Tom Swift And His Photo Telephone
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Victor Appleton >> Tom Swift And His Photo Telephone
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The two chums walked out of the boat-repair place.
"What are you going to do, Tom?" asked Ned, as they strolled
along.
"Well, since we can't go motor boating, I guess I may as well go
back and see if that new supply of selenium has come. I do want to
get my photo telephone working, Ned."
"And that's all the outing you're going to take--less than an
hour!" exclaimed Ned, reproachfully.
"Oh, well, all you wanted to do was to get me out of a rut, as you
called it," laughed Tom. "And you've done it--you and Mr. Peters
together. It jolted up my brain, and I guess I can think better
now. Come on back and watch me tinker away, Ned."
"Not much! I'm going to stay out and get some fresh air while I
can. You'd better, too."
"I will, later."
So Tom turned back to his workshop, and Ned strolled on into the
country, for his day's work at the bank was over. And for some
time after that--until far into the night--Tom Swift worked at the
knotty problem of the photo telephone.
But the young inventor was baffled. Try as he might, he could not
get the image to show on the metal plate, nor could he get any
results by using a regular photographic plate, and developing it
afterward.
"There is something wrong with the transmission of the light waves
over the wire," Tom confessed to his father.
"You'll never do it, Tom," said the aged inventor. "You are only
wasting a whole lot of time."
"Well, as I haven't anything else to do now, it isn't much loss,"
spoke Tom, ruefully. "But I'm going to make this work, Dad!"
"All right, son. It's up to you. Only I tell you it can't be
done."
Tom, himself, was almost ready to admit this, when, a week later,
he seemed to be no nearer a solution of the problem than he was at
first. He had tried everything he could think of, and he had
Eradicate and Koku, the giant, almost distracted, by making them
stay in small telephone booths for hours at a time, while the
young inventor tried to get some reflection of one face or the
other to come over the wire.
Koku finally got so nervous over the matter, that he flatly
refused to "pose" any longer, so Tom was forced to use Eradicate.
As for that elderly man of all work, after many trials, all
unsuccessful, he remarked:
"Massa Tom, I reckon I knows what's wrong."
"Yes, Rad? Well, what is it?"
"Mah face am too black--dat's de trouble. You done want a white-
complected gen'man to stand in dat booth an' look at dat lookin'
glass plate. I'se too black! I suah is!"
"No, that isn't it, Rad," laughed Tom, hopelessly. "If the thing
works at all it will send a black man's face over the wire as well
as a white man's. I guess the truth of it is that you're like
Koku. You're getting tired. I don't know as I blame you. I'm
getting a bit weary myself. I'm going to take a rest. I'll send
for another kind of selenium crystals I've heard of, and we'll try
them. In the meanwhile--I'll take a little vacation."
"Get out my small airship, Rad, and I'll take a little flight."
"Dat's de way to talk, Massa Tom," was the glad rejoinder.
"I'm going over to see Mr. Damon, Father," announced Tom to Mr.
Swift a little later, when his speedy monoplane was waiting for
him. "I haven't seen him in some time, and I'd like to get at the
truth of what Mr. Halling said about Mr. Damon's fortune being in
danger. I'll be back soon."
"All right, Tom. And say--"
"Yes, Dad, what is it?" asked Tom, as he paused in the act of
getting in the seat.
"If he wants any ready cash, you know we've got plenty."
"Oh, sure. I was going to tell him we'd help him out."
Then, as Koku spun the propeller blades, Tom grasped the steering
wheel, and, tilting the elevating rudder, he was soon soaring into
the air, he and his craft becoming smaller and smaller as they
were lost to sight in the distance, while the rattle and roar of
the powerful motor became fainter.
In a comparatively short time Tom had made a successful landing in
the big yard in front of Mr. Damon's house, and, walking up the
path, kept a lookout for his friend.
"I wonder why he didn't come out to meet me?" mused Tom, for
usually when the eccentric man heard the throbbing of Tom's motor,
he was out waiting for the young inventor. But this time it was
not the case.
