Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle
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Victor Appleton >> Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle
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9 Greg Weeks, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
Tom Swift and his Motor-Cycle
or
Fun and Adventures on the Road
by Victor Appleton
CONTENTS
I. A NARROW ESCAPE
II. TOM OVERHEARS SOMETHING
III. IN A SMASH-UP
IV. TOM AND A MOTOR-CYCLE
V. MR. SWIFT IS ALARMED
VI. AN INTERVIEW IN THE DARK
VII. OFF ON A SPIN
VIII. SUSPICIOUS ACTIONS
IX. A FRUITLESS PURSUIT
X. OFF TO ALBANY
XI. A VINDICTIVE TRAMP
XII. THE MEN IN THE AUTO
XIII. CAUGHT IN A STORM
XIV. ATTACKED FROM BEHIND
XV. A VAIN SEARCH.
XVI. BACK HOME.
XVII. MR. SWIFT IN DESPAIR
XVIII. HAPPY HARRY AGAIN
XIX. TOM ON A HUNT
XX. ERADICATE SAWS WOOD
XXI. ERADICATE GIVES A CLUE
XXII. THE STRANGE MANSION
XXIII. TOM IS PURSUED
XXIV. UNEXPECTED HELP
XXV. THE CAPTURE--GOOD-BY
CHAPTER I.
A NARROW ESCAPE
"That's the way to do it! Whoop her up, Andy! Shove the spark lever
over, and turn on more gasolene! We'll make a record this trip."
Two lads in the tonneau of a touring car, that was whirling along a
country road, leaned forward to speak to the one at the steering
wheel. The latter was a red-haired youth, with somewhat squinty
eyes, and not a very pleasant face, but his companions seemed to
regard him with much favor. Perhaps it was because they were riding
in his automobile.
"Whoop her up, Andy!" added the lad on the seat beside the driver.
"This is immense!"
"I rather thought you'd like it," remarked Andy Foger, as he turned
the car to avoid a stone in the road. "I'll make things hum around
Shopton!"
"You have made them hum already, Andy," commented the lad beside
him. "My ears are ringing. Wow! There goes my cap!"
As the boy spoke, the breeze, created by the speed at which the car
was traveling, lifted off his cap, and sent it whirling to the rear.
Andy Foger turned for an instant's glance behind. Then he opened the
throttle still wider, and exclaimed:
"Let it go, Sam. We can get another. I want to see what time I can
make to Mansburg! I want to break a record, if I can."
"Look out, or you'll break something else!" cried a lad on the rear
seat. "There's a fellow on a bicycle just ahead of us. Take care,
Andy!"
"Let him look out for himself," retorted Foger, as he bent lower
over the steering wheel, for the car was now going at a terrific
rate. The youth on the bicycle was riding slowly along, and did not
see the approaching automobile until it was nearly upon him. Then,
with a mean grin, Andy Foger pressed the rubber bulb of the horn
with sudden energy, sending out a series of alarming blasts.
"It's Tom Swift!" cried Sam Snedecker. "Look out, or you'll run him
down!"
"Let him keep out of my way," retorted Andy savagely.
The youth on the wheel, with a sudden spurt of speed, tried to cross
the highway. He did manage to do it, but by such a narrow margin
that in very terror Andy Foger shut off the power, jammed down the
brakes and steered to one side. So suddenly was he obliged to swerve
over that the ponderous machine skidded and went into the ditch at
the side of the road, where it brought up, tilting to one side.
Tom Swift, his face rather pale from his narrow escape, leaped from
his bicycle, and stood regarding the automobile. As for the
occupants of that machine, from Andy Foger, the owner, to the three
cronies who were riding with him, they all looked very much
astonished.
"Are we--is it damaged any, Andy?" asked Sam Snedecker.
"I hope not," growled Andy. "If my car's hurt it's Tom Swift's
fault!"
He leaped from his seat and made a hurried inspection of the
machine. He found nothing the matter, though it was more from good
luck than good management. Then Andy turned and looked savagely at
Tom Swift. The latter, standing his wheel up against the fence,
walked forward.
"What do you mean by getting in the way like that?" demanded Andy
with a scowl. "Don't you see that you nearly upset me?"
"Well, I like your nerve, Andy Foger!" cried Tom. "What do you mean
by nearly running me down? Why didn't you sound your horn? You
automobilists take too much for granted! You were going faster than
the legal rate, anyhow!"
"I was, eh?" sneered Andy.
"Yes, you were, and you know it. I'm the one to make a kick, not
you. You came pretty near hitting me. Me getting in your way! I
guess I've got some rights on the road!"
