“All ready, I guess, Mr. Damon!” he called, and the odd gentleman took his place. Tom got up into his own seat, in front of several wheels and levers by which he operated the craft.
“Start the propeller!” he requested of Mr. Jackson, and soon the motor was spitting fire, while the big, fan-like blades were whirring around like wings of light. The engineer and Eradicate were holding back the Humming-Bird.
“Let her go!” cried Tom as he turned on more gasoline and further advanced the spark of the motor. The roar increased, the propeller looked like a solid circle of wood, and the trim little monoplane moved slowly across the rising ground, increasing its speed every second, until, like some graceful bird, it suddenly rose in the air as Tom tilted the wing tips, and soared splendidly aloft!
CHAPTER TEN
A MIDNIGHT INTRUDER
Tom Swift sent his wonderful little craft upward on a gentle slant. Higher and higher it rose above the ground. Now it topped the trees; now it was well over them.
On the earth below stood Mr. Swift, Mr. Jackson, Eradicate and Mrs. Baggert. They were the only witnesses of the trial flight, and as the aged inventor saw his son’s latest design in aeroplanes circling in the air he gave a cheer of delight. It was too feeble for Tom to hear, but the lad, glancing down, saw his father waving his hand to him.
“Dear old dad!” thought Tom, waving in return. “I hope he’s well enough to see me win the big prize.”
Tom and Mr. Damon went skimming easily through the air, at no great speed, to be sure, for the young inventor did not want to put too sudden a strain on his motor.
“This is glorious!” cried the odd gentleman. “I never shall have enough of aeroplaning, Tom!”
“Nor I, either,” added his companion. “But how do you like it? Don’t you think it’s an improvement on my Butterfly, Mr. Damon?”
“It certainly is. You’re a wonder, Tom! Look out! What are you up to?” for the machine had suddenly swerved in a startling manner.
“Oh, that’s just a new kind of spiral dip I was trying,” answered Tom. “I couldn’t do that with my other machine, for I couldn’t turn sharp enough.”
“Well, don’t do it right away again,” begged Mr. Damon, who had turned a little white, and whose breath was coming in gasps, even though he was used to hair-raising stunts in the frail craft of the air.
Tom did not take his machine far away, for he did not want to exhibit it to the public yet, and he preferred to remain in the vicinity of his home, in case of any accident. So he circled around, did figures of eight, went up and down on long slants, took sharp turns, and gave the craft a good tryout.
“Does it satisfy you?” asked Mr. Damon, when Tom had once more made the spiral dip, but not at high speed.
“In a way, yes,” was the answer. “I see a chance for several changes and improvements. Of course, I know nothing about the speed yet, and that’s something that I’m anxious about, for I built this with the idea of breaking all records, and nothing else. I know, now, that I can construct a craft that will successfully navigate the air; in fact, there are any number of people who can do that; but to construct a monoplane that will beat anything ever before made is a different thing. I don’t yet know that I have done it.”
“When will you?”
“Oh, when I make some changes, get the motor tuned up better, and let her out for all she’s worth. I want to do a hundred miles an hour, at least. I’ll arrange for a speedy flight in about two weeks more.”
“Then I think I will stay home,” said Mr. Damon.
“No; I’ll need you,” insisted Tom, laughing. “Now watch. I’m going to let her out just a little.”
He did, with the result that they skimmed through the air so fast that Mr. Damon’s breath became a mere series of gasps.
“We’ll have to wear goggles and mouth protectors when we really go fast!” yelled Tom above the noise of the motor, as he slowed down and turned about for home.
“Go fast! Wasn’t that fast?” asked Mr. Damon.
Tom shook his head.
“You wait, and you’ll see,” he announced.
They made a good landing, and Mr. Swift hastened up to congratulate his son.
“I knew you could do it, Tom!” he cried.
“I couldn’t, though, if it hadn’t been for that wonderful engine of yours, dad! How do you feel?”
“Pretty good. Oh! but that’s a fine machine, Tom!”
“It certainly is,” agreed Mr. Jackson.
“It will be when I have it in better trim,” admitted the young inventor modestly.
