I never knew you cared for
them."
"I didn't, until lately. But I'd rather buy this one and fix it up
than get a new one. Besides, I have an idea for a new kind of
transmission, and perhaps I can work it out on this machine."
"Oh, well, if you want it for experimental purposes, I suppose it
will be as good as any. Go ahead, get it if you wish, but don't give
too much for it."
"I'll not. I fancy I can get it cheap."
Mr. Damon returned to the living-room, where he had first been
carried.
"I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me," he said.
"I might have lain there for hours. Bless my very existence! I have
had a very narrow escape. Hereafter when I see anyone on a motor-cycle
I shall turn my head away. The memory will be too painful," and he
touched the plaster that covered a cut on his head.
"Mr. Damon," said Tom quickly, "will you sell me that motor-cycle?"
"Bless my finger rings! Sell you that mass of junk?"
"It isn't all junk," went on the young inventor. "I can easily fix
it; though, of course," he added prudently, "it will cost something.
How much would you want for it?"
"Well," replied Mr. Damon, "I paid two hundred and fifty dollars
last week. I have ridden a hundred miles on it.
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