Tom Swift in the City of Gold
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Victor Appleton >> Tom Swift in the City of Gold
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"Then what--"
"I came to see your father," interrupted the red-haired bully. "I
have a letter for him from my father; but I guess Mr. Swift
misunderstood me when he let me in."
"Did you tell him you wanted to see me?" asked Tom suspiciously,
thinking Andy had made a mistatement in order to have a longer time
to wait.
"No, I didn't, but I guess your father must have been thinking about
something else, for he told me to come in here and sit down. I've
been waiting ever since, and just now Mrs. Baggert passed and saw
me. She--"
"Yes, she said you were here," spoke Tom significantly. "Well, then
it's my father you want to see. I'll tell him."
Tom hurried back to the library.
"Dad," he said, "it's you that Andy wants to see. He has a letter
from Mr. Foger for you."
"For me? What in the world can it be about? He never wrote to me
before. I must have misunderstood Andy. But then it's no wonder for
my head is so full of my new gyroscope plans. There is a certain
spring I can't seem to get right--"
"Perhaps you'd better see what Andy wants," suggested Mr. Damon
gently. He looked at Tom. They were both thinking of the same thing.
"I will," replied Mr. Swift quickly, and he passed into the library.
"I wonder how much Andy heard?" asked Ned, in a low voice.
"Oh, I don't believe it could have been very much," answered Tom.
"No, I stopped you just in time," rejoined his chum, "or you might
have blurted out the name of the city near where the buried gold
is."
"Yes, we must guard our secret well, Tom," put in Mr. Damon.
"Well, Andy couldn't have known anything about the letter I got,"
declared Tom, "and if he only heard snatched of our talk it won't do
him much good."
"The only trouble is he's been there long enough to have heard most
of it." suggested Ned. They could talk freely now, for in going into
the parlor Mr. Swift had tightly closed the door after him. They
could just hear the murmur of his voice speaking to Andy.
"Well, even if he does guess about the city of gold, and its
location, I don't believe he'll try to go there," remarked Tom,
after a pause.
A moment later they heard Mr. Swift letting Andy out of the front
door, and then the inventor rejoined his son and the others. He held
an open letter in his hand.
"This is strange--very strange," he murmured.
"What is it?" asked Tom quickly.
"Why. Mr. Foger has written to me asking to be allowed to sell some
of our patents and machines on commission."
"Sell them on commission!" exclaimed his son. "Why does a
millionaire like Mr. Foger want to be selling goods on commission?
It's only a trick!"
"No, it's not a trick," said Mr. Swift slowly. "He is in earnest.
Tom, Mr. Foger has lost his millions. His fortune has been swept
away by unfortunate investments, he tells me, and he would be glad
of any work I could give him. That's why Andy brought the letter to-
night. I just sent him back with an answer."
"What did you say, dad?"
"I said I'd think it over."
"Mr. Foger's millions gone," mused Tom.
"And Andy in there listening to what we said about the city of
gold," added Ned. "No wonder he was glad the door was open. He'd be
there in a minute, Tom, if he could, and so would Mr. Foger, if he
thought he could get rich. He wouldn't have to sell goods on
commission if he could pick up a few of the golden images."
"That's right," agreed Tom, with an uneasy air. "I wish I knew just
how much Andy had heard. But perhaps it wasn't much."
The time was to come, however, when Tom was to learn to his sorrow
that Andy Foger had overheard a great deal.
"Bless my bankbook!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I never dreamed of such a
thing! Andy had every reason in the world for not wanting us to know
he was in there! No wonder he kept quiet. I'll wager all the while
he was as close to the open door as he could get, hoping to overhear
about the location of the place, so he could help his father get
back his lost fortune. Bless my hatband! It's a good thing Mrs.
Baggert told us he was there."
They all agreed with this, and then, as there was no further danger
of being overheard, they resumed their talk about the city of gold.
