"No, indeed, dad. I'm all right now. I got a bad blow on the head,
but Mrs. Blackford fixed me up. I'm awfully sorry---"
"There, there! Now don't say another word," interrupted Mr. Swift.
"It wasn't your fault. It might have happened to me. I dare say it
would, for those scoundrels seemed very determined. They are
desperate, and will stop at nothing to make good the loss they
sustained on the patent motor they exploited. Now they will probably
try to make use of my model and papers."
"Do you think they'll do that, dad?"
"Yes. They will either make a motor exactly like mine, or construct
one so nearly similar that it will answer their purpose. I will have
no redress against them, as my patent is not fully granted yet. Mr.
Crawford was to attend to that."
"Can't you do anything to stop them, dad? File an injunction, or
something like that?"
"I don't know. I must see Mr. Crawford at once. I wonder if he could
come here? He might be able to advise me. I have had very little
experience with legal difficulties. My specialty is in other lines
of work. But I must do something. Every moment is valuable. I wonder
who the men were?"
"I'm sure one of them was the same man who came here that night--the
man with the black mustache, who dropped the telegram," said Tom.
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