And as he reasoned thus Tom Swift gave a mental start at his own use of the word "help."
That weird cry on the lonely meadow came back to him with startling distinctness.
"Come on, Mr. Damon!" cried Tom, in a voice he tried to make cheerful. "We'll find that Mr. Nestor is probably walking along, carrying his disabled bicycle instead of having it carry him. We'll soon have him safe back to you," he called to the two women.
"I wish I could go with you, and help search," observed Mary.
"Oh, I couldn't bear to be left alone!" exclaimed her mother.
"We'll telephone as soon as we find him," called Tom to Mrs. Nestor, as he and Mr. Damon again got into the runabout and started away from the place.
"What do you think of it, Tom?" asked the eccentric man, when they were once more on the road.
"Why, nothing much—as yet," Tom said. "That is, I think nothing more than a simple accident has happened, if, indeed, it is anything more than that he has delayed to talk to some friends."
"Would he delay this long?"
"I don't know."