The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “Did he do any damage?” asked Mr. Hastings.

  “I guess he didn’t have time,” responded Tom. “But he was tampering with the lock on the door of the forward compartment. What’s in there?”

  “Nothing but the gasoline tank. I keep the bulkhead sliding door locked on general principles. I can’t imagine what the fellow would want to open it for. There’s nothing of value in there. Perhaps he isn’t right in his head. Was he a tramp?”

  “No, he was well dressed but he seemed very nervous during the auction, as if he was disappointed not to have secured the boat. Yet what could he want in that compartment? Have you the key to the lock, Mr. Hastings?”

  “Yes, it belongs to you now, Mr. Swift,” and the former owner handed it to Tom, who quickly unlocked the compartment. He slid back the door and peered within, but all he saw was the big galvanized tank.

  “Nothing in there he could want,” commented the former owner of the craft.

  “No,” agreed Tom in a low voice. “I don’t see what he wanted to open the door for.” But the time was to come, and not far off, when Tom was to discover quite a mystery connected with the forward compartment of his boat, and the solution of it was fated to bring him into no little danger.

  “It certainly is odd,” went on Mr. Hastings when, after Tom had secured the screw driver from his motor-cycle tool bag, he aided the lad in removing the letters from the bow of the boat “Are you sure you don’t know the man?”

  “No, I never saw him before. At first I thought his voice sounded like one of the members of the Happy Harry gang, but when I looked squarely at him I could not see a bit of resemblance. Besides, that gang would not venture again into this neighborhood.”

  “No, I imagine not. Perhaps he was only a curious, meddlesome person. I have frequently been bothered by such individuals. They want to see all the working parts of an automobile or motor-boat, and they don’t care what damage they do by investigating.”

  Tom did not reply, but he was pretty certain that the man in question had more of an object than mere curiosity in tampering with the boat. However, he could discover no solution just then, and he proceeded with the work of taking off the letters.

  “What are you going to do with your boat, now that you have it?” asked Mr. Hastings. “Can you run it down to your dock in the condition in which it is now?”

  “No, I shall have to go back home, get some tools and fix up the motor. It will take half a day, at least. I will come back this afternoon and, have the boat at my house by night. That is if I may leave it at your dock here.”

  “Certainly, as long as you like.”

  The young inventor had many things to think about as he rode toward home, and though he was somewhat puzzled over the actions of the stranger, he forgot about that in anticipating the pleasure he would have when the motor-boat was in running order.

  “I’ll take dad off on a cruise about the lake,” he decided. “He needs a rest, for he’s been working hard and worrying over the theft of the turbine motor model. I’ll take Ned Newton for some rides, too, and he can bring his camera along and get a lot of pictures. Oh, I’ll have some jolly sport this summer!”

  Tom was riding swiftly along a quiet country road and was approaching a steep hill, which he could not see until he was close to it, owing to a sharp turn.

  As he was about to swing around it and coast swiftly down the steep declivity he was startled by hearing a voice calling to him from the bushes at the side of the road.

  “Hold on, dar I Hold on, Mistah Swift!” cried a colored man, suddenly popping into view. “Doan’t go down dat hill.”

  “Why, it’s Eradicate Sampson!” exclaimed Tom, quickly shutting off the power and applying the brakes. “What’s the matter, Rad? Why shouldn’t I go down that hill?”

  “Beca’se, Mistah Swift, dere’s a pow’ful monstrous tree trunk right across de road at a place whar yo’ cain’t see it till yo’ gits right on top ob it. Ef yo’ done hit dat ar tree on yo’ lickity-split machine, yo’ suah would land in kingdom come. Doan’t go down dat hill!”

  Tom leaped off his machine and approached the colored man. Eradicate Sampson did odd jobs in the neighborhood of Shopton, and more than once Tom had done him favors in repairing his lawn mower or his wood-sawing machine. In turn Eradicate had given Tom a valuable clue as to the hiding place of the model thieves.

  “How’d the log get across the road, Rad?” asked Tom.

  “I dunno, Mistah Swift. I see it when I come along wid mah mule, Boomerang, an’ I tried t’ git it outer de way, but I couldn’t. Den I left Boomerang an’ mah wagon at de foot ob de hill an’ I come up heah t’ git a long pole t’ pry de log outer de way. I didn’t t’ink nobody would come along, case dis road ain’t much trabeled.”