"Aw, go on!" growled Andy, for he could think of nothing else to
say. "Bicycles are a back number, anyhow."
"It isn't so very long ago that you had one," retorted Tom. "First
you fellows know, you'll be pulled in for speeding."
"I guess we had better go slower, Andy," advised Sam in a low voice.
"I don't want to be arrested."
"Leave this to me," retorted Andy. "I'm running this tour. The next
time you get in my way I'll run you down!" he threatened Tom. "Come
on, fellows, we're late now, and can't make a record run, all on
account of him," and Andy got back into the car, followed by his
cronies, who had hurriedly alighted after their thrilling stop.
"If you try anything like this again you'll wish you hadn't,"
declared Tom, and he watched the automobile party ride off.
"Oh, forget it!" snapped back Andy, and he laughed, his companions
joining.
Tom Swift said nothing in reply. Slowly he remounted his wheel and
rode off, but his thoughts toward Andy Foger were not very pleasant
ones. Andy was the son of a wealthy man of the town, and his good
fortune in the matter of money seemed to have spoiled him, for he
was a bully and a coward. Several times he and Tom Swift had
clashed, for Andy was overbearing. But this was the first time Andy
had shown such a vindictive spirit.
"He thinks he can run over everything since he got his new auto,"
commented Tom aloud as he rode on. "He'll have a smash-up some day,
if he isn't careful. He's too fond of speeding. I wonder where he
and his crowd are going?"
Musing over his narrow escape Tom rode on, and was soon at his home,
where he lived with his widowed father, Barton Swift, a wealthy
inventor, and the latter's housekeeper, Mrs. Baggert. Approaching a
machine shop, one of several built near his house by Mr. Swift, in
which he conducted experiments and constructed apparatus. Tom was
met by his parent.
"What's the matter, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "You look as if something
had happened."
"Something very nearly did," answered the youth, and related his
experience on the road.
"Humph," remarked the inventor; "your little pleasure-jaunt might
have ended disastrously. I suppose Andy and his chums are off on
their trip. I remember Mr. Foger speaking to me about it the other
day. He said Andy and some companions were going on a tour, to be
gone a week or more. Well, I'm glad it was no worse. But have you
anything special to do, Tom?"
"No; I was just riding for pleasure, and if you want me to do
anything, I'm ready."
"Then I wish you'd take this letter to Mansburg for me. I want it
registered, and I don't wish to mail it in the Shopton post-office.
It's too important, for it's about a valuable invention."
"The new turbine motor, dad?"
"That's it. And on your way I wish you'd stop in Merton's machine
shop and get some bolts he's making for me."
"I will. Is that the letter?" and Tom extended his hand for a
missive his father held.
"Yes. Please be careful of it. It's to my lawyers in Washington
regarding the final steps in getting a patent for the turbine.
That's why I'm so particular about not wanting it mailed here.
Several times before I have posted letters here, only to have the
information contained in them leak out before my attorneys received
them. I do not want that to happen in this case. Another thing;
don't speak about my new invention in Merton's shop when you stop
for the bolts."
"Why, do you think he gave out information concerning your work?"
"Well, not exactly. He might not mean to, but he told me the other
day that some strangers were making inquiries of him, about whether
he ever did any work for me."
"What did he tell them?"
"He said that he occasionally did, but that most of my inventive
work was done in my own shops, here. He wanted to know why the men
were asking such questions, and one of them said they expected to
open a machine shop soon, and wanted to ascertain if they might
figure on getting any of my trade. But I don't believe that was
their object."
"What do you think it was?"
"I don't know, exactly, but I was somewhat alarmed when I heard this
from Merton. So I am going to take no risks. That's why I send this
letter to Mansburg. Don't lose it, and don't forget about the bolts.
Here is a blue-print of them, so you can see if they come up to the
specifications."
Tom rode off on his wheel, and was soon spinning down the road.
"I wonder if I'll meet Andy Foger and his cronies again?" he
thought. "Not very likely to, I guess, if they're off on a tour.
Well, I'm just as well satisfied. He and I always seem to get into
trouble when we meet." Tom was not destined to meet Andy again that
day, but the time was to come when the red-haired bully was to cause
Tom Swift no little trouble, and get him into danger besides. So Tom
rode along, thinking over what his father had said to him about the
letter he carried.
Mr. Barton Swift was a natural inventor. From a boy he had been
interested in things mechanical, and one of his first efforts had
been to arrange a system of pulleys, belts and gears so that the
windmill would operate the churn in the old farmhouse where he was
born. The fact that the mill went so fast that it broke the churn
all to pieces did not discourage him, and he at once set to work,
changing the gears. His father had to buy a new churn, but the young
inventor made his plan work on the second trial, and thereafter his
mother found butter-making easy.
