The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  Tom helped the girls out, receiving their thanks as well as those of the children in the second boat. But as he walked with the young ladies through the grove the young inventor registered a mental vow that he would steer clear of explaining again how a gasoline engine worked.

  “Now come right over this way to our table,” invited Miss Nestor. “I want you to meet papa and mamma.”

  Tom followed her. As he stepped from behind a clump of trees he saw, standing not far away, a figure that seemed strangely familiar. A moment later the figure turned and Tom saw Andy Foger confronting him. At the sight of our hero the bully turned red and walked quickly away, while Tom’s fingers touched the ring of keys in his pocket.

  CHAPTER VII

  A BRUSH WITH ANDY

  So unexpected was his encounter with Andy that the young inventor hardly knew how to act, especially since he was a guest of the young ladies. Tom did not want to do or say anything to embarrass them or make a scene, yet he did want to have a talk, and a very serious talk, with Andy Foger.

  Miss Nestor must have noticed Tom’s sudden start at his glimpse of Andy, for she asked: “Did you see some one you knew, Mr. Swift?”

  “Yes,” replied Tom, “I did—er—that is—” He paused in some confusion.

  “Perhaps you’d like—that is prefer—to go with them instead of taking lunch with girls who don’t know anything about engines?” she persisted.

  “Oh, no indeed,” Tom hastened to assure her. “He—that is—the person I saw wouldn’t care to have me lunch with him,” and the youth smiled grimly.

  “Would you like to bring him over to our table?” inquired Miss Carson. “We have plenty for him.”

  “No, I think that would hardly do,” continued the lad, who tried not to smile at the picture of the red-haired and squint-eyed Andy Foger making one of a party with the girls. The young ladies fortunately had not noticed the bully, who was out of view by this time.

  Tom was presented to Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, who told him how glad they were to meet the young man who had been instrumental in saving their daughter from injury, if not death. Tom was a bit embarrassed, but bore the praise as well as he could, and he was very glad when a diversion, in the shape of lunch, occurred.

  After a meal on tables under the trees in the grove Tom took the girls and some of their friends out in his motor-boat again. They covered several miles around the lake before returning to the picnic ground.

  As Tom was starting toward home in his boat, wondering what had become of Andy and trying to think of a reason why the bully should attend anything as “tame” as a church picnic, the object of his thoughts came strolling through the trees down to the shore of the lake. The moment he saw Tom the red-haired lad started back, but the young inventor, leaping out of his boat, called out:

  “Hold on there, Andy Foger, I want to see you!” and there was menace in Tom’s tone.

  “But, I don’t want to see you!” retorted the other sulkily. “I’ve got no use for you.”

  “No more have I for you,” was Tom’s quick reply. “But I want to return you these keys. You dropped them in my boat the other night when you tried to set it afire. If I ever catch you—”

  “My keys! Your boat! On fire!” gasped Andy, so plainly astonished that Tom knew his surprise was genuine.

  “Yes, your keys. You were a little, too quick for me or I’d have caught you at it. The next time you pick a lock don’t leave your keys behind you,” and he held out the jingling ring.

  Andy Foger advanced slowly. He took the bunch of keys and looked at the tag.

  “They are mine,” he said slowly, as if there was some doubt about it.

  “Of course they are,” declared Tom. “I found them where you dropped them—in my boat.”

  “Do you mean over at the auction?”

  “No, I mean down in my boathouse, where you sneaked in the other night and tried to do some damage.

  “The other night!” cried Andy. “I never was near your boathouse any night and I never lost my keys there! I lost these the day of the auction, on Mr. Hastings’ ground, and I’ve been looking for them ever since.”

  “Didn’t you sneak in my boathouse the other night and try to do some mischief? Didn’t you drop them then?”

  “No, I didn’t,” retorted Andy earnestly. “I lost those keys at the auction, and I can prove it to you. Look, I advertised for them in the weekly Gazette.”

  The red-haired lad pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket and showed Tom an advertisement offering a reward of two dollars for a bunch of keys on a ring, supposed to have been lost at the auction on Mr. Hastings’ grounds in Lanton. The finder was to return them to Andy Foger.