"Is Mr. Damon in?" Tom asked of the maid who answered his ring.
"Yes, Mr. Swift. You'll find him in the library," and she ushered
him in.
"Oh, hello, Tom," greeted Mr. Damon, but the tone was so listless,
and his friend's manner so gloomy that the young inventor was
quite embarrassed.
"Have a chair," went on Mr. Damon. "I'll talk to you in a minute,
Tom. I've got to finish this letter, and it's a hard one to write,
let me tell you."
Now Tom was more astonished than ever. Not once had Mr. Damon
"blessed," anything, and when this did not happen Tom was sure
something was wrong. He waited until his friend had sealed the
letter, and turned to him with a sigh. Then Tom said boldly:
"Mr. Damon, is it true that you're having hard luck--in money
matters?"
"Why, yes, Tom, I'm afraid I am," was the quick answer. "But who
told you?"
"Grant Halling. He was over to get me to fix his airship," and Tom
briefly related what had happened.
"Oh, yes, I did mention the matter to him," went on Mr. Damon, and
his tone was still listless. "So he told you; did he? Well,
matters aren't any better, Tom. In fact, they're worse. I just had
to write to a man who was asking for help, and I had to refuse
him, though he needs it very much. The truth is I hadn't the
money. Tom, I'm afraid I'm going to be a very poor man soon."
"Impossible, Mr. Damon! Why, I thought your investments--"
"I've made some bad ones of late, Tom. I've been pretty foolish,
I'm afraid. I drew out some money I had in government bonds, and
invested in certain stocks sold by a Mr. Shallock Peters."
"Shallock Peters!" cried Tom, almost jumping out of his chair.
"Why, I know him--I mean I've met him."
"Have you, Tom? Well, then, all I've got to say is to steer clear
of him, my boy. Don't have anything to do with him," and, with
something of a return of his usual energy Mr. Damon banged his
fist down on his desk. "Give him a wide berth, Tom, and if you see
him coming, turn your back. He'd talk a miser into giving him his
last cent. Keep away from Shallock Peters, Tom. Bless my necktie,
he's a scoundrel, that's what he is!" and again Mr. Damon banged
his desk forcibly.
CHAPTER VII
SOFT WORDS
"Well, I'm glad of one thing!" exclaimed Tom, when the ink bottle
and the paper cutter on Mr. Damon's desk had ceased rattling,
because of the violence of the blow. "I'm glad of one thing."
"What's that, Tom?" asked his friend.
"I heard you bless something at last--the first time since I came
in."
"Oh!" and Mr. Damon laughed. "Well, Tom, I haven't been blessing
things lately--that's a fact. I haven't had the heart for it.
There are too many business complications. I wish I'd never met
this Peters."
"So do I," said Tom. "My motor boat would not have been damaged
then."
"Did he do that, Tom?"
"He certainly did, and then he accused me of being at fault."
"That would be just like him. Tell me about it, Tom."
When the young inventor finished the story of the collision Mr.
Damon sat silent for a moment. Then he remarked slowly:
"That's just like Peters. A big bluff--that's what he is. I wish
I'd discovered that fact sooner--I'd be money in pocket. But I
allowed myself to be deceived by his talk about big profits. At
first he seemed like a smart business man, and he certainly had
fine recommendations. But I am inclined to believe, now, that the
recommendations were forged."
"What did he do to you, Mr. Damon?" asked Tom, with ready
sympathy.
"It's too complicated to go into details over, Tom, but to make a
long story short, he got me to invest nearly all my fortune in
some enterprises that, I fear, are doomed to failure. And if they
do fail, I'll be a ruined man."
"No, you won't!" exclaimed Tom. "That's one reason why I came here
to-day. Father told me to offer you all the ready money you needed
to get out of your trouble. How much do you need, Mr. Damon?"
