“Mr. Damon, is it true that you’re having hard luck—­in money matters?”

“Why, yes, Tom, I’m afraid I am,” was the quick answer.  “But who told you?”

“Grant Halling.  He was over to get me to fix his airship,” and Tom briefly related what had happened.

“Oh, yes, I did mention the matter to him,” went on Mr. Damon, and his tone was still listless.  “So he told you; did he?  Well, matters aren’t any better, Tom.  In fact, they’re worse.  I just had to write to a man who was asking for help, and I had to refuse him, though he needs it very much.  The truth is I hadn’t the money.  Tom, I’m afraid I’m going to be a very poor man soon.”

“Impossible, Mr. Damon!  Why, I thought your investments—­”

“I’ve made some bad ones of late, Tom.  I’ve been pretty foolish, I’m afraid.  I drew out some money I had in government bonds, and invested in certain stocks sold by a Mr. Shallock Peters.”

“Shallock Peters!” cried Tom, almost jumping out of his chair.  “Why, I know him—­I mean I’ve met him.”

“Have you, Tom?  Well, then, all I’ve got to say is to steer clear of him, my boy.  Don’t have anything to do with him,” and, with something of a return of his usual energy Mr. Damon banged his fist down on his desk.  “Give him a wide berth, Tom, and if you see him coming, turn your back.  He’d talk a miser into giving him his last cent.  Keep away from Shallock Peters, Tom.  Bless my necktie, he’s a scoundrel, that’s what he is!” and again Mr. Damon banged his desk forcibly.

CHAPTER VII

SOFT WORDS

“Well, I’m glad of one thing!” exclaimed Tom, when the ink bottle and the paper cutter on Mr. Damon’s desk had ceased rattling, because of the violence of the blow.  “I’m glad of one thing.”

“What’s that, Tom?” asked his friend.

“I heard you bless something at last—­the first time since I came in.”

“Oh!” and Mr. Damon laughed.  “Well, Tom, I haven’t been blessing things lately—­that’s a fact.  I haven’t had the heart for it.  There are too many business complications.  I wish I’d never met this Peters.”

“So do I,” said Tom.  “My motor boat would not have been damaged then.”

“Did he do that, Tom?”

“He certainly did, and then he accused me of being at fault.”

“That would be just like him.  Tell me about it, Tom.”

When the young inventor finished the story of the collision Mr. Damon sat silent for a moment.  Then he remarked slowly: 

“That’s just like Peters.  A big bluff—­that’s what he is.  I wish I’d discovered that fact sooner—­I’d be money in pocket.  But I allowed myself to be deceived by his talk about big profits.  At first he seemed like a smart business man, and he certainly had fine recommendations.  But I am inclined to believe, now, that the recommendations were forged.”

“What did he do to you, Mr. Damon?” asked Tom, with ready sympathy.