Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle
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Victor Appleton >> Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle
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There was a little patch of trees just back of the inventor's house,
not much of a woods, perhaps, but that is what they were called.
"I wonder if he was some ordinary tramp, looking for what he could
steal, or if he was one of the gang after dad's invention?" thought
Tom as he sprinted ahead.
By this time the youth was clear of the group of buildings and in
sight of a tall, board fence, which surrounded the Swift estate on
three sides. Here and there, along the barrier, were piled old
packing-cases, so that it would be easy for a fugitive to leap upon
one of them and so get over the fence. Tom thought of this
possibility in a moment.
"I guess he got over ahead of me," the lad exclaimed, and he peered
sharply about. "I'll catch him on the other side!"
At that instant Tom tripped over a plank and went down full length,
making quite a racket. When he picked himself up he was surprised to
see the man he was after dart from inside a big box and start for
the fence, near a point where there were some packing-cases piled
up, making a good approach to the barrier. The fugitive had been
hiding, waiting for a chance to escape, and Tom's fall had alarmed
him.
"Here! Hold on there! Come back!" cried the youth as he recovered
his wind and leaped forward.
But the man did not stay. With a bound he was up on the pile of
boxes, and the next moment he was poised on top of the fence. Before
leaping down on the other side, a jump at which even a practiced
athlete might well hesitate, the fleeing stranger paused and looked
back. Tom gazed at him and recognized the man in an instant. He was
the third of the mysterious trio whom the lad had seen in the
Mansburg restaurant.
"Wait a minute! What do you want sneaking around here?" shouted Tom
as he ran forward. The man returned no answer, and an instant later
disappeared from view on the other side of the fence.
"He jumped down!" thought Tom. "A big leap, too. Well, I've got to
follow. This is a queer proceeding. First one, then the second, and
now the third of those men seem determined to get something here. I
wonder if this one succeeded? I'll soon find out."
The lad was up on the pile of packing-cases and over the fence in
almost record time. He caught a glimpse of the fugitive running
toward the woods. Then the boy leaped down, jarring himself
considerably, and took after the man.
But though Tom was a good runner he was handicapped by the fact that
the man had a start of him, and also by the fact that the stranger
had had a chance to rest while hiding for the second time in the big
box, while Tom had kept on running. So it is no great cause for
wonder that Mr. Swift's son found himself being distanced.
Once, twice he called on the fleeing one to halt, but the man paid
no attention, and did not even turn around. Then the youth wisely
concluded to save his wind for running. He did his best, but was
chagrined to see the man reach the woods ahead of him.
"I've lost him now," thought Tom. "Well, there's no help for it."
Still he did not give up, but kept on through the patch of trees. On
the farther side was Lake Carlopa, a broad and long sheet of water.
"If he doesn't know the lake's there," thought our hero, "he may
keep straight on. The water will be sure to stop him, and I can
catch him. But what will I do with him after I get him? That's
another question. I guess I've got a right to demand to know what he
was doing around our place, though."
But Tom need not have worried on this score. He could hear the
fugitive ahead of him, and marked his progress by the crackling of
the underbrush.
"I'm almost up to him," exulted the young inventor. Then, at the
same moment, he caught sight of the man running, and a glimpse of
the sparkling water of Lake Carlopa. "I've got him! I've got him!"
Tom almost cried aloud in his excitement. "Unless he takes to the
water and swims for it, I've got him!"
But Tom did not reckon on a very simple matter, and that was the
possibility of the man having a boat at hand. For this is just what
happened. Reaching the lake shore the fugitive with a final spurt
managed to put considerable distance between himself and Tom. Drawn
up on the beach was a little motor-boat. In this, after he had
pushed it from shore, the stranger leaped. It was the work of but a
second to set the engine in motion, and as Tom reached the edge of
the woods and started across the narrow strip of sand and gravel
that was between the water and the trees, he saw the man steering
his craft toward the middle of the lake.
"Well--I'll--be--jiggered!" exclaimed the youth. "Who would have
thought he'd have a motor-boat waiting for him? He planned this
well."
There was nothing to do but turn back. Tom had a small rowboat and a
sailing skiff on the lake, but his boathouse was some distance away,
and even if he could get one of his craft out, the motor-boat would
soon distance it.
"He's gone!" thought the searcher regretfully.
The man in the motor-boat did not look back. He sat in the bow,
steering the little craft right across the broadest part of Lake
Carlopa.
"I wonder where he came from, and where he's going?" mused Tom.
