An hour later, having received the tools, which made quite a bundle, the lad put them in the valise, and started back toward home. As he swung around the corner on which the bank was located—the same bank in which Ned Newton worked—one of the valves on the motor-cycle began to leak. Tom dismounted to adjust it, and had completed the work, being about to ride on, when down the street came Andy Foger and Sam Snedecker. They started at the sight of our hero.
"There he is now!" exclaimed Sam, as if he and the red-haired bully had been speaking of the young inventor.
"Let's lick him!" proposed Andy. "Now's our chance to get even for throwing that paint and soot on us."
Tom heard their words. He was not afraid of both the lads, for, though each one matched him in size and strength, Tom knew they were cowards.
"If you're looking for anything I guess I can accommodate you," he said, coolly.
"Come on, Andy," urged Sam. But, somehow Andy hung back. Perhaps he didn't like the way Tom squared off. The young inventor had let down the rear brace of his motor-cycle, and was not obliged to hold it, so he had both hands free.
"We ought to lick him good and proper," growled the squint-eyed lad.
"Well, why don't you?" invited Tom.
He moved to one side, so as not to be hampered by his wheel. As he did so he knocked from the handle bars the valise of tools. They fell with a clatter and a thud to the pavement, and the satchel came open. It was under a gas lamp, and the glitter of the long-handled wrenches and other implements caught the eyes of Andy and his crony.
"Huh! If we fought you, maybe you'd use some of them on us," sneered Andy, glad of an excuse not to fight.