"Well, he's not dead--just yet!" exclaimed the youth with a sigh of
relief. "But I guess he's pretty badly hurt. I must get help--no,
I'll take him into our house. It's not far. I'll call dad."

Leaning his wheel against the tree Tom started for his home, about
three hundred feet away, and then he noticed that the stranger's
motor-cycle was running at full speed on the ground.

"Guess I'd better shut off the power!" he exclaimed. "No use letting
the machine be ruined." Tom had a natural love for machinery, and it
hurt him almost as much to see a piece of fine apparatus abused as
it did to see an animal mistreated. It was the work of a
moment to shut off the gasolene and spark, and then the youth raced
on toward his house.

"Where's dad?" he called to Mrs. Baggert, who was washing the
dishes.

"Out in one of the shops," replied the housekeeper. "Why, Tom," she
went on hurriedly as she saw how excited he was, "whatever has
happened?"

"Man hurt--out in front--motor-cycle smash--I'm going to bring him
in here--get some things ready--I'll find dad!"

"Bless and save us!" cried Mrs. Baggert. "Whatever are we coming to?
Who's hurt? How did it happen? Is he dead?"

"Haven't time to talk now!" answered Tom, rushing from the house.