"That's a boat I never saw on this lake before. It must be a new
one. Well, there's no help for it, I've got to go back and tell dad
I couldn't catch him." And with a last look at the fugitive, who,
with his boat, was becoming smaller and smaller every minute, Tom
turned and retraced his steps.
CHAPTER X.
OFF TO ALBANY
"Did you catch him, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift eagerly when his son
returned, but the inventor needed but a glance at the lad's
despondent face to have his question answered without words, "Never
mind," he added, "there's not much harm done, fortunately."
"Did he get anything? Any of your plans or models, dad?"
"No; not as far as I can discover. My papers in the shop were not
disturbed, but it looked as if the turbine model had been moved. The
only thing missing seems to be a sheet of unimportant calculations.
Luckily I had my most valuable drawings in the safe in the house."
"Yet that man seemed to be putting papers in his pocket, dad. Maybe
he made copies of some of your drawings."
"That's possible, Tom, and I admit it worries me. I can't imagine
who that man is, unless--"
"Why, he's one of the three men I saw in Mansburg in the
restaurant," said Tom eagerly. "Two of them tried to get information
here, and now the third one comes. He got away in a motor-boat," and
Tom told how the fugitive escaped.
Mr. Swift looked worried. It was not the first time attempts had
been made to steal his inventions, but on this occasion a desperate
and well-organized plan appeared to be on foot.
"What do you think they are up to, dad?" asked Tom.
"I think they are trying to get hold of my turbine motor, Tom. You
know I told you that the financiers were disappointed in the turbine
motor they bought of another inventor. It does not work. To get back
the money they spent in building an expensive plant they must have a
motor that is successful. Hence their efforts to get control of
mine. I don't know whether I told you or not, but some time ago I
refused a very good offer for certain rights in my invention. I knew
it was worth more. The offer came through Smeak & Katch, the
lawyers, and when I refused it they seemed much disappointed. I
think now that this same firm, and the financiers who have employed
them, are trying by all the means in their power to get possession
of my ideas, if not the invention and model itself."
"What can you do, dad?"
"Well, I must think. I certainly must take some means to protect
myself. I have had trouble before, but never any like this. I did
not think those men would be so unscrupulous."
"Do you know their names?"
"No, only from that telegram we found; the one which the first
stranger dropped. One of them must be Anson Morse. Who the others
are I don't know. But now I must make some plans to foil these
sharpers. I may have to call on you for help, Tom."
"And I'll be ready any time you call on me, dad," responded Tom,
drawing himself up. "Can I do anything for you right away?"
"No; I must think out a plan."
"Then I am going to change my motor-cycle a bit. I'll put some more
improvements on it."
"And I will write some letters to my lawyers in Washington and ask
their advice." It took Tom the remainder of that day, and part of
the next, to arrange the gasolene and spark control of his machine
to his satisfaction. He had to make two small levers and some
connecting rods. This he did in his own particular machine shop,
which was fitted up with a lathe and other apparatus. The lathe was
run by power coming from a small engine, which was operated by an
engineer, an elderly man to whom Mr. Swift had given employment for
many years. He was Garret Jackson, and he kept so close to his
engine and boiler-room that he was seldom seen outside of it except
when the day's work was done.
One afternoon, a few days after the unsuccessful chase after the
fugitive had taken place, Tom went out for a spin on his
motor-cycle. He found that the machine worked much better, and was
easier to control. He rode about fifteen miles away from home, and
then returned. As he entered the yard he saw, standing on the drive, a
ramshackle old wagon, drawn by a big mule, which seemed, at the time
Tom observed him, to be asleep.
"I'll wager that's Boomerang," said Tom aloud, and the mule opened
its eyes, wiggled its ears and started forward.
"Whoa dar, Boomerang!" exclaimed a voice, and Eradicate Sampson
hurried around the corner of the house. "Dat's jest lake yo'," went
on the colored man. "Movin' when yo' ain't wanted to." Then, as he
caught sight of Tom, he exclaimed, "Why, if it ain't young Mistah
Swift! Good lordy! But dat livery brake yo' done fixed on mah wagon
suttinly am fine. Ah kin go down de steepest hill widout ropin' de
wheel."
"Glad of it," replied Tom. "Did you come to do some work?"
"Yais, sah, I done did. I found I had some time t' spah, an' thinks
I dere might be some whitewashin' I could do. Yo' see, I lib only
'bout two mile from heah."
"Well, I guess you can do a few jobs," said Tom. "Wait here."