“By golly!” cried Eradicate, who was grinning almost from ear to ear, “I’s proud oh yo’, Massa Tom, an’ so will mah mule Boomerang be, when I tells him. Yes, sah, dat’s what he will be—proud ob yo’, Massa Tom!”
“Thanks, Rad.”
“Well, some folks is satisfied with mighty little under ’em, when they go up in the air, that’s my opinion,” said Mrs. Baggert.
“Why, wouldn’t you ride in this?” asked Tom of the buxom housekeeper.
“Not if you was to give me ten thousand dollars!” she cried firmly. “Oh, dear! I think the potatoes are burning!” And she rushed back into the house.
The next day Tom started to work overhauling the Humming-Bird, and making some changes. He altered the wing tips slightly, and adjusted the motor, until in a thrust test it developed nearly half again as much power as formerly.
“And I’ll need it all,” declared Tom as he thought of the number of contestants that had entered the great race.
For the Eagle Park meet was to be a large and important one, and the principal “bird-men” of the world were to have a part in it. Tom knew that he must do his very best, and he spared no efforts to make his monoplane come up to his ideal, which was a very exacting one.
“We’ll have a real speed test tomorrow,” Tom announced to Mr. Damon one night. “I’ll see what the Humming-Bird can really do. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“Oh, I suppose so. Bless my insurance policy! I might as well take the same chance you do. But if you’re going to have such a nerve-racking thing as that on the program, you’d better get to bed early and have plenty of sleep.”
“Oh, I’m not tired. I think I’ll go out this evening.”
“Where?”
“Oh, just around town, to see some of the fellows.” But if Tom was only going around town merely to see his male friends, why did he dress so carefully, put on a new necktie, and take several looks in the glass before he went out? We think you can guess, and also the girl’s name.
The young inventor got in rather late, and after a visit to the aeroplane shed, to see that all was right there, he went to bed, first connecting up the burglar-alarm wires that guarded the doors and windows of the aerodrome.
How long he had been asleep Tom did not know, but he was suddenly awakened by hearing the buzzing of the alarm at the head of his bed. At first he took it for the droning and humming of the aeroplane motor, as he had a hazy notion, and a sort of dream, that he was in his craft.
Then, with a start, he realized what it was—the burglar alarm.
“Some one’s in the shed!” he gasped.
Out of bed he leaped, drawing on his trousers and coat, and putting on a pair of slippers, with speed worthy of a fireman. He grabbed up a revolver and rushed from his room, pounding on the door of Mr. Jackson’s apartment in passing.
“Some one in the shed, after the Humming-Bird!” shouted Tom. “Get a gun, and come down!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TOM IS HURT
As Tom passed down the hall on his way to the side door, from which he could more quickly reach the aeroplane shed, he saw his father coming from his room.
“What’s the matter? What is it?” asked Mr. Swift, and alarm showed on his pale face.
“It’s nothing much, dad,” said the youth, as quietly as he could, for he realized that to excite his father might have a bad effect on the invalid.
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“Then why are you in such a hurry? Why have you that revolver? I know there is something wrong, Tom. I am going to help you!”
In his father’s present weakened state Tom desired this least of all, so he said:
“Now, never mind, dad. I thought I heard a noise out in the yard, and I’m not going to take any chances. So I roused Mr. Jackson, and I’m going down to see what it is. Perhaps it may only be Eradicate’s mule, Boomerang, kicking around, or it may be Rad himself, or some one after his chickens. Don’t worry. Mr. Jackson and I can attend to it. You go back to bed, father.”
Tom spoke with such assurance that Mr. Swift believed him, and retired to his room, just as the engineer, partly dressed, came hurrying out in response to Tom’s summons. He had his rifle, and, had the invalid inventor seen that, he surely would have worried more.
“Come on!” whispered Tom. “Don’t make any noise. I don’t want to excite my father.”
“What was it?” asked the engineer.
“I don’t know. Burglar alarm went off, that’s all I can say until we get to the shed.”
Together the two left the house softly, and soon were hurrying toward the aeroplane shed.