"Bless my collar button! That's like your father, Tom," and now
Mr. Damon seemed more like his old self. "Bless my shoes, a man
never knows who his real friends are until trouble comes. I can't
say how I thank you and your father, Tom. But I'm not going to
take advantage of him."
"It wouldn't be taking any advantage of him, Mr. Damon. He has
money lying idle, and he'd like to have you use it."
"Well, Tom, I might use it, if I had only myself to think about.
But there's no use in throwing good money after bad. If I took
yours now this fellow Peters would only get it, and that would be
the last of it."
"No, Tom, thank you and your father just the same, but I'll try to
weather the storm a bit longer myself. Then, if I do go down I
won't drag anybody else with me. I'll hang on to the wreck a bit
longer. The storm may blow over, or--or something may happen to
this fellow Peters."
"Has he really got you in his grip, Mr. Damon?"
"He has, and, to a certain extent, it's my own fault. I should
have been suspicious of him. And now, Tom, let me give you a
further word of warning. You heard me say to steer clear of this
Peters?"
"Yes, and I'm going to. But I'm going to make him pay for damaging
my boat, if I possibly can."
"Maybe it would be wiser not to try that, Tom. I tell you he's a
tricky man. And one thing more. I have heard that this man Peters
makes a specialty of organizing companies to take up new
inventions."
"Is that so?" asked Tom, interestedly.
"Yes, but that's as far as it goes. Peters gets the invention, and
the man, out of whose brain it came, gets nothing."
"In other words, he swindles them?"
"That's it, Tom. If not in one way, then in another. He cheats
them out of the profits of their inventions. So I want to warn you
to be on the lookout."
"Don't worry," said Tom. "Peters will get nothing from my father
or me. We'll be on our guard. Not that I think he will try it, but
it's just as well to be warned. I didn't like him from the moment
he ran into me, and, now that I know what he has done to you, I
like him still less. He won't get anything from me!"
"I'm glad to hear you say so, Tom. I wish he'd gotten nothing out
of me."
"Are you sure you won't let my father help you, financially, Mr.
Damon?"
"No, Tom, at least not for the present. I'm going to make another
fight to hold on to my fortune. If I find I can't do it alone,
then I'll call on you. I'm real glad you called. Bless my
shoestring! I feel better now."
"I'm glad of it," laughed Tom, and he saw that his friend was in a
better state of mind, as his "blessings" showed.
Tom remained for a little longer, talking to Mr. Damon, and then
took his leave, flying back home in the airship.
"Gen'man t' see yo', Massa Tom," announced Eradicate, as he helped
Tom wheel the monoplane back into the shed.
"Is that so, Rad? Where is he?"
"Settin' in th' library. Yo' father am out, so I asted him in
dere."
"That's right, Rad. Who is he, do you know?"
"No, sah, Massa Tom, I doan't. He shore does use a pow'ful nice
perfume on his pocket hanky, though. Yum-yum!"
"Perfume!" exclaimed Tom, his mind going back to the day he had
had the trouble with Mr. Peters. "Is he a big, red-faced man,
Rad?"
"No, sah, Massa Tom. He's a white-faced, skinny man."
"Then it can't be Peters," mused Tom. "I guess perhaps it's that
lawyer I wrote to about bringing suit to get back what it cost me
to have the Kilo fixed. I'll see him at once. Oh, by the way, it
isn't Mr. Grant Halling; is it? The gentleman who got tangled up
in our aerials with his airship? Is it he?"
"No, sah, Massa Tom. 'Tain't him."
"I thought perhaps he had gotten into more trouble," mused Tom, as
he took off his airship "togs," and started for the house. For Mr.
Halling had called for his repaired airship some time ago, and had
promised to pay Tom another and more conventional visit, some
future day.
Tom did not know the visitor whom he greeted in the library a
little later. The man, as Eradicate had said, was rather pale of
face, and certainly he was not very fleshy.
"Mr. Tom Swift, I think?" said the man, rising and holding out his
hand.