He hunted up his father, and obtained permission to set Eradicate at
work cleaning out a chicken house and whitewashing it. The darky was
soon at work. A little later Tom passing saw him putting the
whitewash on thick. Eradicate stopped at the sight of Tom, and made
some curious motions.
"What's the matter, Rad?" asked the young inventor.
"Why, de whitewash done persist in runnin' down de bresh handle an'
inter mah sleeve. I'm soakin' wet from it now, an' I has t' stop
ebery onct in a while 'case mah sleeve gits full."
Tom saw what the trouble was. The white fluid did run down the long
brush handle in a small rivulet. Tom had once seen a little rubber
device on a window-cleaning brush that worked well, and he decided
to try it for Eradicate.
"Wait a minute," Tom advised. "I think I can stop that for you."
The colored man was very willing to take a rest, but it did not last
long, for Tom was soon back at the chicken coop. He had a small
rubber disk, with a hole in the center, the size of the brush
handle. Slipping the disk over the wood, he pushed it about half way
along, and then, handing the brush back to the negro, told him to
try it that way.
"Did yo' done put a charm on mah bresh?" asked Eradicate somewhat
doubtfully.
"Yes, a sort of hoodoo charm. Try it now."
The darky dipped his brush in the pail of whitewash, and then began
to spread the disinfectant on the sides of the coop near the top.
The surplus fluid started to run down the handle, but, meeting the
piece of rubber, came no farther, and dripped off on the ground. It
did not run down the sleeve of Eradicate.
"Well, I 'clar t' goodness! That suttinly am a mighty fine charm!"
cried the colored man. "Yo' suah am a pert gen'men, all right. Now I
kin work widout stoppin' t' empty mah sleeve ob lime juice ebery
minute. I'se suttinly obliged t' yo'."
"You're welcome, I'm sure," replied Tom. "I think some day I'll
invent a machine for whitewashing, and then--"
"Doan't do dat! Doan't do dat!" begged Eradicate earnestly. "Dis,
an' makin' dirt disappear, am de only perfessions I got. Doan't go
'ventin' no machine, Mistah Swift."
"All right. I'll wait until you get rich."
"Ha, ha! Den yo' gwine t' wait a pow'ful long time," chuckled
Eradicate as he went on with his whitewashing.
Tom went into the house. He found his father busy with some papers
at his desk.
"Ah, it's you, is it, Tom?" asked the inventor, looking up. "I was
just wishing you would come in."
"What for, dad?"
"Well, I have quite an important mission for you. I want you to go
on a journey."
"A journey? Where?"
"To Albany. You see, I've been thinking over matters, and I have
been in correspondence with my lawyers in regard to my turbine
motor. I must take measures to protect myself. You know I have not
yet taken out a complete patent on the machine. I have not done so
because I did not want to put my model on exhibition in Washington.
I was afraid some of those unscrupulous men would take advantage of
me. Another point was that I had not perfected a certain device that
goes on the motor. That objection is now removed, and I am ready to
send my model to Washington, and take out the complete patent."
"But I thought you said you wanted me to go to Albany."
"So I do. I will explain. I have just had a letter from Reid &
Crawford, my Washington attorneys. Mr. Crawford, the junior member
of the firm, will be in Albany this week on some law business. He
agrees to receive my model and some papers there, and take them back
to Washington with him. In this way they will be well protected. You
see, I have to be on my guard, and if I send the model to Albany,
instead of the national capital, I may throw the plotters off the
track, for I feel that they are watching every move I make. As soon
as you or I should start for Washington they would be on our trail.
But you can go to Albany unsuspected. Mr. Crawford will wait for you
there. I want you to start day after to-morrow."
"All right, dad. I can start now, if you say so."
"No, there is no special need for haste. I have some matters to
arrange. You might go to the station and inquire about trains to the
State capital."
"Am I going by train?"
"Certainly. How else could you go?"
There was a look of excitement in Tom's eyes. He had a sudden idea.
"Dad," he exclaimed, "why couldn't I go on my motor-cycle?"
"Your motor-cycle?"
"Yes. I could easily make the trip on it in one day. The roads are
good, and I would enjoy it. I can carry the model back of me on the
saddle. It is not very large."
"Well," said Mr. Swift slowly, for the idea was a new one to him, "I
suppose that part would be all right. But you have not had much
experience riding a motor-cycle. Besides, you don't know the roads."
"I can inquire. Will you let me go, dad?"
