“I’m afraid he did,” answered Tom grimly.
“Well, I’m just as glad,” went on the millionaire.
“Oh, Mr. Jacks!” exclaimed Mary.
“Ha! you know me, do you, young lady? Well, the reason I said that is because if he’s that kind of an animal, likely to run away without warning on a dangerous road—as he did—I don’t want ever to drive him again, and I wouldn’t want anybody else to. I only bought him the other day, and I’m glad I found out his trick in time. But let me see—you know me. Do I know you?” and he glanced sharply at the now blushing girl.
“I think you know my father, Mr. Jacks,” she replied. “He is Mr. Nestor, and I have seen you at our house.”
“Oh, of course! To be sure—Mary Nestor. Well, I’m much obliged to you—and more obliged to this young man for saving my life. What’s your name?” he asked bluntly.
“Tom Swift.”
“Tom Swift. Oh, yes, I’ve heard that name before. You have a plant in Shopton, haven’t you? You make motor boats and such things?”
“Yes, I have invented a few things,” Tom modestly admitted.
“Um—yes,” murmured the millionaire. “I’ve heard of you. Well, I’m too much upset to thank you properly now. Could you leave me at my home?”