Baggert.
"Oh, I've got to go to Mansburg to get some steel tubes for my
new battery," he replied. "I thought I had some large enough, but
I haven't." Mansburg was a good-sized town, near Shopton.
"Then I wish you'd bring me a bottle of stove polish,"
requested the housekeeper. "The liquid kind. I'm out of it, and
the stove is as red as a cow."
"All right," agreed the lad, as he leaped into the saddle and
pedaled off down the road. A moment later he had turned on the
power, and was speeding along the highway, which was in good
condition on account of the shower of the night before.
Tom was thinking so deeply of his new invention, and planning
what he would do when he had his electric runabout built, that,
almost before he knew it, he had reached Mansburg, purchased the
steel tubes, and the stove polish, and was on his way back again.
As he was speeding along on a level road, he heard, coming
behind him, an automobile. The lad turned to one side, but, in
spite of this the party in the car began a serenade of the
electric siren, and kept it up, making a wild discord.
"What's the matter with those fellows!" inquired Tom of
himself.
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