  “Does that look as if I lost the keys in your boathouse?” demanded the bully sneeringly. “I wouldn’t have advertised them that way if I’ been trying to keep my visit quiet. Besides, I can prove that I was out of town several nights. I was over to an entertainment in Mansburg one night and I didn’t get home until two o’clock in the morning, because my machine broke down. Ask Ned Newton. He saw me at the entertainment.”

  Andy’s manner was so earnest that Tom could not help believing him. Then there was the evidence of the advertisement. Clearly the squint-eyed youth had not been the mysterious visitor to the boathouse and had not unlocked the forward compartment. But if it was not he, who could it have been and how did the keys get there? These were questions which racked Tom’s brain.

  “You can ask Ned Newton,” repeated Andy. “He’ll prove that I couldn’t have been near your place, if you don’t believe me.”

  “Oh, I believe you all right,” answered Tom, for there could be no doubting Andy’s manner, even though he and the young inventor were not on good terms. “But how did your keys get in my boat?”

  “I don’t know, unless you found them, kept them and dropped them there,” was the insolent answer.

  “You know better than that,” exclaimed Tom.

  “Well, I owe you a reward of two dollars for giving them back to me,” continued the bully patronizingly. “Here it is,” and he hauled out some bills.

  “I don’t want your money!” fired back Tom.

  “But I’d like to know who it was that was in my boat.”

  “And I’d like to know who it was took my keys,” and Andy stuffed the money back in his pocket. Tom did not answer. He was puzzling over a queer matter and he wanted to be alone and think. He turned aside from the red-haired lad and walked toward his motor-boat.

  “I’ll give you a surprise in a few days,” Andy called after him, but Tom did not turn his head nor did he inquire what the surprise might be.

  Mr. Swift was somewhat puzzled when his son related the outcome of the key incident. He agreed with Tom that some one might have found the ring and kept it, and that the same person might have been the one whom Tom had surprised in the boathouse.

  “But it’s idle to speculate on it,” commented the inventor. “Andy might have induced some of his chums to act for him in harming your boat, and the key advertisement might have been only a ruse.”

  “I hardly think so,” answered his son, shaking his head. “It strikes me as being very curious, and I’m going to see if I can’t get at the bottom of it.”

  But a week or more passed and Tom had no clue. In the meanwhile he was working away at his motor-boat, installing several improvements.

  One of these was a better pump, which circulated the water around the cylinders, and another was a new system of lubrication under forced feed.

  “This ought to give me a little more speed,” reasoned Tom, who was not yet satisfied with his craft. “Guess I’ll take it out for a spin.”

  He was alone in the Arrow, taking a long course up the lake when, as he passed a wooded point that concealed from view a sort of bay, he heard the puffing of another motor-boat.

  “Maybe that’s Mr. Hastings,” thought Tom. “If I raced with him now, I think the Arrow could give a better account of herself.”


  The young inventor looked at the boat as it came into view. It needed but a glance to show that it was not the Carlopa. Then, as it came nearer, Tom saw a familiar figure in it—a red-haired, squint-eyed chap.

  “Andy Foger!” exclaimed Tom. “He’s got a motor-boat! This is the surprise he spoke of.”

  The boat was rapidly approaching him, and he saw that it was painted a vivid red. Then he could make out the name on the bow, Red Stread. Andy was sending the craft toward him at a fast rate.

  “You needn’t think you’re the only one on this lake who has a gasoline boat!” called Andy boastfully. “This is my new one and the fastest thing afloat around here. I can go all around you. Do you want to race?”

  It was a “dare,” and Tom never took such things when he could reasonably enter a contest. He swung his boat around so as to shoot alongside of Andy and answered:

  “Yes, I’ll race you. Where to?”

  “Down opposite Kolb’s dock and back to this point,” was the answer. “I’ll give you a start, as my engine has three cylinders. This is a racing boat.”

  “I don’t need any start,” declared Tom. “I’ll race you on even terms. Go ahead!”