Mr. Swift appeared to hesitate.
"It will be fine!" went on Tom. "I would enjoy the trip, and there's
another thing. If we want to keep this matter secret the best plan
would be to let me go on my machine. If those men are on the watch,
they will not think that I have the model. They will think I'm just
going for a pleasure jaunt."
"There's something in that," admitted Mr. Swift, and Tom, seeing
that his father was favorably inclined, renewed his arguments, until
the inventor finally agreed.
"It will be a great trip!" exclaimed Tom. "I'll go all over my machine
now, to see that it's in good shape. You get your papers and model
ready, dad, and I'll take them to Albany for you. The motor-cycle will
come in handy."
But had Tom only known the dangers ahead of him, and the risks he
was to run, he would not have whistled so light heartedly as he went
over every nut and bolt on his machine.
Two days later, the valuable model, having been made into a
convenient package, and wrapped in water-proof paper, was fastened
back of the saddle on the motor-cycle. Tom carefully pinned in an
inside pocket the papers which were to be handed to Mr. Crawford. He
was to meet the lawyer at a hotel in Albany.
"Now take care of yourself, Tom," cautioned his father as he bade
him good-by. "Don't try to make speed, as there is no special rush.
And, above all, don't lose anything."
"I'll not, dad," and with a wave of his hand to Mr. Swift and the
housekeeper, who stood in the door to see him off, Tom jumped into
the saddle, started the machine, and then, after sufficient momentum
had been attained, he turned on the gasolene and set the spark
lever. With rattles and bangs, which were quickly subdued by the
muffler, the machine gathered speed. Tom was off for Albany.
CHAPTER XI.
A VINDICTIVE TRAMP
Though Tom's father had told him there was no necessity for any
great speed, the young inventor could not resist the opportunity for
pushing his machine to the limit. The road was a level one and in
good condition, so the motor-cycle fairly flew along. The day was
pleasant, a warm sun shining overhead, and it was evident that early
summer was crowding spring rather closely.
"This is glorious!" exclaimed Tom aloud as he spun along. "I'm glad I
persuaded dad to let me take this trip. It was a great idea. Wish Ned
Newton was along, though. He'd be company for me, but, as Ned would
say, there are two good reasons why he can't come. One is he has to
work in the bank, and the other is that he has no motor-cycle."
Tom swept past house after house along the road, heading in the
opposite direction from that in which lay the town of Shopton and
the city of Mansburg. For several miles Tom's route would lie
through a country district. The first large town he would reach
would be Centreford. He planned to get lunch there, and he had
brought a few sandwiches with him to eat along the road in case he
became hungry before he reached the place.
"I hope the package containing the model doesn't jar off," mused the
lad as he reached behind to make sure that the precious bundle was
safe. "Dad would be in a bad way if that should disappear. And the
papers, too." He put his hand to his inner pocket to feel that they
were secure. Coming to a little down-grade, Tom shut off some of the
power, the new levers he had arranged to control the gasolene and
spark working well.
"I think I'll take the old wood road and pass through Pompville,"
Tom decided, after covering another mile or two. He was approaching
a division in the highway. "It's a bit sandy," he went on, "and the
going will be heavy, but it will be a good chance to test my
machine. Besides, I'll save five miles, and, while I don't have to
hurry, I may need time on the other end. I'd rather arrive in Albany
a little before dusk than after dark. I can deliver the model and
papers and have a good night's sleep before starting back. So the
old wood road it will be."
The wood road, as Tom called it, was a seldom used highway, which,
originally, was laid out for just what the name indicated, to bring
wood from the forest. With the disappearance of most of the trees
the road became more used for ordinary traffic between the towns of
Pompville and Edgefield. But when the State built a new highway
connecting these two places the old road fell into disuse, though it
was several miles shorter than the new turnpike.
He turned from the main thoroughfare, and was soon spinning along
the sandy stretch, which was shaded with trees that in some places
met overhead, forming a leafy arch. It was cool and pleasant, and
Tom liked it.
"It isn't as bad as I thought," he remarked. "The sand is pretty
thick, but this machine of mine appears to be able to crawl through
it."
Indeed, the motor-cycle was doing remarkably well, but Tom found
that he had to turn on full power, for the big rubber wheels went
deep into the soft soil. Along Tom rode, picking out the firmest
places in the road. He was so intent on this that he did not pay
much attention to what was immediately ahead of him, knowing that he
was not very likely to meet other vehicles or pedestrians. He was
considerably startled therefore when, as he went around a turn in
the highway where the bushes grew thick, right down to the edge of
the road, to see a figure emerge from the underbrush and start
across the path. So quickly did the man appear that Tom was almost
upon him in an instant, and even though the young inventor shut off
the power and applied the brake, the front wheel hit the man and
knocked him down.