"That's my name. I don't believe I know you, though."
"No, I haven't your reputation," said the man, with a laugh that
Tom did not like. "We can't all be great inventors like you," and,
somehow, Tom liked the man less than before, for he detected an
undertone of sneering patronage in the words. Tom disliked praise,
and he felt that this was not sincere.
"I have called on a little matter of business," went on the man.
"My name is Harrison Boylan, and I represent Mr. Shallock Peters."
Instinctively Tom stiffened. Receiving a call from a
representative of the man against whom Mr. Damon had warned him
only a short time before was a strange coincidence, Tom thought.
"You had some little accident, when your motor boat and that of
Mr. Peters collided, a brief time ago; did you not?" went on Mr.
Boylan.
"I did," said Tom, and, as he motioned the caller to be seated Tom
saw, with a start, that some of the drawings of his photo
telephone were lying on a desk in plain sight. They were within
easy reach of the man, and Tom thought the sheets looked as though
they had been recently handled. They were not in the orderly array
Tom had made of them before going out.
"If he is a spy, and has been looking at them," mused Tom, "he may
steal my invention." Then he calmed himself, as he realized that
he, himself, had not yet perfected his latest idea. "I guess he
couldn't make much of the drawings," Tom thought.
"Yes, the collision was most unfortunate," went on Mr. Boylan,
"and Mr. Peters has instructed me to say--"
"If he's told you to say that it was my fault, you may as well
save your time," cut in Tom. "I don't want to be impolite, but I
have my own opinion of the affair. And I might add that I have
instructed a lawyer to begin a suit against Mr. Peters--"
"No necessity for that at all!" interrupted the man, in soft
accents. "No necessity at all. I am sorry you did that, for there
was no need. Mr. Peters has instructed me to say that he realizes
the accident was entirely his own fault, and he is very willing--
nay, anxious, to pay all damages. In fact, that is why I am here,
and I am empowered, my dear Mr. Swift, to offer you five hundred
dollars, to pay for the repairs to your motor boat. If that is not
enough--"
The man paused, and drew a thick wallet front his pocket. Tom felt
a little embarrassed over what he had said.
"Oh," spoke the young inventor, "the repair bill is only about
three hundred dollars. I'm sorry--"
"Now that's all right, Mr. Swift! It's all right," and the man,
with his soft words, raised a white, restraining hand. "Not
another word. Mr. Peters did not know who you were that day he so
unfortunately ran into you. If he had, he would not have spoken as
he did. He supposed you were some amateur motor-boatist, and he
was--well, he admits it--he was provoked."
"Since then he has made inquiries, and, learning who you were, he
at once authorized me to make a settlement in full. So if five
hundred dollars--"
"The repair bill," said Tom, and his voice was not very cordial,
in spite of the other's persuasive smile, "the bill came to three
hundred forty-seven dollars. Here is the receipted bill. I paid
it, and, to be frank with you, I intended bringing suit against
Mr. Peters for that sum."
"No need, no need at all, I assure you!" interrupted Mr. Boylan,
as he counted off some bills. "There you are, and I regret that
you and Mr. Peters had such a misunderstanding. It was all his
fault, and he wants to apologize to you."
"The apology is accepted," said Tom, and he smiled a trifle. "Also
the money. I take it merely as a matter of justice, for I assure
you that Mr. Peters's own machinist will say the accident was his
employer's fault."
"No doubt of it, not the least in the world," said the caller.
"And now that I have this disagreeable business over, let me speak
of something more pleasant."
Instinctively Tom felt that now the real object of the man's call
would be made plain--that the matter of paying the damages was
only a blind. Tom steeled himself for what was to come.
"You know, I suppose," went on Mr. Boylan, smiling at Tom, "that
Mr. Peters is a man of many and large interests."
"I have heard something like that," said Tom, cautiously.
