"Oh, perhaps--" began Mr. Swift.

"No, I never shall," went on Mr. Damon positively. "My doctor told
me to get it, as he thought riding around the country would benefit
my health I shall tell him his prescription nearly killed me."

"And me too," added Tom with a laugh.

"How--why--are you the young man I nearly ran down this morning?"
asked Mr. Damon, suddenly sitting up and looking at the youth.

"I am," answered our hero.

"Bless my soul! So you are!" cried Mr. Damon. "I was wondering who
it could be. It's quite a coincidence. But I was in such a cloud of
dust I couldn't make out who it was."

"You had your muffler open, and that made considerable dust,"
explained Tom.

"Was that it? Bless my existence! I thought something was wrong, but
I couldn't tell what. I went over all the instructions in the book
and those the agent told me, but I couldn't think of the right one.
I tried all sorts of things to make less dust, but I couldn't. Then,
bless my eyelashes, if the machine didn't stop just after I nearly
ran into you. I tinkered over it for an hour or more before I could
get it to going again. Then I ran into the tree. My doctor told me
the machine would do my liver good, but, bless my happiness, I'd as
soon be without a liver entirely as to do what I've done to-day. I
am done with motor-cycling!"