It was decided that they would have to wait the arrival of another
letter from Mr. Illingway before starting for Mexico.
"Well, as long as that much is settled, I think I'd better be going
home," suggested Mr. Damon. "I know my wife will be anxious about
me."
"I'll get out the sky racer and you'll be in Waterford in a jiffy,"
said Tom, and he kept his word, for the speedy aeroplane carried him
and his guest rapidly through the night, bringing Tom safely back
home.
It was several days after this, during which time Tom and Ned had
had many talks about the proposed trip. They had figured on what
sort of a craft to use in the journey. Tom had about decided on a
small, but very powerful, dirigible balloon, that could be packed in
a small compass and taken along.
"This city may be in some mountain valley, and a balloon will be the
only way we can get to it," he told Ned.
"That's right," agreed his chum. "By the way, you haven't heard any
more about Andy; have you?"
"Not a thing. Haven't even seen him. None of us have."
"There goes Rad, I wonder if he's seen him."
"No, or he'd have mentioned it to me. Hey, Rad," Tom called to the
colored man, "what are you going to do?"
"Whitewash de back fence, Massa Tom. It's in a mos' disrupted state
ob disgrace. I'se jest natchally got t' whitewash it."
"All right, Rad, and when you get through come back here. I've got
another job for you."
"A'right, Massa Tom, I shorely will," and Rad limped off with his
pail of whitewash, and the long-handled brush.
It may have been fate that sent Andy Foger along the rear road a
little later, and past the place where Eradicate was making the
fence less "disrupted." It may have been fate or Andy may have just
been sneaking along to see if he could overhear anything of Tom's
plans--a trick of which he was frequently guilty. At any rate, Andy
walked, past where Eradicate was whitewashing. The colored man saw
the red-haired lad coming and murmured:
"Dere's dat no 'count white trash! I jest wish Massa Tom was hear
now. He'd jest natchally wallop Andy," and Eradicate moved his
longhandled brush up and down, as though he were coating the Foger
lad with the white stuff.
As it happened, Eradicate was putting some of the liquid on a
particularly rough spot in the fence, a spot low down, and this
naturally made the handle of his brush stick out over the sidewalk,
and at this moment Andy Foger got there.
"Here, you black rascal!" the lad angrily exclaimed. "What do you
mean by blocking the sidewalk that way? It's against the law, and I
could have you arrested for that."
"No, could yo' really now?" asked Eradicate drawlingly for he was
not afraid of Andy.
"Yes, I could, and don't you give me any of your back-talk! Get that
brush out of the way!" and Andy kicked the long handle.
The natural result followed. The other end of the brush, wet with
whitewash, described a curve through the air, coming toward the mean
bully. And as the blow of Andy's foot jarred the brush loose, the
next moment it fell right on Andy's head, the white liquid trickling
down on his clothes, for Eradicate was not a miser when it came to
putting on whitewash.
For a moment Andy could not speak. Then he burst out with:
"Hi! You did that on purpose! I'll have you in jail for that! Look
at my hat, it's ruined! Look at my clothes! They're ruined! Oh, I'll
make you pay for this!"
"Deed, it shore was a accident," said Eradicate, trying not to laugh.
"You done did it yo'se'f!"
"I did not! You did it on purpose; Tom Swift put you in on this!
I'll--I'll--"
But Andy had to stop and splutter for some of the lime ran down off
his hat into his mouth, and he yelled:
"I'll--I'll--Ouch! Phew! Woof! Oof! Oh!"
Then, in his rage, he made a blind rush for Eradicate. Now the
colored man had no fear of Andy, but he did not want the pail of
whitewash to upset, and the said pail was right in the path of the
advancing youth.
"Look out!" cried Eradicate.
"I'll make you look out!" spluttered Andy. "I'll thrash you for
this!"
