“I am very glad to hear you say so,” went on Mrs. Foger with a sigh. “I shall feel more at ease when Andy is away now. When he returns home, I shall tell him you called upon him and he will return your visit. I am glad to see that the custom of paying calls has not died out among the present generation. It is a pleasant habit, and I am glad to have my son conform to it. He shall return your kind visit.”
“Oh, no, it’s of no consequence,” replied Tom quickly, thinking grimly that his visit was far from a friendly one. “There is no need to tell your son I was here. I will probably see him in a day or two.
“Oh, but I shall tell him,” insisted Mrs. Foger with a kind smile. “I’m sure he will appreciate your call.”
There was much doubt concerning this in the mind of the young inventor, but he did not express it and soon took his leave. Up and down the lake for the rest of the day he cruised, looking in vain for a sight of Andy Foger in the Red Streak, but the racing boat appeared to be well hidden.
“If I only could find where they’ve taken mine,” mused Tom. “Hang it all, this is rotten luck!” and for the first time he began to feel discouraged.
“Maybe you’d better notify the police,” suggested Mr. Jackson when Tom returned to the Swift house that night. “They might help locate it.”
“I think I can do as well as the police,” answered the youth. “If the boat is anywhere it’s on the lake, and the police have no craft in which to make a search.”
“That’s so,” agreed the engineer. “I wish I could help you, but I don’t believe it would be wise for me to leave the house, especially since those men have been about lately.”
“No, you must stay here,” was Tom’s opinion. “I’ll take another day or two to search. By this time Andy and his gang will return, I’m sure, and I can tackle them.”
“Suppose they don’t?”
“Well, then I’ll make a tour of the lake in my sailboat and I’ll run up to Sandport and tell dad, for he will wonder what’s keeping me. I’ll know better next time than to leave my boat at the dock without taking out the connection at the spark coil, so no one can start the motor. I should have done that at first, but you always think of those things afterward.”
The lad began his search again the next morning and cruised about in little bays and gulfs looking for a sight of the Red Streak or the Arrow, but he saw neither, and a call at Andy’s house showed that the red-haired youth had not returned. Mrs. Foger was quite nervous over her son’s continued absence, but Mr. Foger thought it was all right.
Another day passed without any results and the young inventor was getting so nervous, partly with worrying over the loss of his boat and partly on his father’s account, that he did not know what to do.
“I can’t stand it any longer,” he announced to Mrs. Baggert the night of the third day, after a telephone message had been received from Mr. Swift. The inventor wanted to know why his son did not return to the hotel to join him and Ned. “Well, what will you do?” asked the housekeeper.
“If I don’t find my boat tomorrow, I’ll sail to Sandport, bring home dad and Ned and we three will go all over the lake. My boat must be on it somewhere, but Lake Carlopa is so cut up that it could easily be hidden.”
“It’s queer that the Foger boy doesn’t come home. That makes it look as if he was guilty.”
“Oh, I’m sure he took it all right,” returned Tom. “All I want is to see him. It certainly is queer that he stays away as long as he does. Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey are with him, too. But they’ll have to return some time.”
Tom dreamed that night of finding his boat and that it was a wreck. He awoke, glad to find that the latter part was not true, but wishing that some of his night vision might come to pass during the day.
He started out right after breakfast, and, as usual, headed for the Foger home. He almost disliked to ask Mrs. Foger if her son had yet returned, for Andy’s mother was so polite and so anxious to know whether any danger threatened that Tom hardly knew how to answer her. But he was saved that embarrassment on this occasion, for as he was going up the walk from the lake to the residence he met the gardener and from him learned that Andy had not yet come back.
“But his mother had a message from him, I did hear,” went on the man. “He’s on his way. It seems he had some trouble.”
“Trouble. What kind of trouble?” asked Tom.
“I don’t rightly know, sir, but,” and here the gardener winked his eye, “Master Andy isn’t particular what kind of trouble he gets into.”
“That’s right,” agreed our hero, and as he went down again to where he had left his boat he thought: “Nor what kind of trouble he gets other people into. I wish I had hold of him for about five minutes!”
