s! There's my
motor-cycle, too! Help you? Why, of course we will. Bless my
shoe-leather! Of course we'll help you!"

CHAPTER XXV.

THE CAPTURE--GOOD-BY

Tom's story was soon told, and Mr. Damon quickly explained to his
friends in the automobile how he had first made the acquaintance of
the young inventor.

"But how does it happen that you are trusting yourself in a car like
this?" asked Tom. "I thought you were done with gasolene machines,
Mr. Damon."

"I thought so, too, Tom, but, bless my batteries, my doctor insisted
that I must get out in the open air. I'm too stout to walk, and I
can't run. The only solution was in an automobile, for I never would
dream of a motor-cycle. I wonder that one of mine hasn't run away
with you and killed you. But there! My automobile is nearly as bad.
We went along very nicely yesterday, and now, just when I have a
party of friends out, something goes wrong. Bless my liver! I do
seem to have the worst luck!"

Tom lost no time in looking for the trouble. He found it in the
ignition, and soon had it fixed. Then a sort of council of war was
held.

"Do you think those scoundrels are there yet?" asked Mr. Damon.

"I hope so," answered Tom.

"So do I," went on the odd character. "Bless my soul, but I want a
chance to pummel them. Come, gentlemen, let's be moving. Will you
ride with us, Tom Swift, or on that dangerous motor-cycle?"

"I think I'll stick to my machine, Mr. Damon. I can easily keep up
with you."

"Very well. Then we'll get along. We'll proceed until we get close
to the old mansion, and then some of us will go down to the lake
shore, and the rest of us will surround the house. We'll catch the
villains red-handed, and I hope we bag that tramp among them."

"I hardly think he is there," said Tom.

In a short time the auto and the motor-cycle had carried the
respective riders to the road through the woods. There the machines
were left, and the party proceeded on foot. Tom had a revolver with
him, and one member of Mr. Damon's party also had a small one, more
to scare dogs than for any other purpose. Tom gave his weapon to one
of the men, and cut a stout stick for himself, an example followed
by those who had no firearms.

"A club for mine!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "The less I have to do with
machinery the better I like it. Now, Tom Swift is just the other way
around," he explained to his friends.

Cautiously they approached the house, and when within seeing