The woodsman's axe was "deare and greatly beloved," we are told.
The hard-pressed Indian warrior knelt in the forest and besought that life-long comrade, his bow, not to desert or fail him.

King Philip kept in his quiver a favorite arrow which he never used because it had earned retirement by saving his own life.
What Paul Revere may have said to his horse in that stirring midnight ride we do not know.

But may we not suppose that he urged his trusty steed forward with resolute and inspiring words about the glorious errand they were upon?
Perhaps the lonely ringer of the immortal bell up in the Old South steeple muttered some urgent word of incentive to that iron clanger as it beat against its ringing wall of brass.
So I have made _Uncle Sam_, the motorcycle, the friend and companion of _Tom Slade_.

I have withheld none of their confidences--or trifling differences.

I dare say they were both weary and impatient at times.
If he is not companionable to you, then so much the worse for you and for our story.