“Look!” exclaimed Mr. Jackson. “Didn’t you see a light just then, Tom?”
“Where?”
“By the side window of the shed?”
“No, I didn’t notice it! Oh, yes! There it is! Some one is in there! If it’s Andy Foger, I’ll have him arrested, sure!”
“Maybe we can’t catch him.”
“That’s so. Andy is a pretty slippery customer. Say, Mr. Jackson, you go around and get Eradicate, and have him bring a club. We can’t trust him with a gun. Tell him to get at the back door, and I’ll wait for you to join me, and we’ll go in the front door. Then we’ll have ’em between two fires. They can’t get away.”
“How about the windows?”
“They’re high up, and hard to open since I put the new catches on them. Whoever got in must have forced the lock of the door. There goes the light again!”
As Tom spoke there was seen the faint glimmer of a light. It moved slowly about the interior of the shed, and with a peculiar bobbing motion, which indicated that some one was carrying it.
“Go for Eradicate, and don’t make any more noise than you can help in waking him up,” whispered Tom, for they were now close to the shed, and might be heard.
Mr. Jackson slipped off in the darkness, and Tom drew nearer to the building that housed his Humming-Bird. There was one window lower than the others, and near it was a box, that Tom remembered having seen that afternoon. He planned to get up on that and look in, before making a raid to capture the intruder.
Tom raised himself up to the window. The light had been visible a moment before he placed the box in position, but an instant later it seemed to go out, and the place was in darkness.
“I wonder if they’ve gone away?” thought Tom. “I can’t hear any noise.”
He listened intently. It was dark and silent in the shop. Suddenly the light flashed up brighter than before, and the young inventor caught sight of a man walking around the new aeroplane, examining it carefully. He carried, as Tom could see, a large-sized electric flash-lamp, with a brilliant tungsten filament, which gave a powerful light.
As the youth watched, he saw the intruder place the light on a bench, in such a position that the rays fell full upon the Humming-Bird. Then, adjusting the spring switch so that the light would continue to glow, the man stepped back and drew something from an inner pocket.
“I wonder what he’s up to?” mused Tom. “I wish Eradicate and Mr. Jackson would hurry back. Who can that fellow be, I wonder? I’ve never seen him before, as far as I know. I thought sure it was going to turn out to be Andy Foger!”
Tom turned around to look into the dark yard surrounding the shed. He was anxious to hear the approach of his two allies, but there was no sound of their footsteps.
As he turned back to watch the man he could not repress a cry of alarm, for what the intruder had drawn from his pocket was a small hatchet, and he was advancing with it toward the Humming-Bird!
“He’s going to destroy my aeroplane!” gasped Tom, and he raised his revolver to fire.
He did not intend to shoot at the man, but only to fire to scare him, and thus hasten the coming of Mr. Jackson and the colored man. But there was no need of this, for an instant later the two came running up silently, Eradicate with a big club.
“Whar am he?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “Let me git at him, Massa Tom!”
“Hush!” exclaimed the young inventor. “We have no time to lose! He’s in there, getting ready to chop my aeroplane to bits! Go to the back door, Rad, and if he tries to come out don’t let him get away.”
“I won’t!” declared the colored man emphatically, and he shook his club suggestively.
“Come on! We’ll go in the front door,” whispered Tom to the engineer. “I have the key. We’ll catch him red-handed, and hand him over to the police.”
Waiting a few seconds, to enable Eradicate to get to his place, Tom and the engineer stole softly toward the big double doors. Every moment the youth expected to hear the crash of the hatchet on his prize machine. He shivered in anticipation, but the blows did not fall.
Tom pushed open the door and stepped inside, followed by Mr. Jackson. As they did so they saw the man standing in front of the Humming-Bird. He again raised the little hatchet, which was like an Indian tomahawk, and poised it for an instant over the delicate framework and planes of the air craft. Then his arm began to descend.
“Stop!” yelled Tom, and at the same time he fired in the air.
The man turned as suddenly as though a bullet had struck him, and for a moment Tom was afraid lest he had hit him by accident; but an instant later the intruder grabbed up his flashlight, and holding it before him, so that its rays shone full on Tom and Mr. Jackson, while it left him in the shadow, sprang toward them, the hatchet still in his hand.
