Swift riding in front with
Mr. Damon, and Mr. Sharp supporting Tom in the tonneau. Only a
little fluttering of the eyelids, and a slow, faint breathing
told that Tom Swift still lived.
Mr. Damon never guided a car better than he did his auto that
day. Several speed laws were broken, but no one appeared to stop
them, and, in record time they had the young inventor at the
physician's house. Fortunately Dr. Whiteside was at home, and,
under his skillful treatment Tom was soon out of danger. His
heart action was properly started, and then it was only a
question of time. As the doctor had plenty of room it was decided
to let the lad remain that night, and Tom was soon installed in a
spare bedroom, with the doctor's pretty daughter to wait on him
occasionally.
"Oh, I'm all right," the youth insisted, when Miss Whiteside
told him it was time for his medicine. "I'm all right."
"You're not!" she declared. "I ought to know, for I'm going to
be a nurse, some day, and help papa. Now take this or I'll have
to hold your nose, as they do the baby's," and she held out a
spoonful of unpleasant looking mixture, extending her dainty
forefinger and thumb of her other hand, as if to administer dire
punishment to Tom, if he did not obey.
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