Neither Tom nor his father realized what an important part the machine was soon to play in their lives.

Tom went out for another spin after breakfast, and in a different direction.  He wanted to see what the machine would do on a hill, and there was a long, steep one about five miles from home.  The roads were in fine shape after the rain, and he speeded up the incline at a rapid rate.

“It certainly does eat up the road,” the lad murmured.  “I have improved this machine considerably.  Wish I could take out a patent on it.”

Reaching the crest of the slope, he started down the incline.  He turned off part of the power, and was gliding along joyously, when from a cross-road he suddenly saw turn into the main highway a mule, drawing a ramshackle wagon, loaded with fence posts.  Beside the animal walked an old colored man.

“I hope he gets out of the way in time,” thought Tom.  “He’s moving as slow as molasses, and I’m going a bit faster than I like.  Guess I’ll shut off and put on the brakes.”

The mule and wagon were now squarely across the road.  Tom was coming nearer and nearer.  He turned the handle-grip, controlling the supply of gasolene, and to his horror he found that it was stuck.  He could not stop the motor-cycle!

“Look out!  Look out!” cried Tom to the negro.  “Get out of the way!  I can’t stop!  Let me pass you!”

The darky looked up.  He saw the approaching machine, and he seemed to lose possession of his senses.

“Whoa, Boomerang!” cried the negro.  “Whoa!  Suffin’s gwine t’ happen!”

“That’s what!” muttered Tom desperately, as he saw that there was not room for him to pass without going into the ditch, a proceeding that would mean an upset.  “Pull out of the way!” he yelled again.

But either the driver could not understand, or did not appreciate the necessity.  The mule stopped and reared up.  The colored man hurried to the head of the animal to quiet it.

“Whoa, Boomerang!  Jest yo’ stand still!” he said.

Tom, with a great effort, managed to twist the grip and finally shut off the gasolene.  But it was too late.  He struck the darky with the front wheel.  Fortunately the youth had managed to somewhat reduce his speed by a quick application of the brake, or the result might have been serious.  As it was, the colored man was gently lifted away from the mule’s head and tossed into the long grass in the ditch.  Tom, by a great effort, succeeded in maintaining his seat in the saddle, and then, bringing the machine to a stop, he leaped off and turned back.

The colored man was sitting up, looking dazed.

“Whoa, Boomerang!” he murmured.  “Suffin’s happened!”

But the mule, who had quieted down, only waggled his ears lazily, and Tom, ready to laugh, now that he saw he had not committed manslaughter, hurried to where the colored man was sitting.