“No. I’ve seen enough of him, to tell the truth,” said Tom. “But you’d better get word to him where his car is. And don’t tell him anything about me! I don’t want him hunting me up and either thanking me or trying to pay me.”
But secretly Tom did not believe the queer stranger would ever consider it necessary to thank those who had helped him out of his difficulty.
“He’s one more Dutchman with a swelled head,” was the young inventor’s private comment, as he drove his runabout home.
It was too late to go to Mary’s house again. But in the morning, the first thing when he reached his private office, he called the Nestor house. Mrs. Nestor answered the call and Tom knew, by her voice, that she was much disturbed.
“The doctors were here for a consultation again early this morning, Tom,” the woman said brokenly. “They seem to have very little hope that Mr. Nestor will ever be better. And they have given up hope of the specialist’s coming——”
“You mean the Dr. Raddiker Mary was speaking of?” asked Tom quickly.
“Yes. They expected him yesterday. They find he has left New York for a vacation and, being such a busy man, he probably will not come here to consult with our doctors on a single case. They give us no hope——”
“Oh! Don’t say that, Mrs. Nestor!” Tom interrupted.
“It is the way we both feel,” said Mary’s mother. “If I knew of any diagnostician or specialist whom we could secure, no matter what it costs, I would ask you to get him here, Tom.”
“Wait!” cried Tom suddenly. “I’m coming over. There must be some way——”