"Let me in! Let me git at dat robber wif mah club!" cried the colored
man eagerly.

Knowing that he would need help in carrying Tom to the house, Mr.
Jackson hurried to the back door. He had a key to it, and it was quicker
to open it than to send Eradicate away around the shed to the front
portals.

"Whar am he?" gasped the faithful darky, as he took a firmer grasp of
his club and looked around the place. "Let me git mah hands on him! I'll
feed him t' Boomerang, when I gits froo wif him!"

"He's gone," said the engineer. "Help me look after Tom. I'm afraid he's
badly hurt."

They hastened to the unconscious lad. On one side of his head was a bad
cut, which was bleeding freely.

"Oh! he's daid! I know he's daid!" wailed Eradicate.

"Not a bit of it. He isn't dead, but he may die, if we don't get him
into the house, and have a doctor here soon," said Mr. Jackson sternly.
"Catch hold of him, Rad, and, mind, don't carry on, and get excited, and
scare Mr. Swift. Just pretend it isn't very bad, or we'll have two
patents on our hands instead of only Tom."

They managed to get the youth into the house, and, contrary to their
fears, Mr. Swift was not nearly so nervous as they had expected. Calmly
he took charge of matters, and even telephoned for Dr. Gladby himself,
while Mr. Jackson and Eradicate undressed Tom and got him to bed. Mrs.