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. That is at the rate of two dollars and a half a mile—pretty expensive riding. But if you are in earnest I will let you have the machine for fifty dollars, and then I fear that I will be taking advantage of you."