  “I took it for a short cut,” said the lad. “Come on, let’s take a look at the log.”

  Leaving his machine at the top of the slope, the young inventor accompanied the colored man down the hill. At the foot of it, well hidden from sight of any one who might come riding down, was a big log. It was all the way across the road.

  “That never fell there,” exclaimed Tom in some excitement. “That never rolled off a load of logs, even if there had been one along, which there wasn’t. That log was put there!”

  “Does yo’ t’ink dat, Mistah Swift?” asked Eradicate, his eyes getting big.

  “I certainly do, and, if you hadn’t warned me, I might have been killed.”

  “Oh, I heard yo’ lickity-split machine chug-chuggin’ along when I were in de bushes, lookin’ for a pryin’ pole, an’ I hurried out to warn yo. I knowed I could leave Boomerang safe, case he’s asleep.”

  “I’m glad you did warn me,” went on the youth solemnly. Then, as he went closer to the log, he uttered an exclamation.

  “That has been dragged here by an automobile!” he cried. “It’s been done on purpose to injure some one. Come on, Rad, let’s see if we can’t find out who did it.”

  Something on the ground caught Tom’s eye. He stooped and picked up a nickle-plated wrench.

  “This may come in handy as evidence,” he murmured.

  CHAPTER IV

  TOM AND ANDY CLASH

  Even a casual observer could have told that an auto had had some part in dragging the log to the place where it blockaded the road. In the dust were many marks of the big rubber tires and even the imprint of a rope, which had been used to tow the tree trunk.

  “What fo’ yo’ t’ink any one put dat log dere?” asked the colored man as he followed Tom. Boomerang, the mule, so called because Eradicate said you never could tell what he was going to do, opened his eyes lazily and closed them again. “I don’t know why, Rad, unless they wanted to wreck an automobile or a wagon. Maybe tramps did it for spite.”

  “Maybe some one done it to make yo’ hab trouble, Mistah Swift.”

  “No, I hardly think so. I don’t know of any one who would want to make trouble for me, and how would they know I was coming this way—”

  Tom suddenly checked himself. The memory of the scene at the auction came back to him and he recalled what Andy Foger had said about “getting even.”

  “Which way did dat auto go?” resumed Eradicate.

  “It came from down the road,” answered Tom, not completing the sentence he had left unfinished. “They dragged the log up to the foot of the hill and left it. Then the auto went down this way.” It was comparatively easy, for a lad of such sharp observation as was Tom, to trace the movements of the vehicle.

  “Den if it’s down heah, maybe we cotche ’m,” suggested the colored man.

  The young inventor did not answer at once. He was hurrying along, his eyes on the telltale marks. He had proceeded some distance from the place where the log was when he uttered a cry. At the same moment he hurried from the road toward a thick clump of bushes that were in the ditch alongside of the highway. Reaching them, he parted the leaves and called:

  “Here’s the auto, Rad!”

&
nbsp; The colored man ran up, his eyes wider open than ever. There, hidden amid the bushes, was a large touring car.

  “Whose am dat?” asked Eradicate.

  Tom did not answer. He penetrated the underbrush, noting where the broken branches had been bent upright after the forced entrance of the car, the better to hide it. The young inventor was, seeking some clue to discover the owner of the machine. To this end he climbed up in the tonneau and was looking about when some one burst in through the screen of bushes and a voice cried: “Here, you get out of my car!”

  “Oh, is it your car, Andy Foger?” asked Tom calmly as he recognized his squint-eyed rival. “I was just beginning to think it was. Allow me to return your wrench,” and he held out the one he had picked up near the log. “The next time you drag trees across the road,” went on the lad in the tonneau, facing the angry and dismayed Andy, “I’d advise you to post a notice at the top of the hill, so persons riding down will not be injured.” “Notice—road—hill—logs!” stammered Andy, turning red under his freckles.

  “That’s what I said,” replied Tom coolly.

  “I—I didn’t have anything to do with putting a log across any road,” mumbled the bully. “I—I’ve been off toward the creek.”

  “Have you?” asked Tom with a peculiar smile.