“Look out, Tom!” cried Mr. Jackson.
“Out of my way!” shouted the man.
Bravely Tom stood his ground. He wished now that he had a club instead of his revolver. The would-be vandal was almost upon him. Mr. Jackson clubbed his rifle and swung it at the fellow. The latter dodged, and came straight at Tom.
“Look out!” yelled the engineer again, but it was too late. There was the sound of a blow, and Tom went down like a log. Then the place was in darkness, and the sound of footsteps in rapid flight could be heard outside the shed.
The intruder, after wounding the young inventor, had made his escape.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MISS NESTOR CALLS
“What’s de mattah? Shall I come in? Am anybody hurted?” yelled Eradicate Sampson as he pounded on the rear door of the aeroplane shed. “Let me in, Massa Tom!”
“All right! Wait a minute! I’m coming!” called Mr. Jackson. He tried to peer through the darkness, to where a huddled heap indicated the presence of Tom. Then he thought of the electric lights, which were run by a storage battery when the dynamo was shut down, and a moment later the engineer had switched on the incandescents, filling the big shed with radiance.
“Tom, are you badly hurt?” gasped Mr. Jackson.
There was no answer, for Tom was unconscious.
“Let me in! Let me git at dat robber wif mah club!” cried the colored man eagerly.
Knowing that he would need help in carrying Tom to the house, Mr. Jackson hurried to the back door. He had a key to it, and it was quicker to open it than to send Eradicate away around the shed to the front portals.
“Whar am he?” gasped the faithful darky, as he took a firmer grasp of his club and looked around the place. “Let me git mah hands on him! I’ll feed him t’ Boomerang, when I gits froo wif him!”
“He’s gone,” said the engineer. “Help me look after Tom. I’m afraid he’s badly hurt.”
They hastened to the unconscious lad. On one side of his head
was a bad cut, which was bleeding freely.
“Oh! he’s daid! I know he’s daid!” wailed Eradicate.
“Not a bit of it. He isn’t dead, but he may die, if we don’t get him into the house, and have a doctor here soon,” said Mr. Jackson sternly. “Catch hold of him, Rad, and, mind, don’t carry on, and get excited, and scare Mr. Swift. Just pretend it isn’t very bad, or we’ll have two patients on our hands instead of only Tom.”
They managed to get the youth into the house, and, contrary to their fears, Mr. Swift was not nearly so nervous as they had expected. Calmly he took charge of matters, and even telephoned for Dr. Gladby himself, while Mr. Jackson and Eradicate undressed Tom and got him to bed. Mrs. Baggert busied herself heating water and getting things in readiness for the doctor, who had promised to come at once.
Tom was just regaining consciousness when the physician came in, having driven over at top speed.
“What—what happened? Did the Humming Bird fall?” asked Tom in a whisper, putting his hand to his head.
“No, something fell on you, I guess,” said the doctor, who had been hurriedly told of the circumstances. “But don’t worry, Tom. You’ll be all right in a few days. You got a bad cut on the head, but the skull isn’t fractured, I’m glad to say. Here, now, just drink this,” and he gave Tom some medicine he had mixed in a glass.
The cut was soon dressed, and Tom felt much better, though weak and a trifle dizzy.
“Did he hit me with the hatchet?” he asked Mr. Jackson.
“I couldn’t tell,” was the engineer’s reply, “it all happened so quickly. In another instant I’d have bowled him over, instead of him landing on you, but I just missed him. He either used the hatchet, or some blunt instrument.”
“Well, don’t talk about it now,” urged the doctor. “I want Tom to get quiet and go to sleep. We’ll be much better in the morning, but I must forbid any aeroplane flights.” And he shook his finger at Tom in warning. “You’ll have to lie quiet for several days,” he added.
“All right,” agreed the young inventor weakly, and then he dozed off, for the physician had given him a quieting medicine.
“Haven’t you any idea who it was?” asked Dr. Gladby of Mr. Jackson, as he prepared to leave.
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 107
