“I will, after this,” promised Mr. Damon, as he arose and walked about, albeit a bit gingerly as though making sure he had no broken bones or strained tendons. “Here, Koku!” called Tom to his giant helper. “Hold up this plane while some of the men take off the damaged wheel.” “Sure, Master, Koku do,” was the reply. “Go on!” cried another voice. “It doan need no big fat giant to lift a li’l machine like dat! I’ll do it fo’ you, Massa Tom!” An old colored man with a fringe of white hair around his black pate pushed through the crowd of workmen toward the giant who was already preparing to tilt the plane so the wheel could be removed. “You go or Koku push you!” warned the giant with a threatening look at Eradicate Sampson. “Huh! You go on!” was the contemptuous response, and there might have been a battle then and there had not Tom interposed. “Rad,” he said, “you let Koku attend to lifting the plane. It’s a bit heavy in spite of its small size. You go down to the storeroom and bring up the extra wheel.” “Hah, you ain’t so smart as you t’inks you is!” taunted the colored man as he departed on his errand, satisfied now that he could help his young master. “They’ll soon have the machine in shape for you, Mr. Damon, if you insist on trusting yourself to it again,” said Tom, as he gave instructions to his men. “And while you are waiting, came on down and talk to dad. He’s always glad to see you.” “All right, Tom, I’ll do that. At the same time I can attend to the matter that brought me over here. Bless my Liberty Bonds, Tom, but it’s very important! Big business, you know!” “Ned and dad and I are always ready to talk business,” remarked Tom, as he led the way to his office in which stood the new chest of secrets. Mr. Swift was there, looking over some papers. At the sight of the chest Mr. Damon exclaimed: “Packing up to move, Tom?” “No, just taking precautions so I won’t lose any of my secrets,” replied the young inventor. “There are so many of these plans and patents now that dad and I thought we ought to have them in one place, where we could easily get at them in a hurry if need be.” “That’s right,” chimed in Mr. Swift. “You know I’m not as young as I once was, Damon. I can’t expect to live much longer, and I want everything in shape for Tom when I go.” “Nonsense! Bless my life insurance policy!” laughed Mr. Damon, “you’ll be here for many years, Mr. Swift. And lest you may be losing interest in life, listen to this offer that I bring you. “Tom, you remember Mr. Blythe?” he asked, turning to the young inventor. “Surely! The man who got so excited when he found what my oil well drill had done?”