  “I thought you might have been looking for the wrench you dropped near the log. You should be more careful and so should Sam Snedecker, who’s hiding outside the bushes,” went on our hero, for he had caught sight of the form of Andy’s crony. “I—I told him not to do it!” exclaimed Sam as he came from his hiding place.

  “Shut up!” exclaimed Andy desperately.

  “Oh, I think I know your secret,” continued the young inventor. “You wanted to get even with me for outbidding you on the motor-boat. You watched which road I took, and then, in your auto, you came a shorter way, ahead of me. You hauled the log across the foot of the hill, hoping, I suppose, that my machine would be broken. But, let me tell you, it was a risky trick. Not only might I have been killed, but so would whoever else who happened to drive down the slope over the log, whether in a wagon or automobile. Fortunately Eradicate discovered it in time and warned me. I ought to have you arrested, but you’re not worth it. A good thrashing is what such sneaks as you deserve!”

  “You haven’t got any evidence against us,” sneered Andy confidently, his old bravado coming back.

  “I have all I want,” replied Tom. “You needn’t worry. I’m not going to tell the police. But you’ve got to do one thing or I’ll make you sorry you ever tried this trick. Eradicate will help me, to don’t think you’re going to escape.”

  “You get out of my automobile!” demanded Andy. “I’ll have you arrested if you don’t.”

  “I’ll get out because I’m ready to, but not on account of your threats,” retorted Mr. Swift’s son. “Here’s your wrench. Now I want you and Sam to start up this machine and haul that log out of the way.”

  “S’pose I won’t do it?” snapped Andy.

  “Then I’ll cause your arrest, besides thrashing you into the bargain! You can take your choice of removing the log so travelers can pass or having a good hiding, you and Sam. Eradicate, you take Sam and I’ll tackle Andy.”

  “Don’t you dare touch me!” cried the bully, but there was a whine in his tones.

  “You let me alone or I’ll tell my father!” added Sam. “I—I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it, anyhow. I told Andy it would make trouble, but he made me help him.”

  “Say, what’s the matter with you?” demanded Andy indignantly of his crony. “Do you want to—”

  “I wish I’d never come with you,” went on Sam, who was beginning to be frightened.

  “Come now. Start up that machine and haul the log out of the way,” demanded Tom again.

  “I won’t do it!” retorted the red-haired lad impudently.

  “Yes, you will,” insisted our hero, and he took a step toward the bully. They were out of the clump of bushes now and in the roadside ditch. “You let me alone,” almost screamed Andy, and in his baffled rage he rushed at Tom, aiming a blow.

  The young inventor quickly stepped to one side, and, as the bully passed him, Tom sent out a neat left-hander. Andy Foger went down in a heap on the grass.

  CHAPTER V

  A TEST OF SPEED

  Whether Tom or Andy was the most surprised at the happening would be hard to say. The former had not meant to hit so hard and he certainly did not intend to knock the squint-eyed youth down. The latter’s fall was due, as much as anything, to his senseless, rushing tactics and to the fact that he slipped on the green grass. The bully was up in a moment, however, but he knew better than to try conclusions with Tom again. Instead he stood out of reach and spluttered:

  “You just wait, Tom Swift! You just wait!”

  “Well, I’m waiting,” responded the other calmly.

  “I’ll get even with you,” went on Andy. “You think you’re smart because you got ahead of me, but I’ll get square!”

  “Look here!” burst out the young inventor determinedly, taking a step toward his antagonist, at which Andy quickly retreated, “I don’t want any more of that talk from you, Andy Foger. That’s twice you’ve made threats against me today. You put that log across the road, and if you try anything like it for your second attempt I’ll make you wish you hadn’t. That applies to you, too, Sam,” he added, glancing at the other lad.

  “I—I ain’t gone’ to do nothin’,” declared Sam.

  “I told Andy not to put that tree—”

  “Keep still, can’t you!” shouted the bully. “Come on. We’ll get even with him, that’s all,” he muttered as he went back into the bushes where the auto was. Andy cranked up and he and his crony getting into the car were about to start off.

  “Hold on!” cried Tom. “You’ll take that log from across the road or I’ll have you arrested for obstructing traffic, and that’s a serious offense.”

  “I’m goin’ to take it away!” growled Andy. “Give a fellow a show can’t you?”

