e through the air, and flew
straight toward Andy's car. It struck the brass frame of the wind
shield with a crash.

The bottle broke, and in an instant the black liquid was spattered all
over Andy, Sam and Pete. It could not have been done more effectively
if Tom had thrown it by hand. All over their clothes, their hands and
faces, and the front of the car went the dreary black. Tom looked on,
hardly able to believe what he saw.

"Wow! Wup! Ug! Blug! Mug!" spluttered Sam, who had some of the stuff in
his mouth.

"Oh! Oh!" yelled Pete.

"You did that on purpose, Tom Swift!" shouted Andy, wiping some of the
blacking from his left eye. "I'll have you arrested for that! You've
ruined my car, and look at my suit!"

"Mine's worse!" murmured Sam, glancing down at his light trousers,
which were of the polka-dot pattern now.

"No, mine is," insisted Pete, whose white shirt was of the hue of a
stove pipe.

Andy wiped some of the black stuff from his nose, whence it was
dropping on the steering wheel.

"You just wait!" the bully called to Tom. "I'll get even with you for
this!"

"It was an accident! I didn't mean to do that," explained Tom, trying
not to laugh, as he dismounted from his motor-cycle, ready to render
what assistance he could.

CHAPTER IV

TALK OF A NEW BANK

The three cronies were in a sorrowful plight. The black fluid dripped
from them, and formed little puddles in the car. Andy had used his
handkerchief to wipe some of the stuff from his face, but the linen was
soon useless, for it quickly absorbed the blacking.

"There's a little brook over here," volunteered Tom. "You might wash in
that. The stuff comes off easily. It isn't like ink," and he had to
laugh, as he thought of the happening.

"Here! You quit that!" ordered Andy. "You've gone too far, Tom Swift!"

"Didn't I tell you it was an accident?" inquired the young inventor.

"It wasn't!" cried Sam. "You threw the bottle at us! I saw you!"

"It slipped from my pocket," declared the youth, and he described how
the accident occurred. "I'll help you clean your car, Andy," he added.

"I don't want your help! If you come near me I'll--I'll punch your
nose!" cried Andy, now almost beside himself with rage.

"All right, if you don't want my help I don't care," answered Tom, glad
enough not to have to soil his hands and clothes. He felt that it was
partly his fault, and he would have done all he could to remedy
matters, but his good of