"Yes. Well, he is an organizer--a promoter, if you like. He
supplies the money for large enterprises, and is, therefore, a
benefactor of the human race. Where persons have no cash with
which to exploit their--well, say their inventions. Mr. Peters
takes them, and makes money out of them."
"No doubt," thought Tom, grimly.
"In other cases, where an inventor is working at a handicap, say
with too many interests, Mr. Peters takes hold of one of his
ideas, and makes it pay much better than the inventor has been
able to do."
"Now, Mr. Peters has heard of you, and he would like to do you
good."
"Yes, I guess he would," thought Tom. "He would like to do me--and
do me good and brown. Here's where I've got to play a game
myself."
"And so," went on Mr. Boylan, "Mr. Peters has sent me to you to
ask you to allow him to exploit one, or several, of your
inventions. He will form a large stock company, put one of your
inventions on the market, and make you a rich man. Now what do you
say?" and he looked at Tom and smiled--smiled, the young inventor
could not help thinking, like a cat looking at a mouse. "What do
you say, Mr. Swift?"
For a moment Tom did not answer. Then getting up and opening the
library door, to indicate that the interview was at an end, the
young inventor smiled, and said:
"Tell Mr. Peters that I thank him, but that I have nothing for him
to exploit, or with which to form a company to market."
"Wha--what!" faltered the visitor. "Do you mean to say you will
not take advantage of his remarkable offer?"
"That's just what I mean to say," replied Tom, with a smile.
"You won't do business with Mr. Peters? You won't let him do you
good?"
"No," said Tom, quietly.
"Why--why, that's the strangest--the most preposterous thing I
ever heard of!" protested Mr. Boylan. "What--what shall I say to
Mr. Peters?"
"Tell him," said Tom, "tell him, from me, and excuse the slang, if
you like, but tell him there is--nothing doing!"
CHAPTER VIII
TOM IS BAFFLED
Amazement held Mr. Boylan silent for a moment, and then, staring
at Tom, as though he could not believe what he had heard the young
inventor say, the representative of Mr. Peters exclaimed:
"Nothing doing?"
"That's what I said," repeated Tom, calmly.
"But--but you don't understand, I'm afraid."
"Oh, but indeed I do."
"Then you refuse to let my friend, Mr. Peters, exploit some of
your inventions?"
"I refuse absolutely."
"Oh, come now. Take an invention that hasn't been very
successful."
"Well, I don't like to boast," said Tom with a smile, "but all of
my inventions have been successful. They don't need any aid from
Mr. Peters, thank you."
"But this one!" went on the visitor eagerly, "this one about some
new kind of telephone," and he motioned to the drawings on the
table. "Has that been a success? Excuse me for having looked at
the plans, but I did not think you would mind. Has that telephone
been a success? If it has not perhaps Mr. Peters could form a
company to--"
"How did you know those drawings referred to a telephone?" asked
Tom, suspiciously, for the papers did not make it clear just what
the invention was.
"Why, I understood--I heard, in fact, that you were working on a
new photo telephone, and--"
"Who told you?" asked Tom quickly.
"Oh, no one in particular. The colored man who sent me here
mentioned--"
"Eradicate!" thought Tom. "He must have been talking. That isn't
like him. I must look into this."
Then to his caller he said:
"Really, you must excuse me, Mr. Boylan, but I don't care to do
any business with Mr. Peters. Tell him, with my thanks, that there
is really nothing doing in his line. I prefer to exploit my own
inventions."
"That is your last word?"
"Yes," returned Tom, as he gathered up the drawings.
"Well," said Mr. Boylan, and Tom could not help thinking there was
a veiled threat in his tones, "you will regret this. You will be
sorry for not having accepted this offer."
"I think not," replied Tom, confidently. "Good-day."
The young inventor sat for some time thinking deeply, when his
visitor had gone. He called Eradicate to him, and gently
questioned the old colored man, for Eradicate was ageing fast of
late, and Tom did not want him to feel badly.