Eradicate caught up his pail. He did not want to have the trouble of
mixing more of the liquid. Just as he lifted it Andy aimed a kick
for him. But he mis-calculated, and his foot struck the bottom of
the pail and sent it flying from the hands of the colored man. Sent
it flying right toward Andy himself, for Eradicate jumped back out
of the way.
And the next moment a veritable deluge of whitewash was sprayed and
splashed and splattered over Andy, covering him with the snowy
liquid from head to foot!
CHAPTER IV
A PERILOUS FLIGHT
There was silence for a moment--there had to be--for Eradicate was
doubled over with mirth and could not even laugh aloud, and as for
Andy the whitewash running down his face and over his mouth
effectually prevented speech. But the silence did not last long.
Just as Eradicate caught his breath, and let out a hearty laugh,
Andy succeeded in wiping some of the liquid from his face so that it
was safe to open his mouth. Then he fairly let out a roar of rage.
"I'll have you put in jail far that, Eradicate Sampson!" he cried.
"You've nearly killed me: You'll suffer for this! My father will sue
you for damages, too! Look at me! Look at me!"
"Dat's jest what I'se doin', honey! Jest what I'se doin'!" gasped
Eradicate, hardly able to speak from laughter. "Yo' suah am a most
contrary lookin' specimen! Yo' suah is! Ha! Ha!"
"Stop it!" commanded Andy. "Don't you dare laugh at me, after
throwing whitewash on me."
"I didn't throw no whitewash on you!" protested the colored man.
"Yo' done poured it over yo'se'f, dat's what yo' done did. An' I
jest cain't help laughin', honey. I jest natchally cain't! Yo' look
so mortally distressed, dat's what yo' does!"
Andy's rage might have been dangerous, but the very excess of it
rendered him incapable of doing anything. He was wild at Eradicate
and would willingly have attacked him, but the whitewash was
beginning to soak through his clothes, and he was so wet and
miserable that soon all the fight oozed out of him.
Then, too, though Eradicate was old, he was strong and he still held
the long handle of the whitewash brush, no unformidable weapon. So
Andy contented himself with verbal abuse. He called Eradicate all
the mean names he could think of, ending up with:
"You won't hear the last of this for a long time, either. I'll have
you, and your old rack of bones, your mule Boomerang, run out of
town, that's what I will."
"What's dat? Yo' all gwine t'hab Boomerang run out ob town?"
demanded Eradicate, a sudden change coming over him. His mule was
his most beloved possession. "Lemme tell yo' one thing, Massa Andy.
I'se an old colored man, an' I ain't much 'count mebby. But ef yo'
dare lay one finger on mah mule Boomerang, only jest one finger,
mind you', why I'll--I'll jest natchally drown yo'--all in
whitewash, dat's what I'll do!"
Eradicate drew himself up proudly, and boldly faced Andy. The bully
shrank back. He knew better than to arouse the colored man further.
"You'll suffer for this," predicted the bully. "For not going to
forget it. Tom Swift put you up to this, and I'll take it out of him
the next time I see him. He's to blame."
"Now looky heah, honey!" said Eradicate quick. "Doan't yo' all git
no sich notion laik dat in yo' head. Massa Tom didn't tell me to do
noth'in an I ain't. He ain't eben 'round yeh. An' annudder thing.
Yo'se t' blame to' this yo' own se'f. Ef yo' hadn't gone fo' is kick
de bucket it nebber would 'a happened. It's yo' own fault, honey,
an' doan't yo' forgit dat! No, yo' better go home an' git some dry
clothes on."
It was good advice, for Andy was soaking wet. He glared angrily at
Eradicate, and then swung off down the road, the whitewash dripping
from has garments at every step.
"Land a massy! But he suah did use up all mah lime." complained
Eradicate, as he picked up the overturned pail. "I's got t' make
mo'. But I doan't mind," he added cheerfully, and then, as he saw
the woe-begone figure of Andy shuffling along, he laughed heartily,
fitted the brush on the handle and went to tell Tom and Ned what had
happened, and make more whitewash.
