erious men in an automobile.

Tom was beginning to despair. Riding along a silent road, that
passed through a strip of woods, he was trying to think of some new
line of procedure, when the silence of the highway, that, hitherto,
had resounded only with the muffled explosions of his machine, was
broken by several exclamations.

"Now, Boomerang, yo' might jest as well start now as later," Tom heard
a voice saying--a voice he recognized well. "Yo' hab got t' do dis
yeah wuk, an' dere ain't no gittin' out ob it. Dis yeah wood am got to
be sawed, an' yo' hab got to saw it. But it am jest laik yo' to go
back on yo' ole friend Eradicate in dis yeah fashion. I neber could
tell what yo' were gwine t' do next, an' I cain't now. G'lang, now,
won't yo'? Let's git dis yeah sawmill started."

Tom shut off the power and leaped from his wheel. From the woods at
his left came the protesting "hee-haw" of a mule.

"Boomerang and Eradicate Sampson!" exclaimed the young inventor.
"What can they be doing here?"

He leaned his motor-cycle against the fence and advanced toward
where he had heard the voice of the colored man. In a little
clearing he saw him. Eradicate was presiding over a portable
sawmill, worked by a treadmill, on the incline of which was the
mule, its ears laid back, and an unmistakable expression of anger on
its face.

"Why, Rad, what are you doing?" cried Tom.

"Good land o' massy! Ef it ain't young Mistah Swift!" cried the
darky. "Howdy, Mistah Swift! Howdy! I'm jest tryin' t' saw some
wood, t' make a livin', but Boomerang he doan't seem t' want t'
lib," and with that Eradicate looked reproachfully at the animal.

"What seems to be the trouble, and how did you come to own this
sawmill?" asked Tom.

"I'll tell yo', Mistah Swift, I'll tell yo'," spoke Eradicate. "Sit
right yeah on dis log, an' I'll explanation it to yo'."

"The last time I saw you, you were preparing to go into the grass-cutting
business," went on Tom.

"Yais, sah! Dat's right. So I was. Yo' has got a memory, yo' suah
has. But it am dis yeah way. Grass ain't growin' quick enough, an'
so I traded off dat lawn-moah an' bought dis yeah mill. But now it
won't go, an' I suah am in trouble," and once more Eradicate Sampson
looked indignantly at Boomerang.

CHAPTER XXI.

ERADICATE GIVES A CLUE

"Tell me all about it," urged Tom sympathetically, for he had a
friendly feeling toward the aged darky.

"Well," began Eradicate, "I suah though