"It was Frank, mister," said Sammy, pointing to his chum.
"I haven't got much with me," spoke the man, his voice trembling.
First he shook Frank's hand warmly. Then he groped in his pocket and drew out a bright new silver dollar.
"You take that till I see you again," he said.
"No, no," replied Frank. "I don't want any pay for doing the little I did."
"Little!" cried the man, pressing the coin on Frank. "That machine is worth three thousand dollars, and you saved it."
"Well, I'm glad if I did," said Frank.
"If that boy back there was my boy," spoke the man, with a look at the lad who had tumbled out of the auto, "I'd either teach him how to run the machine, or handcuff him when he was aboard."
"Oh, isn't he your boy?" inquired Sammy.
"No, I'm his father's chauffeur."
They all went up to the mud puddle. Bob was helping his companion get cleaned up in as friendly a way as if they had been chums for years.
"Why," shouted Sammy, in blank surprise, "it's the fat boy."
"So it is," replied Frank, in a wondering tone.
"Hello," spoke the boy who had tumbled out of the auto. "You fellows here, too?"
Bob's face, as were the faces of the others, was set in a broad smile. They all had good reason to remember "the fat boy."
"Yes, it's me," said the victim of the accident, rubbing some dirt out of one ear. "Is the machine all right, Buxton?"
"Yes, the machine is all right," replied the man; "but ten