"Hum! Served him right," commented the young inventor.
"I suppose he'll try to play some mean trick on you now," commented
Ned. "He'll think you had some hand in what Rad did."
"Let him," answered Tom. "If he tries any of his games I'll be ready
for him."
"Maybe we'll soon be able to start for the city of gold," suggested
Ned.
"I'm afraid not in some time," was his chum's reply. "It's going to
take quite a while to get ready, and then we've got to wait to hear
from Mr. Illingway. I wonder if it's true that Mr. Foger has lost
his fortune; or was that only a trick?"
"Oh, it's true enough," answered Ned. "I heard some of the bank
officials talking about it the other day." Ned was employed in one
of the Shopton banks, an institution in which Tom and his father
owned considerable stock. "He hasn't hardly any money left, and he
may leave town and go out west, I heard."
"He can't go any too soon to suit me," spoke Tom, "and I hope he
takes Andy with him."
"Your father isn't going to have any business dealings with Mr.
Foger then?"
"I guess not. Dad doesn't trust him. But say, Ned, what do you say
to a little trip in my sky racer? I want to go over to Waterford and
see Mr. Damon. We can talk about our trip, and he was going to get
some big maps of Central Mexico to study. Will you come?"
"I will this afternoon. I've got to go to the bank now."
"All right, I'll wait for you. In the meanwhile I'll be tuning up
the motor. It didn't run just right the other night."
The two chums separated, Ned to go downtown to the bank, while Tom
hastened to the shed where he kept his speedy little air craft.
Meanwhile Eradicate went on whitewashing the fence, pausing every
now and then to chuckle at the memory of Andy Foger.
Tom found that some minor adjustments had to be made to the motor,
and they took him a couple of hours to complete. It was nearly noon
when he finished, and leaving the sky racer in the open space in
front of the shed, he went in the house to wash up, for his face and
hands were begrimed with dirt and oil.
"But the machine's in good shape," he said to the housekeeper when
she objected to his appearance, "and Ned and I will have a speedy
spin this afternoon."
"Oh, you reckless boys! Risking your lives in those aeroplanes!"
exclaimed Mrs. Baggert.
"Why, they're safer than street cars!" declared Tom with a laugh.
"Just think how often street cars collide, and you never heard of an
aeroplane doing that."
"No, but think what happens when they fall."
"That's it!" cried Tom gaily, "when they fall you don't have time to
think. But is dinner ready? I'm hungry."
"Never saw you when you weren't." commented the housekeeper
laughing. "Yes, you can sit right down. We won't wait for your
father. He said he'd be late as he wants to find something about his
gyroscope. I never did any such people as inventors for spoiling
their meals," she added as the put dinner on the tab's.
Mr. Swift came in before his son had finished.
"Was Andy Foger here to see me again?" he asked.
"No, why do you ask?" inquired Tom quickly.
"I just saw him out by the aeroplane shed, and--"
Tom jumped up without another word, and hurried to where his sky
racer rested on its bicycle wheels.
He breathed more easily when he saw that Andy was not in sight, and
a hurried inspection of the aeroplane did not disclose that it had
been tampered with.
"Anything the matter?" asked Mr. Swift, as he followed his son.
"No, but when you mentioned that Andy was out here I thought he
might have been up to some of his tricks. He had a little trouble
with Eradicate this morning, and he threatened to get even with me
for it." And Tom told of the whitewashing incident.
"I just happened to see him as I was coming to dinner," went on the
aged inventor. "He hurried off--when he noticed me, but I thought he
might have been here to leave another letter."
"No," said Tom. "I must tell Eradicate to keep his weather eye open
for him, though. No telling what Andy'll do. Well, I must finish
eating, or Ned will be here before I'm through."