  He cast an ugly look at Tom, but the latter only smiled. It was no easy task for Sam and Andy to pull the log out of the way, as they could hardly lift it to slip the rope under. But they finally managed it, and, by the power of the car, hauled it to one side. Then they speed off.

  “I ’clar t’ gracious, dem young fellers am most as mean an’ contrary as mah mule Boomerang am sometimes,” observed Eradicate. “Only Boomerang ain’t quite so mean as dat.”

  “I should hope not, Rad,” observed Tom. “I’m ever so much obliged for your warning. I guess I’ll be getting, home now. Come around next week; we have some work for you.”

  “’Deed an’ I will,” replied the colored man. “I’ll come around an’ eradicate all de dirt on yo’ place, Mistah Swift. Yais, sah, I’s Eradicate by name, and dat’s my perfession—eradicatin’ dirt. Much obleeged, I’ll call around. Giddap, Boomerang!”

  The mule lazily flicked his ears, but did not stir, and Tom, knowing the process of arousing the animal would take some time, hurried up the hill to where he had left his motor-cycle. Eradicate was still engaged on the task of trying to arouse his steed to a sense of its duty when the young inventor flashed by on his way home.

  “So now you own a broken motor-boat,” observed Mr. Swift when Tom had related the circumstances of the auction. “Well, now you have it, what are you going to do with it?”

  “Fix it, first of all,” replied his son. “It needs considerable tinkering up, but nothing but what I can do, if you’ll help me.”

  “Of course I will. Do you think you can get any speed out of it?”

  “Well, I’m not so anxious for speed. I wart a good, comfortable boat, and the Arrow will be that. I’ve named it, you see. I’m going back to Lanton this afternoon, take some tools along, and repair it so I can run the boat over to here. Then I’ll get at it and fix it up. I’ve got a plan for you, dad.”

  “What is it?” asked the inv
entor, his rather tired face lighting up with interest.

  “I’m going to take you on a vacation trip.”

  “A vacation trip?”

  “Yes, you need a rest. You’ve been working, too hard over that gyroscope invention.”

  “Yes, Tom, I think I have,” admitted Mr. Swift. “But I am very much interested in it, and I think I can get it to work. If I do it will make a great difference in the control of aeroplanes. It will make them more stable able to fly in almost any wind. But I certainly have puzzled my brains over some features of it. However, I don’t quite see what you mean.”

  “You need a rest, dad,” said Mr. Swift’s son kindly. “I want you to forget all about patents, invention, machinery and even the gyroscope for a week or two. When I get my motor-boat in shape I’m going to take you and Ned Newton up the lake for a cruise. We can camp out, or, if we had to, we could sleep in the boat. I’m going to put a canopy on it and arrange some bunks. It will do you good and perhaps new ideas for your gyroscope may come to you after a rest.”

  “Perhaps they will, Tom. I am certainly tired enough to need a vacation. It’s very kind of you to think of me in connection with your boat. But if you’re going to get it this afternoon you’d better start if you expect to get back by night. I think Mrs. Baggert has dinner ready.”

  After the meal Tom selected a number of tools from his, own particular machine shop and carried them down to the dock on the lake, where his two small boats were tied.

  “Aren’t you going back on your motor-cycle” asked his father. “No, Dad, I’m going to row over to Lanton, and, if I can get the Arrow fixed, I’ll tow my rowboat back.”

  “Very well, then you won’t be in any danger from Andy Foger. I must speak to his father about him.”

  “No, dad, don’t,” exclaimed the young inventor quickly. “I can fight my own battles with Andy. I don’t fancy he will bother me again right away.”

  Tom found it more of a task than he had anticipated to get the motor in shape to run the Arrow back under her own power. The magneto was out of order and the batteries needed renewing, while the spark coil had short-circuited and took considerable time to adjust. But by using some new dry cells, which Mr. Hastings gave him, and cutting out the magneto, or small dynamo which produces the spark that exploded the gasoline in the cylinders, Tom soon had a fine, “fat” hot spark from the auxiliary ignition system. Then, adjusting the timer and throttle on the engine and seeing that the gasoline tank was filled, the lad started up his motor. Mr. Hastings helped him, but after a few turns of the flywheel there were no explosions. Finally, after the carburetor (which is the device where gasoline is mixed with air to produce an explosive mixture) had been adjusted, the motor started off as if it had intended to do so all the while and was only taking its time about it.