Tommy nodded. He saw, or thought he saw, usefulness to the company. Then he thought of Tommy Leigh. This made him think of Bill. The car being company's property, the Bymes-Leigh experiments with it also would be company's property. “And Sundays?” he asked, and looked intently at Mr. Thompson. Thompson stared back. Then he frowned slightly and kept on staring into Tommy's eyes. “H'm!” said Thompson, presently. Tommy would have given much to know what the chief was thinking about. It fascinated him to watch the face and to wonder what the machine within the well-shaped cranium was turning out in the way of conclusions and decisions. Then the fear came to Tommy that Mr. Thompson might think Tommy wanted to joy-ride on the Sabbath or break speed records or have fun--Tommy who wanted no pleasure whatever in life until the seventeen thousand was paid back! The boy's face clouded. He couldn't explain. “H'm!” again muttered Thompson, absently. Then his eyes grew alert and he said: “Use one of my own cars instead. Company's time, my car. Sundays, your time, your car.” Tommy's heart skipped a beat. Had Mr. Thompson guessed? It was positively uncanny. Then Tommy asked, “Is it an old car?” Thompson looked sharply at Tommy. Then he said: “It isn't; but it is--so far as you are concerned. I expect to have to repaint it.” Tommy hesitated. “Do you want to tell me about it?” asked Thompson. Tommy might have said there wasn't anything to tell. But he answered, “I do, but I think I'd better wait.” “Very well, Tommy,” said Thompson, seriously. “Want your salary raised?” “Not yet!” said Tommy. Impulsively in a burst of gratitude he held out his hand. Then he drew it back. “Shake hands, anyhow,” said Thompson; and Tommy did. “Mr. Thompson, I'll tell you--” “Not much you won't!” interrupted Mr. Thompson. “Run along, sonny!” CHAPTER X THAT night after supper Tommy, who felt that his joy over the new car was almost too great to be strictly moral, told Bill all about it and saw Bill's flashing eyes at the thought of a car to experiment with, a lack that he had often bemoaned. Tommy thought Bill was entitled to some pleasure on his own account and, wishing to share his luck, he said, earnestly: “I can't stand it any longer, Bill; you've simply got to take the fifty dollars. I'll lend it to you or give it to you, or we'll go in cahoots or on any basis you want; but if you don't invent my kerosene-carburetor I'll bust.” “Yes, but how will I feel if nothing comes out of it?” said Bill, gloomily. “What about my own feelings, you pin-head! I'll feel a thousand times worse than you, if that's any comfort to you. I've mapped out my selling campaign. Why, I've been selling a thousand kerosene-cars a day for two weeks!” “Yes, but--” “You can't be an inventor. All inventors are dead sure of getting there if you only give them time and money. And here I'm giving you capital and from four to five Sundays a month!” “Don't be funny!”