From then on Barton Swift lived in a world of inventions. People
used to say he would never amount to anything, that inventors never
did, but Mr. Swift proved them all wrong by amassing a considerable
fortune out of his many patents. He grew up, married and had one
son, Tom. Mrs. Barton died when Tom was three years old, and since
then he had lived with his father and a succession of nurses and
housekeepers. The last woman to have charge of the household was a
Mrs. Baggert, a motherly widow, and she succeeded so well, and Tom
and his father formed such an attachment for her, that she was
regarded as a fixture, and had now been in charge ten years.
Mr. Swift and his son lived in a handsome house on the outskirts of
the village of Shopton, in New York State. The village was near a
large body of water, which I shall call Lake Carlopa, and there Tom
and his father used to spend many pleasant days boating, for Tom and
the inventor were better chums than many boys are, and they were
often seen together in a craft rowing about, or fishing. Of course
Tom had some boy friends, but he went with his father more often
than he did with them.
Though many of Mr. Swift's inventions paid him well, he was
constantly seeking to perfect others. To this end he had built near
his home several machine shops, with engines, lathes and apparatus
for various kinds of work. Tom, too, had the inventive fever in his
veins, and had planned some useful implements and small machines.
Along the pleasant country roads on a fine day in April rode Tom
Swift on his way to Mansburg to register the letter. As he descended
a little hill he saw, some distance away, but coming toward him, a
great cloud of dust.
"Somebody must be driving a herd of cattle along the road," thought
Tom. "I hope they don't get in my way, or, rather, I hope I don't
get in theirs. Guess I'd better keep to one side, yet there isn't
any too much room."
The dust-cloud came nearer. It was so dense that whoever or whatever
was making it could not he distinguished.
"Must be a lot of cattle in that bunch," mused the young inventor,
"but I shouldn't think they'd trot them so on a warm day like this.
Maybe they're stampeded. If they are I've got to look out." This
idea caused him some alarm.
He tried to peer through the dust-cloud, but could not. Nearer and
nearer it came. Tom kept on, taking care to get as far to the side
of the road as he could. Then from the midst of the enveloping mass
came the sound of a steady "chug-chug."
"It's a motor-cycle!" exclaimed Tom. "He must have his muffler wide
open, and that's kicking up as much dust as the wheels do. Whew! But
whoever's on it will look like a clay image at the end of the line!"
Now that he knew it was a fellow-cyclist who was raising such a
disturbance, Tom turned more toward the middle of the road. As yet
he had not had a sight of the rider, but the explosions of the motor
were louder. Suddenly, when the first advancing particles of dust
reached him, almost making him sneeze, Tom caught sight of the
rider. He was a man of middle age, and he was clinging to the
handle-bars of the machine. The motor was going at full speed.
Tom quickly turned to one side, to avoid the worst of the dust. The
motor-cyclist glanced at the youth, but this act nearly proved
disastrous for him. He took his eyes from the road ahead for just a
moment, and he did not see a large stone directly in his path. His
front wheel hit it, and the heavy machine, which he could not
control very well, skidded over toward the lad on the bicycle. The
motor-cyclist bounced up in the air from the saddle, and nearly lost
his hold on the handle-bars.
"Look out!" cried Tom. "You'll smash into me!"
"I'm--I'm--try--ing--not--to!" were the words that were rattled out
of the middle-aged man.
Tom gave his wheel a desperate twist to get out of the way. The
motor-cyclist tried to do the same, but the machine he was on
appeared to want matters its own way. He came straight for Tom, and
a disastrous collision might have resulted had not another stone
been in the way. The front wheel hit this, and was swerved to one
side. The motor-cycle flashed past Tom, just grazing his wheel, and
then was lost to sight beyond in a cloud of dust that seemed to
follow it like a halo.
"Why don't you learn to ride before you come out on the road!" cried
Tom somewhat angrily.
Like an echo from the dust-cloud came floating back these words:
"I'm--try--ing--to!" Then the sound of the explosions became
fainter.
"Well, he's got lots to learn yet!" exclaimed Tom. "That's twice
to-day I've nearly been run down. I expect I'd better look out for the
third time. They say that's always fatal," and the lad leaped from his
wheel. "Wonder if he bent any of my spokes?" the young inventor
continued as he inspected his bicycle.
CHAPTER II.
