“The trouble with you, Mary,” said Tom, grinning, “more than anything else, is your New England conscience. Don’t worry about what is right so much. Come on. I have a reason for taking you for a ride to-day.” When they were on the road and she knew that he was heading for Waterfield and Mr. Damon’s house she expressed satisfaction. She was fond of Mr. Damon, and that eccentric gentleman was fond of Mary. “But I feel condemned, Tom, when I go around to see people and talk and laugh—as one will—and then remember that father is so poorly and that there seems so little chance of his ever recovering his health.” “Do you believe that Raddiker knew what he was talking about?” “I do, indeed. The other doctors have much confidence in him. He is a wonderful scientist. They say they wonder why he came over here when he was so successful and so much admired for his knowledge in Austria.” “I know why he came,” grumbled Tom, who could not bring himself to like Dr. Raddiker after his experience with him. “The same reason that all those foreigners come over here. A million kronen is worth about two cents of our money. And then they say that Americans are so mercenary!” “Well, it does not seem that his pointing out the trouble with father is going to help save him,” sighed Mary. “Don’t be too sure about that,” rejoined Tom with a change of tone. “Here is Mr. Damon’s place. Look at the trunks and packing boxes on the porch. Does he intend to take all those with him to Denmark?” There seemed to be a wonderful amount of stir around the Damon premises. Mrs. Damon, who had long since ceased to interfere when her husband got the wanderlust, sat placidly in a rocking chair and weaved back and forth, knitting. She was the only calm looking object around the place, for even the hens were running and squawking in the yard as Mr. Damon’s serving man darted back and forth, subject to his employer’s call. “Bless my spring-heel boots!” ejaculated Mr. Damon, rushing out to greet the two visitors. “Time is flying and I am so busy that I can’t think of half the things I want to do before my departure for New York. I was afraid I should not see either of you young folks again—— “Bless my optic nerve, Mary! how sweet you are looking. Isn’t she, Mrs. Damon? Won’t you both get out?” “I will,” said Mary promptly, taking her cue from Tom Swift’s look. “I must talk to Mrs. Damon.” “Do so—do so,” cried the gentleman. “Maybe she will answer you; but I don’t often get a reply from her,” and he burst into one of his laughs. “Bless my wagging tongue! She says she does not get a chance to say a word until I am run down.” He saw instantly that Tom had something serious on his mind. Mr. Damon was not at all an unobservant man. He whispered when Mary had run up the path to the porch: “What’s the matter, Tom, my boy? Is Nestor worse?” “I don’t know that he is. But they have had the consultation with the foreign doctor.” “With that specialist?”