Chapter XVI. Trouble at the Bank

Coming in rather late from his trip to Mansburg, and thinking of some things he and Miss Nestor had talked about, Tom was rather surprised, on reaching the house, to see a light in his father's particular room, where the aged inventor did his reading and his planning of new devices.

"Dad's up rather late," said Tom to himself. "I wonder if he's studying over some new machine."

The lad ran his auto into the temporary garage he had built for it, and connected the wires of a burglar alarm he had arranged, to give warning in case any of his enemies should seek to damage the car.

Tom encountered Garret Jackson, the aged inventor who was going his rounds, seeing that everything was all right about the various shops.

"Anybody with my father, Garret?" asked the lad. "I see he's still up."

"Yes," was the rather unexpected reply. "Mr. Damon is with him. They've been in your father's room all the evening--ever since you went away in the car."

"Anything the matter?" inquired the young inventor, a bit anxious, as he thought of the Happy Harry gang.

"Well, I don't know," and the engineer seemed puzzled. "They called me in once to know if everything was all right outside, and to inquire if you were back. I saw, then, that they were busy figuring over something, but I didn't take much notice. Only I heard Mr. Damon say: 'There's going to be trouble if we can't realize on those bonds,' and then I came away."

"Is that all he said?" asked Tom.

"No, he said 'Bless my buttons,' or something like that; but he blesses so many things I didn't pay much attention."

"That's right," agreed the lad. "But I wonder what the trouble is about? I must go see."

As he passed along the hall, out of which his father's combined study and library opened, the aged inventor came to the door.

"Is that you, Tom?" he asked.

"Yes, Dad."

"Come in here, if you haven't anything else to do. Mr. Damon is here."

Tom needed but a single glance at the faces of his father and Mr. Damon to see that something was troubling the two. The table in front of them was littered with papers covered with rows of figures.

"What's the matter?" asked Tom.

"Well, I suppose I ought not to let it bother me, but it does," replied his father.

"Something wrong with your patents, Dad? Has the crowd of bad men been bothering you again?"

"No, it isn't that. It's trouble at the bank, Tom."

"Has it been robbed again?" asked the lad quickly. "If it has I can prove an alibi," and he smiled at the recollection of the time he and Mr. Damon had been accused of looting the vault, as told in