After dinner, Ned arrived, and helped Tom start the motor. With a
roar and a bang the swift little machine rapidly got up speed, the
propellers whizing so fast that they looked like blurs of light. The
sky racer was held back by a rope, as Tom wanted to note the "pull"
of the propellers, the force they exerted against the air being
registered on a spring balance.
"What does it say, Ned?" cried the young inventor as he adjusted the
carburettor.
"A shade over nine hundred pounds."
"Guess that'll do. Hop in, and I'll cast off from the seat."
This Tom frequently did when there was no one available to hold the
aeroplane for him while he mounted. He could pull a cord, loosen the
retaining rope, and away the craft would go.
The two chums were soon seated side by side and then Tom, grasping
the steering wheel, turned on full power and jerked the releasing
rope.
Over the ground shot the sky racer, quickly attaining speed until,
with a deft motion, the young inventor tilted the deflecting rudder
and up into the air they shot.
"Oh, this is glorious!" cried Ned, for, though he had often taken
trips with Tom, every time he went up he seemed to enjoy it more.
Higher and higher they rose, rose and then with the sharp nose of
the craft turned in the proper direction they sailed off well above
the trees and houses toward Waterford.
"Guess I'll go up a bit higher," Tom yelled into his chums ear when
they were near their destination. "Then I can make a spiral glide to
earth. I haven't practiced that lately."
Up and up went the sky racer, until it was well over the town of
Waterford, where Mr. Damon lived.
"There's his place!" yelled Ned, pointing downward. He had to yell
to be heard above the noise of the motor. Tom nodded in reply. He,
too, had picked out Mr. Damon's large estate. There were many good
landing places on it, one near the house for which Tom headed.
The aeroplane shot downward, like a bird darting from the sky. Tom
grasped the rudder lever more firmly. He looked below him, and then,
suddenly he uttered a cry of terror.
"What is it?" yelled Ned.
"The rudder! The deflecting rudder! It's jammed, and I can't throw
her head up! We're going to smash into the ground, Ned! I can't
control her! Something has gone wrong!"
CHAPTER V
NEWS FROM AFRICA
Blankly, and with fear in his eyes, Ned gazed at Tom. The young
inventor was frantically working at the levers, trying to loosen the
jammed rudder--the rudder that enabled the sky racer to be tilted
upward.
"Can't you do it?" cried Ned.
Tom shook his head helplessly, but he did not give up. Madly he
worked on, and there was need of haste, for every moment the
aeroplane was shooting nearer and nearer to the earth.
Ned glanced down. They were headed for the centre of a large grass
plot and the bank employee found himself grimly thinking that at
least the turf would be softer to fall on than bare ground.
"I--I can't imagine what's happened!" cried Tom.
He was still yanking on the lever, but it would not move, and unless
the head of the aeroplane was thrown up quickly, to catch the air,
and check its downward right, they would both be killed.
"Shut off the engine and vol-plane!" cried Ned.
"No use," answered Tom. "I can't vol-plane when I can't throw her
head up to check her."
But he did shut off the banging, throbbing motor, and then in
silence they continued to fall. Ned had half a notion to jump, but
he knew that would mean instant death, and there was just a bare
chance that if he stayed in the machine it would take off some of
the shock.
They could see Mr. Damon now. The old man had run out of his house
at the sight of the approaching aeroplane. He knew it well, for he
had ridden with Tom many times. He looked up and waved his hand to
the boys, but he had no idea of their danger, and he could not have
helped them had he been aware of it.
He must have soon guessed that something was wrong though, for a
moment later, the lads could hear him shout in terror, and could see
him motion to them. Later he said he saw that Tom was coming down at
too great an inclination, and he feared that the machine could not
be thrown up into the wind quickly enough!
"Here goes something--the lever or the rudder!" cried Tom in
desperation, as he gave it a mighty yank. Up to now he had not
pulled with all his strength as he feared to break some connecting-
rod, wire or lever. But now he must take every chance. "If I can get
that rudder up even a little we're safe!" he went on.