The sailboat swung slowly from the dock and heeled over to the gentle breeze. Hardly knowing what to do, Tom headed for the middle of the lake. He was discouraged and tired of making plans only to have them fail.
As he looked across the stretch of water he saw a boat coming toward him. He shaded his eyes with his hand to see better, and then, with a pair of marine glasses, took an observation. He uttered an exclamation.
“That’s the Red Streak as sure as I’m alive!” he cried. “But what’s the matter with her? They’re rowing!”
The lad headed his boat toward the approaching one. There was no doubt about it. It was Andy Foger’s craft, but it was not speeding forward under the power of the motor. Slowly and laborious the occupants were pulling it along, and as it was not meant to be rowed, progress was very slow.
“They’ve had a breakdown,” thought Tom. “Serves ’em right! Now wait till I tackle ’em and find out where my boat is. I’ve a good notion to have Andy Foger arrested!”
The sailing craft swiftly approached the motor-boat. Tom could see the three occupants looking at him, apprehensively as well as curiously, he thought.
“Guess they didn’t think I’d keep after ’em,” mused the young inventor, and a little later he was beside the Red Streak.
“Well,” cried Tom angrily, “it’s about time you came back!”
“We’ve had a breakdown,” remarked Andy, and he seemed quite humiliated. He was beginning to find out that he didn’t know as much about a motor-boat as he thought he did.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” went on Tom.
“Waiting for us? What for?” asked Sam Snedecker.
“What for? As if you didn’t know!” blurted out the owner of the Arrow. “I want my boat, Andy Foger, the one you stole from me and hid! Tell me where it is at once or I’ll have you arrested!”
“Your boat!” repeated the bully, and there was no mistaking the surprise in his tones.
“Yes, my boat! Don’t try to bluff me like that.”
“I’m not trying to bluff you. We’ve been away, three days and just got back.”
“Yes, I know you have. You took my boat with you, too.”
“Are you crazy?” demanded Pete Bailey.
“No, but you fellows must have been to think you could take my boat and me not know it,” and Tom, filled with wrath, grasped the gunwale of the Red Streak as if he feared it would suddenly shoot away.
“Look here!” burst out Andy, and he spoke sincerely, “we didn’t touch your boat. Did we, fellows?”
“No!” exclaimed Sam and Pete at once, and they were very much in earnest.
“We didn’t even know it was stolen, did we?” went on Andy.
“No,” agreed his chums. Tom looked unconvinced.
“We haven’t taken your boat and we can prove it,” continued the bully. “I know you and I have had quarrels, but I’m telling you the truth, Tom Swift. I never touched your boat.”
There was no mistaking the sincerity of Andy. He was not a skilful deceiver, and Tom, looking into his squint-eyes, which were opened unusually wide, could not but help believing the fellow.
“We haven’t seen it since the day we had the collision,” added Andy, and his chums confirmed this s
tatement.
“We went off on a little cruise,” continued the red-haired bully, “and broke down several times. We had bad luck. Just as we were nearing home something went wrong with the engine again. I never saw such a poor motor. But we never took your boat, Tom Swift, and we can prove it.”
Tom was in despair. He had been so sure that Andy was the thief, that to believe otherwise was difficult. Yet he felt that he must. He looked at the disabled motor of the Red Streak and viewed it with the interested and expert eye of a machinist, no matter if the owner of it was his enemy. Then suddenly a brilliant idea came into Tom’s head.
CHAPTER XVI
STILL ON THE SEARCH
“You seem to have lots of trouble with your boat, Andy,” said Tom after a few moments of rather embarrassed silence.
“I do,” admitted the owner of the Red Streak. “I’ve had bad luck ever since I got it, but usually I’ve been able to fix it by looking in the book. This time I can’t find out what the trouble is, nor can any of the fellows. It stopped when we were out in the middle of the lake and we had to row. I’m sick of motor boating.”
“Suppose I fix it for you?” went on Tom.
“If you do, I’ll pay you well.”
“I wouldn’t do it for pay—not the kind you mean,” continued the young inventor.