  Both lads adjusted their timers to get more speed. The water began to curl away from the sharp prows, the motors exploded faster and faster. The race was on between the Arrow and the Red Streak.

  CHAPTER VIII

  OFF ON A TRIP

  Glancing with critical eyes at the craft of his rival, Tom saw that Andy Foger had a very fine boat. The young inventor also realized that if he was to come anywhere near winning the race he would have to get the utmost speed out of his engine, for the new boat the bully had was designed primarily, for racing, while Tom’s was an all-around pleasure craft, though capable of something in the speed line.

  “I’ll be giving you a tow in a few minutes, as soon as my engine gets warmed up!” sneered Andy.

  “Maybe,” said Tom, and then he crouched down to make as little resistance as possible to the wind. Andy, on the contrary, sat boldly upright at the auto steering wheel of his boat.

  On rushed the two motor craft, their prows exactly even and the propellers tossing up a bulge in the water at their sterns. Rapidly acquiring speed after the two lads had adjusted the timers on their motors, the boats were racing side by side, seemingly on even terms.

  The Red Streak had a very sharp prow, designed to cut through the water. It was of the type known as an automobile launch. That is, the engine was located forward, under a sort of hood, which had two hinged covers like a bat’s wings. The steering-wheel shaft went through the forward bulkhead, slantingly, like the wheel of an auto, and was arranged with gasoline and sparking levers on the center post in a similar manner. At the right of the wheel was a reversing lever, by which the propeller blades could be set at neutral, or arranged so as to drive the boat backward. Altogether the Red Streak was a very fine boat and had cost considerably more than had Tom’s, even when the latter was new. All these things the young owner of the Arrow thought of as he steered his craft over the course.

  “I hardly think I can win,” Tom remarked to himself in a whisper. “His boat is too speedy for this one. I have a chance, though, for his engine is new, and I don’t believe he understands it as well as I do mine. Then, too, I am sure I have a better ignition system.”

  But if Tom had any immediate hopes of defeating Andy, they were doomed to disappointment, for about two minutes after the race started the Red Streak forged slowly ahead.

  “Come on!” cried the red-haired lad. “I thought you wanted a race.”

  “I do,” answered the young inventor. “We’re a long way from the dock yet, and we’ve got to come back.”

  “You’ll be out of it by the time I get to the dock,” declared Andy.

  Indeed it began to look so, for the auto boat was now a full length ahead of Tom’s craft and there was open water between them. But our hero knew a thing or two about racing, though he had not long been a motor-boat owner. He adjusted the automatic oiler on the cylinders to give more lubrication, as he intended to get more speed out of his engine. Then he opened the gasoline cock a trifle more and set his timer forward a few notches to get an earlier spark. He was not going to use the maximum speed just yet, but he first wanted to see how the motor of the Arrow would behave under these conditions. To his delight he saw his boat slowly creeping up on Andy’s. The latter, with a glance over his shoulder, saw it too, and he advanced his spark. His craft forged ahead, but the rate of increase was not equal to Tom’s. “If I can keep up to him I suppose I ought to be glad,” thought the young inventor, “for his boat is away ahead of mine in rating.”

  Through the water the sharp bows cut. There were only a few witnesses to the race, but those who were out in boats saw a pretty sight as the two speedy craft came on toward the dock, which was the turning point.

  Andy’s boat reached it first, and swung about in a wide circle for the return. Tom decided it was time to make his boat do its best, so he set the timer at the limit, and the spark, coming more quickly, increased the explosions.

  Up shot the Arrow and, straightening out after the turn, Tom’s craft crept along until it lapped the stern of the Red Streak. Andy looked back in dismay. Then he tried to get more speed out of his engine. He did cause the screw to revolve a little faster, and Tom noted that he was again being left behind. Then one of those things, which may happen at any time to a gasoline motor, happened to Andy’s. It began to miss explosions. At first it was only occasionally, then the misses became more frequent.

  The owner of the Red Streak with one hand on the steering wheel, tried with the other to adjust the motor to get rid of the trouble, but he only made it worse. Andy’s boat began to fall back and Tom’s to creep up. Frantically Andy worked the gasoline and sparking levers, but without avail. At last one cylinder went completely out of service.