TOM OVERHEARS SOMETHING
"Everything seems to be all right," Tom remarked, "but another inch
or so and he'd have crashed into me. I wonder who he was? I wish I
had a machine like that. I could make better time than I can on my
bicycle. Perhaps I'll get one some day. Well, I might as well ride
on."
Tom was soon at Mansburg, and going to the post-office handed in the
letter for registry. Bearing in mind his father's words, he looked
about to see if there were any suspicious characters, but the only
person he noticed was a well-dressed man, with a black mustache, who
seemed to be intently studying the schedule of the arrival and
departure of the mails.
"Do you want the receipt for the registered, letter sent to you here
or at Shopton?" asked the clerk of Tom. "Come to think of it,
though, it will have to come here, and you can call for it. I'll
have it returned to Mr. Barton Swift, care of general delivery, and
you can get it the next time you are over," for the clerk knew Tom.
"That will do," answered our hero, and as he turned away from the
window he saw that the man who had been inquiring about the mails
was regarding him curiously. Tom thought nothing of it at the time,
but there came an occasion when he wished that he had taken more
careful note of the well-dressed individual. As the youth passed out
of the outer door he saw the man walk over to the registry window.
"He seems to have considerable mail business," thought Tom, and then
the matter passed from his mind as he mounted his wheel and hurried
to the machine shop.
"Say, I'm awfully sorry," announced Mr. Merton when Tom said he had
come for the bolts, "but they're not quite done. They need
polishing. I know I promised them to your father to-day, and he can
have them, but he was very particular about the polish, and as one
of my best workers was taken sick, I'm a little behind."
"How long will it take to polish them?" asked Tom.
"Oh, about an hour. In fact, a man is working on them now. If you
could call this afternoon they'll be ready. Can you?"
"I s'pose I've got to," replied Tom good-naturedly. "Guess I'll have
to stay in Mansburg for dinner. I can't get back to Shopton in time
now."
"I'll be sure to have them for you after dinner," promised Mr.
Merton. "Now, there's a matter I want to speak to you about, Tom.
Has your father any idea of giving the work he has been turning over
to me to some other firm?"
"Not that I know of. Why?" and the lad showed his wonder.
"Well, I'll tell you why. Some time ago there was a stranger in
here, asking about your father's work. I told Mr. Swift of it at the
time. The stranger said then that he and some others were thinking
of opening a machine shop, and he wanted to find out whether they
would be likely to get any jobs from your father. I told the man I
knew nothing about Mr. Swift's business, and he went away. I didn't
hear any more of it, though of course I didn't want to lose your
father's trade. Now a funny thing happened. Only this morning the
same man was back here, and he was making particular inquiries about
your father's private machine shops."
"He was?" exclaimed Tom excitedly.
"Yes. He wanted to know where they were located, how they were laid
out, and what sort of work he did in them."
"What did you tell him?"
"Nothing at all. I suspected something, and I said the best way for
him to find out would be to go and see your father. Wasn't that
right?"
"Sure. Dad doesn't want his business known any more than he can
help. What do you suppose they wanted?"
"Well, the man talked as though he and his partners would like to
buy your father's shops."
"I don't believe he'd sell. He has them arranged just for his own
use in making patents, and I'm sure he would not dispose of them."
"Well, that's what I thought, but I didn't tell the man so. I judged
it would be best for him to find out for himself."
"What was the man's name?"
"He didn't tell me, and I didn't ask him."
"How did he look?"
"Well, he was well dressed, wore kid gloves and all that, and he had
a little black mustache."
Tom started, and Mr. Merton noticed it.
"Do you know him?" he asked.
"No," replied Tom, "but I saw--" Then he stopped. He recalled the
man he had seen in the post-office. He answered this description,
but it was too vague to be certain.
"Did you say you'd seen him?" asked Mr. Merton, regarding Tom
curiously.
"No--yes--that is--well, I'll tell my father about it," stammered
Tom, who concluded that it would be best to say nothing of his
suspicions. "I'll be back right after dinner, Mr. Merton. Please
have the bolts ready for me, if you can."
"I will. Is your father going to use them in a new machine?"
"Yes; dad is always making new machines," answered the youth, as the
most polite way of not giving the proprietor of the shop any
information. "I'll be back right after dinner," he called as he went
out to get on his wheel.
Tom was much puzzled. He felt certain that the man in the post-
office and the one who had questioned Mr. Merton were the same.
"There is something going on, that dad should know about," reflected
Tom. "I must tell him. I don't believe it will be wise to send any
more of his patent work over to Merton. We must do it in the shops
at home, and dad and I will have to keep our eyes open. There may be
spies about seeking to discover something about his new turbine
motor. I'll hurry back with those bolts and tell dad. But first I
must get lunch. I'll go to the restaurant and have a good feed while
I'm at it."