Once more he gave a terrific pull on the handle. There was a
snapping sound and Tom gave a yell of delight.
"That's the stuff!" he cried. "She's moving! We're all right now!"
And the rudder had moved only just in time, for when the aeroplane
was within a hundred feet of the earth the head was suddenly
elevated and she glided along on a level "keel."
"Look out!" yelled Ned, for new a new danger presented. They were so
near the earth that Tom had over-run his original stepping place,
and now the sky racer was headed directly for Mr. Damon's house, and
might crash into it.
"All right! I've get her in hand!" said the young inventor
reassuringly.
Tom tilted the rudder at a sharp angle to have the air pressure act
as a brake. At the same time he swerved the craft to one side so
that there was no longer any danger of crashing into the house.
"Bless my--" began Mr. Damon, but in the excitement he really
didn't know what to bless, so he stopped short.
A moment later, feeling that the momentum had been checked enough to
make it safe to land, Tom directed the craft downward again and came
gracefully to earth, a short distance away from his eccentric
friend.
"Whew!" gasped the young inventor, as he leaped from his seat. "That
was a scary time while it lasted."
"I should say so!" agreed Ned.
"Bless my straw hat!" cried Mr. Damon. "What happened? Did you lose
control of her, Tom,"
"No, the deflecting rudder got jammed, and I couldn't move it. I
must look and see what's the matter."
"I thought it was all up with you," commented Mr. Damon, as he
followed Tom and Ned to the front end of the craft, where the
deflecting mechanism was located.
Tom glanced quickly over it. His quick eye caught something, and he
uttered an exclamation.
"Look!" the young inventor cried. "No wonder it jammed!" and from a
copper sleeve, through which ran the wire that worked the rudder, he
pulled a small iron bolt. "That got between the sleeve and the wire,
and I couldn't move it," he explained. "But when I pulled hard I
loosened it."
"How did it fall in there?" asked Ned.
"It didn't FALL there." spoke Tom quietly. "It was PUT there."
"Put there! Bless my insurance policy! Who did such a dastardly
trick?" cried Mr. Damon.
"I don't know," answered Tom still quietly, "but I suspect it was
Andy Foger, and he was never any nearer to putting us out of
business than a little while ago, Ned."
"Do you mean to say that he deliberately tried to injure you?" asked
Mr. Damon.
"Well, he may not have intended to hurt us, but that's what would
have happened if I hadn't been able to throw her up into the wind
when I did," replied Tom. Then he told of Mr. Swift having seen the
red-haired bully near the aeroplane. "Andy may have only intended to
put my machine out of working order," went on the young inventor,
"but it might have been worse than that," and he could not repress a
shudder.
"Are you going to say anything to him?" asked Ned.
"I certainly am!" replied Torn quickly. "He doesn't realize that he
might have crippled us both for life. I sure am going to say
something to him when I get back."
But Tom did not get the chance, for when he and Ned returned to
Shopton,--the sky racer behaving beautifully on the homeward trip,--
it was learned that Mr. Foger had suddenly left town, taking Andy
with him.
"Maybe he knew I'd be after him," said Tom grimly, and so that
incident was closed for the time being, but it was a long time
before Tom and Ned got over their fright.
They had a nice visit with Mr. Damon, and talked of the city of gold
to their heart's content, looking at several large maps of Mexico
that the eccentric man had procured, and locating, as well as they
could from the meager map and description they had, where the
underground treasures might be.
"I suppose you are getting ready to go, Mr. Damon?" remarked Ned.
"Hush!" cautioned the odd man, looking quickly around the room. "I
haven't said anything to my wife about it yet. You know she doesn't
like me to go off on these 'wild goose chases' as she calls them,
with you, Tom Swift. But bless my railroad ticket! It's half the fun
of my life."
"Then don't you think you can go?" asked the young inventor eagerly,
for he had formed a strong like for Mr. Damon, and would very much
reprait to go without him.
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