It developed that the servant had been closely cross-questioned by
Mr. Boylan, while he was waiting for Tom, and it was small wonder
that the old colored man had let slip a reference to the photo
telephone. But he really knew nothing of the details of the
invention, so he could have given out no secrets.
"But at the same time," mused Tom, "I must be on guard against
these fellows. That Boylan seems a pretty slick sort of a chap. As
for Peters, he's a big 'bluff,' to be perfectly frank. I'm glad I
had Mr. Damon's warning in mind, or I might have been tempted to
do business with him."
"Now to get busy at this photo telephone again. I'm going to try a
totally different system of transmission. I'll use an alternating
current on the third wire, and see if that makes it any better.
And I'll put in the most sensitive selenium plate I can make. I'm
going to have this thing a success."
Tom carefully examined the drawings of his invention, at which
papers Mr. Boylan had confessed to looking. As far as the young
inventor could tell none was missing, and as they were not
completed it would be hard work for anyone not familiar with them
to have gotten any of Tom's ideas.
"But at the same time I'm going to be on my guard," mused Tom.
"And now for another trial."
Tom Swift worked hard during the following week, and so closely
did he stick to his home and workshop that he did not even pay a
visit to Mr. Damon, so he did not learn in what condition that
gentleman's affairs were. Tom even denied himself to his chum Ned,
so taken up was the young inventor with working out the telephone
problem, until Ned fairly forced himself into the shop one day,
and insisted on Tom coming out.
"You need some fresh air!" exclaimed Ned. "Come on out in the
motor boat again. She's all fixed now; isn't she?"
"Yes," answered Tom, "but--"
"Oh, 'but me no buts,' as Mr. Shakespeare would say. Come on, Tom.
It will do you good. I want a spin myself."
"All right, I will go for a little while," agreed Tom. "I am
feeling a bit rusty, and my head seems filled with cobwebs."
"Can't get the old thing to come out properly; eh?"
"No. I guess dad was more than half right when he said it couldn't
be done. But I haven't given up. Maybe I'll think of some new plan
if I take a little run. Come along."
They went down to the boat house, and soon were out on the lake in
the Kilo.
"She runs better since you had her fixed," remarked Ned.
"Yes, they did a good job."
"Did you sue Peters?"
"Didn't have to. He sent the money," and Tom told of his interview
with Mr. Boylan. This was news to Ned, as was also the financial
trouble of Mr. Damon.
"Well," said the young banker, "that bears out what I had heard of
Peters--that he was a get-rich-quick chap, and a good one to steer
clear of."
"Speaking of steering clear," laughed Tom, "there he is now, in
his big boat," and he pointed to a red blur coming up the lake.
"I'll give him a wide enough berth this time."
But though Mr. Peters, in his powerful motor boat, passed close to
Tom's more modest craft, the big man did not glance toward our
hero and his chum. Nor did Mr. Boylan, who was with his friend,
look over.
"I guess they've had enough of you," chuckled Ned.
"Probably he wishes he hadn't paid me that money," said Tom. "Very
likely he thought, after he handed it over, that I'd be only too
willing to let him manage one of my inventions. But he has another
guess coming."
Tom and Ned rode on for some distance, thoroughly enjoying the
spin on the lake that fine Summer day. They stopped for lunch at a
picnic resort, and coming back in the cool of the evening they
found themselves in the midst of a little flotilla of pleasure
craft, all decorated with Japanese lanterns.
"Better slow down a bit," Ned advised Tom, for many of the
pleasure craft were canoes and light row boats. "Our wash may
upset some of them."
"Guess you're right, old man," agreed Tom, as he closed the
gasoline throttle, to reduce speed. Hardly had he done so than
there broke in upon the merry shouts and singing of the pleasure-
seekers the staccato exhaust of a powerful motor boat, coming
directly behind Tom's craft.
Then came the shrill warning of an electrical siren horn.
"Somebody's in a hurry," observed Tom.
"Yes," answered Ned. "It sound's like Peters's boat, too."
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