Tom had plenty of spending money, some of which came from a small
patent he had marketed himself. He left his wheel outside the
restaurant, first taking the precaution to chain the wheels, and
then went inside. Tom was hungry and ordered a good meal. He was
about half way through it when some one called his name.
"Hello, Ned!" he answered, looking up to see a youth about his own
age. "Where did you blow in from?"
"Oh, I came over from Shopton this morning," replied Ned Newton,
taking a seat at the table with Tom. The two lads were chums, and in
their younger days had often gone fishing, swimming and hunting
together. Now Ned worked in the Shopton bank, and Tom was so busy
helping his father, so they did not see each other so often.
"On business or pleasure?" asked Tom, putting some more sugar in his
coffee.
"Business. I had to bring some papers over from our bank to the
First National here. But what about you?"
"Oh, I came on dad's account."
"Invented anything new?" asked Ned as he gave his order to the
waitress.
"No, nothing since the egg-beater I was telling you about. But I'm
working on some things."
"Why don't you invent an automobile or an airship?"
"Maybe I will some day, but, speaking of autos, did you see the one
Andy Foger has?"
"Yes; it's a beaut! Have you seen it?"
"Altogether at too close range. He nearly ran over me this morning,"
and the young inventor related the occurrence.
"Oh, Andy always was too fresh," commented Ned; "and since his
father let him get the touring car I suppose he'll be worse than
ever."
"Well, if he tries to run me down again he'll get into trouble,"
declared Tom, calling for a second cup of coffee.
The two chums began conversing on more congenial topics, and Ned was
telling of a new camera he had, when, from a table directly behind
him, Tom heard some one say in rather loud tones:
"The plant is located in Shopton, all right, and the buildings are
near Swift's house."
Tom started, and listened more intently.
"That will make it more difficult," one man answered. "But if the
invention is as valuable as--"
"Hush!" came a caution from another of the party. "This is too
public a place to discuss the matter. Wait until we get out. One of
us will have to see Swift, of course, and if he proves stubborn--"
"I guess you'd better hush yourself," retorted the man who had first
spoken, and then the voices subsided.
But Tom Swift had overheard something which made him vaguely afraid.
He started so at the sound of his father's name that he knocked a
fork from the table.
"What's the matter; getting nervous?" asked Ned with a laugh.
"I guess so," replied Tom, and when he stooped to pick the fork up,
not waiting for the girl who was serving at his table, he stole a
look at the strangers who had just entered. He was startled to note
that one of the men was the same he had seen in the post-office--the
man who answered the description of the one who had been inquiring
of Mr. Merton about the Swift shops.
"I'm going to keep my ears open," thought Tom as he went on eating
his dinner.
CHAPTER III.
IN A SMASH-UP
Though the young inventor listened intently, in an endeavor to hear
the conversation of the men at the table behind him, all he could
catch was an indistinct murmur. The strangers appeared to have
heeded the caution of one of their number and were speaking in low
tones.
Tom and Ned finished their meal, and started to leave the
restaurant. As Mr. Swift's son passed the table where the men sat
they looked up quickly at him. Two of them gave Tom but a passing
glance, but one--he whom the young inventor had noticed in the post-
office--stared long and intently.
"I think he will know me the next time he sees me," thought Tom, and
he boldly returned the glance of the stranger.
The bolts were ready when the inventor's son called at the machine
shop a second time, and making a package of them Tom fastened it to
the saddle of his bicycle. He started for home at a fast pace, and
was just turning from a cross road into the main highway when he saw
ahead of him a woman driving a light wagon. As the sun flashed on
Tom's shining wheel the horse gave a sudden leap, swerved to one
side, and then bolted down the dusty stretch, the woman screaming at
the top of her voice.
"A runaway!" cried Tom; "and partly my fault, too!"
Waiting not an instant the lad bent over his handle-bars and pedaled
with all his force. His bicycle seemed fairly to leap forward after
the galloping horse.
"Sit still! Don't jump out! Don't jump!" yelled the young inventor.
"I'll try to catch him!" for the woman was standing up in front of
the seat and leaning forward, as if about to leap from the wagon.
"She's lost her head," thought Tom. "No wonder! That's a skittish
horse."
Faster and faster he rode, bending all his energies to overtake the
animal. The wagon was swaying from side to side, and more than once
the woman just saved herself from being thrown out by grasping the
edge of the seat. She found that her standing position was a
dangerous one and crouched on the bottom of the swaying vehicle.
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