It was the next day that Jason Jacks called at Tom Swift’s office, driving up in a handsome two-horse carriage with a footman in livery. For the old millionaire was eccentric and liked to imagine he was living in the old times. He never could be induced to ride in an automobile.
“I’ve come to reward you, Tom Swift, for saving my life,” began Mr. Jacks, taking out his check book.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Tom, firmly but in respectful tones, “you can’t do anything of the kind.”
“Can’t do what?” Mr. Jacks asked sharply.
“Reward me for saving your life. Any one else would have done the same if he had had the chance, and I would have done the same for any one else.”
“Yes—I suppose so,” slowly admitted Mr. Jacks, and it was easy to see that Tom’s refusal pleased him rather than otherwise. “Human life can’t be bought, though I hold mine at a high price. But look here, young man, since you won’t accept a reward, will you let me do you a favor in return for the one you did me? That’s fair, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” admitted Tom.
“Well, then, I’ve been making inquiries about you, and I hear you are trying to launch a new invention. I don’t go in much for those things myself—I have no use for aeroplanes, motor boats, or automobiles, though I admit they have their place in the world, and I own stock in several motor companies. But I won’t ride in them.
“Now, I hear you are contemplating an airline express to San Francisco, but you haven’t had much success with it so far. Am I right?”
“Yes,” admitted Tom. “I have no hesitation in saying I am a bit short of cash to complete some improvements.”