"What's the matter with you? What are you trying to do--kill me? Why
don't you ring a bell or blow a horn when you're coming?" The man had
sprung up from the soft sand where the wheel from the motor-cycle had
sent him and faced Tom angrily. Then the rider, who had quickly
dismounted, saw that his victim was a ragged tramp.
"I'm sorry," began Tom. "You came out of the bushes so quickly that
I didn't have a chance to warn you. Did I hurt you much?"
"Well, youse might have. 'Tain't your fault dat youse didn't," and
the tramp began to brush the dirt from his ragged coat. Tom was
instantly struck by a curious fact. The tramp in his second remarks
used language more in keeping with his character, whereas, in his
first surprise and anger, he had talked much as any other person
would. "Youse fellers ain't got no right t' ride dem machines like
lightnin' along de roads," the ragged chap went on, and he still
clung to the use of words and expressions current among his
fraternity. Tom wondered at it, and then, ascribing the use of the
better language to the fright caused by being hit by the machine,
the lad thought no more about it at the time. There was occasion,
however, when he attached more meaning to it.
"I'm very sorry," went on Tom. "I'm sure I didn't mean to. You see,
I was going quite slowly, and--"
"You call dat slow, when youse hit me an' knocked me down?" demanded
the tramp. "I'd oughter have youse arrested, dat's what, an' I would
if dere was a cop handy."
"I wasn't going at all fast," said Tom, a little nettled that his
conciliatory words should be so rudely received. "If I had been
going full speed I'd have knocked you fifty feet."
"It's a good thing. Cracky, den I'm glad dat youse wasn't goin' like
dat," and the tramp seemed somewhat confused. This time Tom looked
at him more closely, for the change in his language had been very
plain. The fellow seemed uneasy, and turned his face away. As he did
so Tom caught a glimpse of what he was sure was a false beard. It
was altogether too well-kept a beard to be a natural one for such a
dirty tramp as this one appeared to be.
"That fellow's disguised!" Tom thought. "He's playing a part. I
wonder if I'd better take chances and spring it on him that I'm on
to his game?"
Then the ragged man spoke again:
"I s'pose it was part my fault, cully. I didn't know dat any guy was
comin' along on one of dem buzz-machines, or I'd been more careful.
I don't s'pose youse meant to upset me?" and he looked at Tom more
boldly. This time his words seemed so natural, and his beard, now
that Tom took a second look at it, so much a part of himself, that
the young inventor wondered if he could have been mistaken in his
first surmise.
"Perhaps he was once a gentleman, and has turned tramp because of
hard luck," thought Tom. "That would account for him using good
language at times. Guess I'd better keep still." Then to the tramp
he said: "I'm sure I didn't mean to hit you. I admit I wasn't
looking where I was going, but I never expected to meet any one on
this road. I certainly didn't expect to see a--"
He paused in some confusion. He was about to use the term "tramp,"
and he hesitated, not knowing how it would be received by his
victim.
"Oh, dat's all right, cully. Call me a tramp--I know dat's what
youse was goin' t' say. I'm used t' it. I've been a hobo so many
years now dat I don't mind. De time was when I was a decent chap,
though. But I'm a tramp now. Say, youse couldn't lend me a quarter,
could youse?"
He approached closer to Tom, and looked quickly up and down the
road. The highway was deserted, nor was there any likelihood that
any one would come along. Tom was somewhat apprehensive, for the
tramp was a burly specimen. The young inventor, however, was not so
much alarmed at the prospect of a personal encounter, as that he
feared he might be robbed, not only of his money, but the valuable
papers and model he carried. Even if the tramp was content with
taking his money, it would mean that Tom would have to go back home
for more, and so postpone his trip.
So it was with no little alarm that he watched the ragged man coming
nearer to him. Then a bright idea came into Tom's head. He quickly
shifted his position so that he brought the heavy motor-cycle
between the man and himself. He resolved, if the tramp showed a
disposition to attack him, to push the machine over on him, and this
would give Tom a chance to attack the thief to better advantage.
However, the "hobo" showed no evidence of wanting to resort to
highwayman methods. He paused a short distance from the machine, and
said admiringly:
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