Tom Swift Among the Fire Fighters | Page 9

"I don't believe so, Mary," stated her father. "I know most of the
fireworks company officials, and I'm sure this man is not one of them.
Poor fellow! He seems to be in a bad way."
"Mentally, as well as physically," put in Ned. "He acted as if sorry that
we had saved his life."

"Too bad," murmured Mary, and then a policeman, who had just come
into the yard to get the facts for his report, looked at the figure lying on
the grass, and said:
"I know him."
"You do?" cried Tom. "Who is he?"
"Name's Baxter, Josephus Baxter. He's a chemist, and he works in the
fireworks factory here. Not as one of the hands, but in the experiment
laboratory. I've seen him there late at night lots of times. That's how I
got acquainted with him. He was going in around two o'clock one
morning, and I stopped him, thinking he was a thief. He proved his
identity, and I've passed the time of day with him many a time since"
"Where does he live?" asked Mr. Nestor.
"Down on Clay Street," and the officer mentioned the number. "He
lives all alone, so he told me. He's some sort of an inventor, I guess. At
least I judged so by his talk. Do you want an ambulance, Doctor?" he
asked the physician.
"No, I think he's coming around all right," was the answer. "If we had
an auto we could send him home."
"I'll take him in the runabout," eagerly offered Tom. "But if he lives all
alone will it be safe to leave him in his house?"
"He ought to be looked after, I suppose," the doctor stated. "He'll be all
right in a day or so if no complications set in, but he'll be weak for a
while and need attention."
"Then I'll take him home with me!" announced Tom. "We have plenty
of room, and Mrs. Baggert will feel right at home with some one to
nurse. Bring the runabout here, will you please, Ned?"
As Ned darted off to run up the machine, the man opened his eyes
again. For a moment he did not seem to know where he was or what

had happened. Then, as he saw the lurid light of the flames which were
now dying away and realized his position, he sighed heavily and
murmured:
"It's all over!"
"Oh, no, it isn't!" cheerfully exclaimed the doctor. "You will be all right
in a few days."
"Myself, yes, maybe," said the man bitterly, and he managed to rise to
his feet. "But what of my future? It is all gone! The work of years is
lost."
"Burned in the fire?" asked Tom, wondering whether the man was a
major stockholder in the company. "Didn't you have any insurance?
Though I suppose you couldn't get much on a fireworks plant," he
added, for he knew something of insurance matters in connection with
his own business.
"Oh, it isn't the fire--that is directly," said the man, in the same bitter
tones. "I've lost everything! The scoundrels stole them! And I--Oh,
never mind!" he cried. "What's the use of talking? I'm down and out! I
might just as well have died in the fire!"
Tom was about to make some remark, but the doctor motioned to him
to refrain, and then Ned came up with the runabout. At first Josephus
Baxter, which was the name of the man who had been rescued, made
some objections to going to Tom's home. But when it was pointed out
that he might lapse into a stupor again from the effects of the smoke
poisons, in which event he would have no one to minister to him at his
lonely home, he consented to go to the residence of the young inventor.
"Though if I do lapse into unconsciousness you might as well let me
keep on sleeping until the end," said Mr. Baxter bitterly to Tom and
Ned, as they drove away from the scene of the fire with him.
"Oh, you'll feel better in the morning," cheerfully declared Ned.

The man did not answer, and the two chums did not feel much like
talking, for they were worn out and weary from their exertions at the
fire. The factory had been pretty well consumed, though by strenuous
labors the blaze had not extended to adjoining structures. The home of
Mary Nestor was saved, and for this Tom Swift was thankful.
Mrs. Baggert, the Swift's housekeeper, was indeed glad to have some
one to "fuss over," as Tom put it. She prepared a bed for Mr. Baxter,
and in this the weary and ill man sank with a sigh of relief.
"Can I do anything for you?" asked Tom, as he was about to go out and
close