“You won’t hear the last of this for a long time, either.  I’ll have you, and your old rack of bones, your mule Boomerang, run out of town, that’s what I will.”

“What’s dat?  Yo’ all gwine t’hab Boomerang run out ob town?” demanded Eradicate, a sudden change coming over him.  His mule was his most beloved possession.  “Lemme tell yo’ one thing, Massa Andy.  I’se an old colored man, an’ I ain’t much ‘count mebby.  But ef yo’ dare lay one finger on mah mule Boomerang, only jest one finger, mind you’, why I’ll—­I’ll jest natchally drown yo’—­all in whitewash, dat’s what I’ll do!”

Eradicate drew himself up proudly, and boldly faced Andy.  The bully shrank back.  He knew better than to arouse the colored man further.

“You’ll suffer for this,” predicted the bully.  “For not going to forget it.  Tom Swift put you up to this, and I’ll take it out of him the next time I see him.  He’s to blame.”

“Now looky heah, honey!” said Eradicate quick.  “Doan’t yo’ all git no sich notion laik dat in yo’ head.  Massa Tom didn’t tell me to do noth’in an I ain’t.  He ain’t eben ‘round yeh.  An’ annudder thing.  Yo’se t’ blame to’ this yo’ own se’f.  Ef yo’ hadn’t gone fo’ is kick de bucket it nebber would ‘a happened.  It’s yo’ own fault, honey, an’ doan’t yo’ forgit dat!  No, yo’ better go home an’ git some dry clothes on.”

It was good advice, for Andy was soaking wet.  He glared angrily at Eradicate, and then swung off down the road, the whitewash dripping from has garments at every step.

“Land a massy!  But he suah did use up all mah lime.” complained Eradicate, as he picked up the overturned pail.  “I’s got t’ make mo’.  But I doan’t mind,” he added cheerfully, and then, as he saw the woe-begone figure of Andy shuffling along, he laughed heartily, fitted the brush on the handle and went to tell Tom and Ned what had happened, and make more whitewash.

“Hum!  Served him right,” commented the young inventor.

“I suppose he’ll try to play some mean trick on you now,” commented Ned.  “He’ll think you had some hand in what Rad did.”

“Let him,” answered Tom.  “If he tries any of his games I’ll be ready for him.”

“Maybe we’ll soon be able to start for the city of gold,” suggested Ned.

“I’m afraid not in some time,” was his chum’s reply.  “It’s going to take quite a while to get ready, and then we’ve got to wait to hear from Mr. Illingway.  I wonder if it’s true that Mr. Foger has lost his fortune; or was that only a trick?”

“Oh, it’s true enough,” answered Ned.  “I heard some of the bank officials talking about it the other day.”  Ned was employed in one of the Shopton banks, an institution in which Tom and his father owned considerable stock.  “He hasn’t hardly any money left, and he may leave town and go out west, I heard.”

“He can’t go any too soon to suit me,” spoke Tom, “and I hope he takes Andy with him.”