"I'll organize
another posse in the mornin'."
"Well, I know one thing, and that is that the place for this young
man is in bed!" exclaimed motherly Mrs. Blackford, and she insisted
on Tom retiring. He was somewhat restless at first, and the thought
of the loss of the model and the papers preyed on his mind. Then,
utterly exhausted, he sank into a heavy slumber, and did not awaken
until the sun was shining in his window the next morning. A good
breakfast made him feel somewhat better, and he was more like the
resourceful Tom Swift of old when he went to get his motor-cycle in
shape for the ride back to Shopton.
"Well, I hope you find those criminals," said Mr. Blackford, as he
watched Tom oiling the machine. "If you're ever out this way again,
stop off and see us."
"Yes, do," urged Mrs. Blackford, who was getting ready to churn. Her
husband looked at the old-fashioned barrel and dasher arrangement,
which she was filling with cream.
"What's the matter with the new churn?" he asked in some surprise.
"It's broken," she replied. "It's always the way with those new-
fangled things. It works ever so much nicer than this old one,
though," she went on to Tom, "but it gets out of order easy."
"Let me look at it," suggested the young inventor.
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