“Yes. He came to Shopton. A funny fellow, but the other doctors think he knows all about Mr. Nestor’s complaint.” “What is it?” demanded Mr. Damon. “A very queer case! Bless my thermometer, a very queer case!” “As far as I can see,” grumbled Tom Swift, “it is just as queer now—or queerer—than it was before Dr. Raddiker came.” “Ah-ha!” ejaculated Mr. Damon. “The famous Dr. Raddiker, the European scientist? Bless my medical dictionary! he is a wonderful man.” “Yes? Well, maybe. But he has exploded a regular medical bomb in the Nestor household. He says the only sure cure for Mr. Nestor’s complaint is for him to leave home.” “Change of climate, Tom?” “Very much so. The temperature isn’t right for him here. He has got to go where the quicksilver takes a toboggan to the bottom of the glass.” “Bless my thermostat! You don’t mean——?” “That is it, exactly,” Tom assured him. “Dr. Raddiker declared the only cure for this disease is a cold climate—a much colder climate than ours. And that Mr. Nestor will have to remain in that colder climate for several weeks, if not months. Now, you know that Mrs. Nestor could never stand such an experience. Her bronchial trouble would be aggravated.” “Well, well!” “Mr. Nestor cannot go alone. Her mother would never feel comfortable an hour if Mary went with him, even to the North Cape, for instance. It is not to be thought of.” “Bless my chilblains!” interrupted Mr. Damon excitedly. “If it is a cold country he needs, and all that, what could be finer than Iceland?” “At least,” chuckled Tom Swift, “the name of that island is most suggestive.” “And from all I have managed to learn, for a good part of the year it is cold enough up there to satisfy the most critical polar bear.” “True for you.” “He’s going with me, Tom, if he can travel. Of course he will!” cried Mr. Damon, jumping as usual to a decision which might change all his plans save that dealing with his destination. But that was his way. Nothing was ever too much trouble for Wakefield Damon to do for a friend. He at once halted his preparations and rode back to Shopton with Tom and Mary, squeezed in between them on the narrow seat of the runabout, and interviewed the physicians that were attending Mr. Nestor. What he learned about the chance Mr. Nestor had of surviving such a journey as was proposed satisfied Mr. Damon that he could take a chance with the invalid. When he went to the Nestor house and told the family in his blusterous way that he proposed bearing the sick man off with him, as a prisoner if need be, he scattered the gloom of that household most effectively. “You are the dearest man who ever lived!” cried Mary, throwing herself into his arms. “I’m going to tell Tom that,” threatened Mr. Damon. “Bless my love-knots, but that is the greatest compliment I ever had.” Mary blushed, but her eyes shone upon him just the same. Mrs. Nestor was very grateful. The declaration made the most impression on the sick man.