  The two boats were now on even terms and were racing along side by side toward the wooded, point, which marked the finish.

  “I’ll beat you yet!” exclaimed Andy fiercely.

  “Better hurry up!” retorted Tom.

  But the young inventor was not to have it all his own way. With a freakishness equal to that with which it had ceased to explode the dead cylinder came to life again, and the Red Streak shot ahead. Once more Andy’s boat had the lead of a length and the finish of the race was close at hand. The squint-eyed lad turned and shouted: “I told you I’d beat you! Want a tow now?”

  It began to look as though Tom would need it, but he still had something in reserve. One of the improvements he had put in the Arrow was a new auxiliary ignition system. This he now decided to use.

  With a quick motion Tom threw over the switch that put it into operation. A hotter, “fatter” spark was at once produced, and adjusting his gasoline cock so that a little more of the fluid would be drawn in, making a “richer” mixture, the owner of the Arrow saw the craft shoot forward as if, like some weary runner, new life had been infused.

  In vain did Andy frantically try to get more speed out of his motor. He cut out the muffler, and the explosions sounded loudly over the lake. But it was no use. A minute later the Arrow, which had slowly forged ahead, crossed the bows of the Red Streak opposite the finishing point, and Tom had won the race.

  “Well, was that fair?” our hero called to Andy, who had quickly shut off some of his power as he saw his rival’s daring trick. “Did I beat you fair?”

  “You wouldn’t have beaten me if my engine hadn’t gone back on me,” grumbled Andy, chagrin showing on his face. “Wait until my motor runs smoother and I’ll give you a big handicap and beat you. My boat’s faster than yours. It ought to be. It cost fifteen hundred dollars and it’s a racer.”

  “I guess it doesn’t like racing,” commented Tom as he swung the prow of his craft down the lake toward his home. But he knew there was some truth in what Andy had said. The Red Streak was a more speedy boat, and, with proper handling, could have beaten
the Arrow. That was where Tom’s superior knowledge came in useful. “Just you wait, I’ll beat you yet,” called Andy, after the young inventor, but the latter made no answer. He was satisfied.

  Mr. Swift was much interested that night in his son’s account of the race.

  “I had no idea yours was such a speedy boat,” he said.

  “Well, it wasn’t originally,” admitted Tom, “but the improvements I put on it made it so. But, dad, when are we going on our tour? You look more worn out than I’ve seen you in some time, not excepting when the turbine model was stolen. Are you worrying over your gyroscope invention?”

  “Somewhat, Tom. I can’t seem to hit on just what I want. It’s a difficult problem.”

  “Then I tell you what let’s do, dad. Let’s drop everything in the inventive line and go off on a vacation. I’ll take you up the lake in my boat and you can spend a week at the Lakeview Hotel at Sandport. It will do you good.”

  “What will you do, Tom?”

  “Oh, Ned Newton and I will cruise about and we’ll take you along any time you want to go. We’re going to camp out nights or sleep in the boat if it rains. I’ve ordered a canopy with side curtains. Ned and I don’t care for the hotel life in the summer. Will you go?”

  Mr. Swift considered a moment. He did need a rest, for he had been working hard and his brain was weary with thinking of many problems. His son’s program sounded very attractive.

  “I think I will accept,” said the inventor with a smile. “When can you start, Tom?”

  “In about four days. Ned Newton, will get his vacation then and I’ll have the canopy on. I’ll start to work at it tomorrow. Then we’ll go on a trip.”

  Sandport was a summer resort at the extreme southern end of Lake Carlopa, and Mr. Swift at once wrote to the Lakeview Hotel there to engage a room for himself. In the meanwhile Tom began to put the canopy on his boat and arrange for the trip, which would take nearly a whole day. Ned Newton was delighted with the prospect of a camping tour and helped Tom to get ready. They took a small tent and plenty of supplies, with some food. They did not need to carry many rations, as the shores of the lake were lined with towns and villages where food could be procured.