“Well, I’m just as glad,” went on the millionaire. “Oh, Mr. Jacks!” exclaimed Mary. “Ha! you know me, do you, young lady? Well, the reason I said that is because if he’s that kind of an animal, likely to run away without warning on a dangerous road—as he did—I don’t want ever to drive him again, and I wouldn’t want anybody else to. I only bought him the other day, and I’m glad I found out his trick in time. But let me see—you know me. Do I know you?” and he glanced sharply at the now blushing girl. “I think you know my father, Mr. Jacks,” she replied. “He is Mr. Nestor, and I have seen you at our house.” “Oh, of course! To be sure—Mary Nestor. Well, I’m much obliged to you—and more obliged to this young man for saving my life. What’s your name?” he asked bluntly. “Tom Swift.” “Tom Swift. Oh, yes, I’ve heard that name before. You have a plant in Shopton, haven’t you? You make motor boats and such things?” “Yes, I have invented a few things,” Tom modestly admitted. “Um—yes,” murmured the millionaire. “I’ve heard of you. Well, I’m too much upset to thank you properly now. Could you leave me at my home?” “Glad to,” answered Tom. “Do you want to drive around the road at the bottom of the cliff and find out about your horse?” “I guess there isn’t much left of him, young man,” was the grim answer. “He’s had his last run. It was a narrow escape for me. How did you happen to be right on the spot?” “Just by chance,” Tom replied. He drove back to the millionaire’s home, declining an invitation to come in. Then Tom and Mary went on, and when later in the evening he left her at her home, she said with shining eyes: “Oh, Tom, suppose he should?” “Should what, Mary?” “Give you ten or twenty thousand dollars for saving his life? He could well afford to do it—he’d never miss the money—and then you could finish the new airline machines.” “I don’t want any reward for saving lives, Mary. Besides, he’d have to give you a share. If you hadn’t been with me I never could have saved him.” “Nonsense, Tom!” “No nonsense about it!” It was the next day that Jason Jacks called at Tom Swift’s office, driving up in a handsome two-horse carriage with a footman in livery. For the old millionaire was eccentric and liked to imagine he was living in the old times. He never could be induced to ride in an automobile. “I’ve come to reward you, Tom Swift, for saving my life,” began Mr. Jacks, taking out his check book. “Excuse me, sir,” said Tom, firmly but in respectful tones, “you can’t do anything of the kind.” “Can’t do what?” Mr. Jacks asked sharply. “Reward me for saving your life. Any one else would have done the same if he had had the chance, and I would have done the same for any one else.”