“What do you mean then?” and Andy’s face, that had lighted up, became glum again.
“Well, if I fix your boat for you, will you let me run it a little while?”
“You mean show me how to run it?”
“No, I mean take it myself. Look here, Andy, my boat’s been stolen, and I thought you took it to get even with me. You say you didn’t—”
“And I didn’t touch it,” interposed the squint-eyed lad quickly.
“All right, I believe you. But somebody stole it, and I think I know who.”
“Who?” asked Sam Snedecker.
“Well, you wouldn’t know if I told you, but I suspect some men with whom I had trouble before,” and Tom referred to Happy Harry and his gang. “I think they have my boat on this lake, and I’d like to get another speedy craft to cruise about it and make a further search. How about it, Andy? If I fix your boat, will you let me take it to look for my boat?”
“Sure thing!” agreed the bully quickly, and his voice for once was friendly toward Tom. “Fix the engine so it will run, and you can use the Red Streak as long as you like.”
“Oh, I probably wouldn’t want it very long. I could cover the lake in about three days, and I hope by that time I could locate the thieves. Is it a bargain?”
“Sure,” agreed Andy again, and Tom got into the motor-boat to look at the engine. He found that it would require some time to adjust it properly and that it would be necessary to take the motor apart.
“I think I’d better tow you to my dock,” the young inventor said to Andy. “I can use some tools from the shop then, and by tonight I’ll have the Red Streak in running order.”
The breeze was in the right quarter, fortunately, and with the motor-boat dragging behind, the Arrow’s owner put the nose of the sailing craft toward his home dock.
When Tom reached his house he found that Mrs. Baggert had received another telephone message from Mr. Swift, inquiring why his son had not returned to Sandport.
“He says if you don’t come back by tomorrow,” repeated the housekeeper, “that he’ll come home by train. He’s getting anxious, I believe.”
“Shouldn’t wonder,” admitted Tom. “But I want him to stay there. The change will do him good. I’ll soon have my boat back, now that I can go about the lake swiftly, and then I’ll join him. I’ll tell him to be patient.”
Tom talked with his father at some length, assuring him that everything was well at the Shopton house and promising to soon be with him. Then the young inventor began work on the motor of the Red Streak. He found it quite a job and had to call on Mr. Jackson to help him, for one of the pistons had to be repaired and a number of adjustments made to the cylinders.
But that night the motor was fully mended and placed back in the boat. It was in better shape than it had been since Andy had purchased the craft.
“There,” remarked Tom, “now I’m ready to hunt for those scoundrels. Will you leave your boat at my dock tonight, Andy?”
“Yes, so you can start out early in the morning. I’m not going.”
“Why not?” demanded Tom quickly.
“Well—er—you see I’ve had enough of motoring for a while,” explained Andy. “Besides, I don’t believe my mother would like me to go out on a chase after thieves. If we had to shoot I might hit one of them, and—”
“Oh, I see,” answered Tom. “But I don’t like to take your boat alone. Besides, I don’t fancy there will be much shooting. I know I’m not going to take a gun. In fact, the one Mr. Duncan gave me is in the boat. All I want is to get the Arrow back.”
“That’s all right,” went on Andy. “You take my boat and use it as long as you like. I’ll rest up a few days. When you find your boat you can bring mine back.”
Tom understood. He was just as glad not to have Andy accompany him in the chase, as he and the red-haired lad had never been good friends and probably never would be. So it would cause some embarrassment to be together in a boat all day. Then again Tom knew he could manage the Red Streak better alone, but, of course, he did not want to mention this when he asked for the loan of the craft. Andy’s own suggestion, however, had solved the difficulty. Tom had an idea that Andy felt a little timid about going in pursuit of the thieves, but naturally it would not do to mention this, for the squint-eyed lad considered himself quite a fighter.
Early the next morning, alone in the Red Streak, Tom continued the search for his stolen boat. He started out from his home dock and mapped out a course that would take him well around the lake.
“I s’pose I could take a run to Sandport now,” mused the youth as he shot in and out of the little bays, keeping watch for the Arrow. “But if I do dad will have to be told all about it, and, he’ll worry. Then, too, he might want to accompany me, and I think I can manage this better alone, for the Red Streak will run faster with only one in. I ought to wind up this search in two days, if my boat is still on the lake. And if those scoundrels have sunk her I’ll make them pay for it.”
On shot the speedy motor-boat, in and out along the winding shoreline, with the lad in the bow at the steering-wheel peering with eager eyes into every nook and corner where his craft might be hidden.
CHAPTER XVII
“THERE SHE IS!”
Anticipating that he would be some time on his search, the young inventor had gone prepared for it. He had a supply of provisions and he had told Mrs. Baggert he might not be back that night. But he did not intend to sleep aboard the Red Streak, which, being a racing boat, was not large enough to afford much room for passengers. Tom had planned, therefore, to put up at some hotel near the lake in case his hunt should last beyond one night.
That it would do this was almost certain, for all that morning he searched unavailingly for the Arrow. A distant mill whistle sounding over Lake Carlopa told him it was noon.
“Dinner time,” he announced to himself. “Guess I’ll run up along shore in the shade and eat.”
Selecting a place where the trees overhung the water, forming a quiet, cool nook, Tom sent the boat in there, and, tying it to a leaning tree, he began his simple meal. Various thoughts filled his mind, but chief among them was the desire to overtake the thieves who had his boat. That it was Happy Harry’s gang he was positive.
The lad nearly finished eating and was considering what direction he might best search in next when he heard, running along a road that bordered the lake, an automobile.
“Wonder who that is?” mused Tom. “It won’t do any harm to take a look, for it might be some of those thieves again. They probably still have their auto or Happy Harry couldn’t have gotten from Sandport to Shopton so quickly.”
The young invento
r slipped ashore from the motor-boat, taking care to make no noise. Stealing silently along toward the road, he peered through the underbrush for a sight of the machine, which seemed to be going slowly. But before the youth had a glimpse of it he was made aware who the occupant was by hearing someone exclaim:
“Bless my shoe laces if this cantankerous contraption isn’t going wrong again! I wonder if it’s going to have a fit here in this lonely place. It acts just as if it was. Bless my very existence! Hold on now. Be nice! Be nice!”
“Mr. Damon!” exclaimed Tom, and, without knowing it, he had spoken aloud.
“Hold on there! Hold on! Who’s calling me in this forsaken locality? Bless my shirt studs! But who is it?” and the eccentric man who had sold Tom the motor-cycle looked intently at the bushes.
“Here I am, Mr. Damon,” answered the lad, stepping out into the road. “I knew it was you as soon as I saw you.”
“Bless my liver, but that’s very true! I suppose you heard my unfortunate automobile puffing along. I declare I don’t know what ails it. I got it on the advice of my physician, who said I must get out in the air, but, bless my gears, it’s the auto who needs a doctor more than I do! It’s continually out of order. Something is going to happen right away. I can tell by the way it’s behaving.”
Mr. Damon had thrown out the clutch, but the engine was still running, though in a jerky, uncertain fashion, which indicated to the trained ear of the young inventor that something was wrong.
“Perhaps I can fix it for you as I did before,” ventured Tom.
“Bless my eyebrows! Perhaps you can,” cried the eccentric man hopefully. “You always seem to turn up at the right moment. How do you manage it?”
“I don’t know. I remember the time you turned up just when I wanted you to help me capture Happy Harry and his gang, and now, by, a strange coincidence, I’m after them again.”
“You don’t say so! My good gracious! Bless my hatband! But that’s odd. There!” he ejaculated suddenly as the automobile engine stopped with a choking sigh, “I knew something was going to happen.”
“Let me take a look,” proposed the lad, and he was soon busy peering into the interior of the machine. At first he could not find the trouble, but being a persistent youth, Tom went at it systematically and located it in two places. The clutch was not rightly adjusted and the carburetor float feed needed fixing. The young inventor was not long in making the slight repairs and then he assured Mr. Damon that his automobile would run properly.
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 21
