The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  The mysterious aeroplane was once more circling toward the watchers on the roof. There was a movement on the steps, near which Tom was standing, and his father came up.

  “Is anything the matter?” he asked anxiously.

  “Only a queer craft circling around up here,” was the reply. “Come and see, dad.”

  Mr. Swift ascended to the roof. The aeroplane was higher now, and those in her could not so easily be made out. Tom felt a vague sense of fear, as though he was being watched by the evil eyes of his enemies. More than once he looked over to the shed where his craft was housed, as though some danger might threaten it. But the shed of the Humming-Bird showed no signs of invaders.

  Suddenly the mysterious aeroplane increased its speed. It circled about more quickly, and shot upward, as though to show the watchers of what it was capable. Then, with a quick swoop it darted downward, straight for the building where Tom’s newest invention was housed.

  “Look out! They’ll hit something!” cried the young inventor, as though those in the aeroplane could hear him.

  Then, just as though they had heeded his warning, the pilots of the mysterious craft shot her upward, after she had hovered for an instant over the big shed.

  “That was a queer move,” said Tom. “It looked as if they lost control of her for a moment.”

  “And they dropped something!” cried Mr. Jackson. “Look! something fell from the aeroplane on the roof of the shed.”

  “Some tool, likely,” spoke Tom. “I’ll get it in the morning, and see what sort of instruments they carry. I’d like to examine that machine, though.”

  The queer aeroplane was now shooting off in the darkness and Tom followed it with the glasses, wondering what its construction could be like. He was to have another sight of it sooner than he expected.

  “Well, we may as well get back to bed,” said Mr. Jackson. “I’m tired, and we’ve got lots to do tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” agreed Tom. “It’s cooler now. Come on, dad.”

  Tom fell into a light doze. He thought afterward he could not have slept more than half an hour when he heard a commotion out in the yard. For an instant he could not tell what it was, and then, as he grew wider awake he knew that it was the shouting of Eradicate Sampson, and the braying of Boomerang.

  But what was Eradicate shouting?

  “Fire! Fire! Fire!”

  Tom leaped to his window.

  “Wake up, Massa Tom! Wake up! De areoplane shed am on fire, an’ de Humming-Bird will burn up! Hurry! Hurry!”

  Tom looked out. Flames were shooting up from the roof of the shed where his precious craft was kept.

  CHAPTER Seventeen

  MR. SWIFT IS WORSE

  Almost before the echoes of Eradicate’s direful warning cry had died away, Tom was on his way out of the house, pausing only long enough to slip on a pair of shoes and his trousers. There was but one thought in his mind. If he could get the Humming-Bird safely out he would not care if the shed did burn, even though it contained many valuable tools and appliances.

  “We must save my new aeroplane!” thought Tom, desperately. “I’ve got to save her!”

  As he raced through the hall he caught up a portable chemical fire-extinguisher. Tom saw his father’s door open, and Mr. Swift looked out.

  “What is it?” he called anxiously.

  “Fire!” answered the young inventor, almost before he thought of the doctor’s warning that Mr. Swift must not be excited. Tom wished he could recall the word, but it was too late. Besides Eradicate, down in the yard was shouting at the top of his voice:

  “Fire! Fire! Fire!”

  “Where, Tom?” gasped Mr. Swift, and his son thought the aged inventor grew suddenly paler.

  “Aeroplane shed,” answered the lad. “But don’t worry dad. It’s only a small blaze. We’ll get it out. You stay here. We’ll attend to it—Mr. Jackson and Eradicate and I.”

  “No—I’m going to help!” exclaimed Mr. Swift, sturdily. “I’ll be with you, Tom. Go on!”

  The lad rushed down to the yard, closely followed by the engineer, who had caught up another extinguisher. Eradicate was rushing about, not knowing what to do, but still keeping up his shouting.

  “It’s on de roof! De roof am all blazin’!” he yelled.

  “Quit your noise, and get to work!” cried Tom. “Get out a ladder, Rad, and raise it to the side of the shed. Then play this extinguisher on the blaze. Mr. Jackson, you help me run the Humming-Bird out. After she’s safe we’ll tackle the fire.”

  Tom cast a hurried look at the burning shed. The flames were shooting high up from the roof, now, and eating their way down. As he rushed toward the big doors, which he intended to open to enable him to run out his sky racer, he was wondering how the fire came to start so high up as the roof. He wondered if a meteor could have fallen and caused it.

  As the doors, which were quickly unlocked by Tom, swung back, and as he and the engineer started to go in, they were met by choking fumes as if of some gas. They recoiled for the moment.

  “What—what’s that?” gasped Tom, coughing and sneezing.

  “Some chemical—I—I don’t know what kind,” spluttered Mr. Jackson. “Have you any carboys of acid in there Tom, that might have exploded by the heat?”

  “No; not a thing. Let’s try again.”

  Once more they tried to go in, but were again driven back by the distressing fumes. The fire was eating down, now. There was a hole burned in the roof, and by the leaping tongues of flame Tom could see his aeroplane. It was almost in the path of the blaze.

  “We must get her out!” he shouted. “I’m going in!”

  But it was impossible, and the daring young inventor nearly succumbed to the choking odors. Mr. Jackson dragged him back.

  “We can’t go in!” he cried. “There has been some mysterious work here! Those fumes were put here to keep us from saving the machine. This fire has been set by some enemy! We can’t go in!”

  “But I am going!” declared Tom. “We’ll try the back door.”

  They rushed to that, but again were driven out by the gases and vapors, which were mingled with the smoke. Disheartened, yet with a wild desire to do something to save his precious craft, Tom Swift drew back for a moment.

  As he did so he heard a hiss, as Eradicate turned the chemical stream on the blaze. Tom looked up. The faithful colored man was on a ladder near the burning roof, acting well his part as a fireman.

  “That’s the stuff!” cried Tom. “Come on, Mr. Jackson. Maybe if we use the chemical extinguishers we can drive out those fumes!”

  The engineer understood. He took up the extinguisher he had brought, and Tom got a second one from a nearby shed. Then Mr. Swift came out bearing another.

  “You shouldn’t have come, dad! We can attend to it!” cried Tom, fearing for the effect of the excitement on his invalid parent.

  “Oh, I couldn’t stay there and see the shed burn. Are you getting it under control? Why don’t you run out the Humming-Bird?”

  Tom did not mention the choking fumes. He passed up a full extinguisher to Eradicate, who had used all the chemical in his. Then Tom got another ladder, and soon three streams were being directed on the flames. They had eaten, a pretty big hole in the roof, but the chemicals were slowly telling on them.

  As soon as he saw that Eradicate and Mr. Jackson could control the blaze, Tom descended to the ground, and ran once more to the big doors. He was determined to make another try to wheel out the aeroplane, for he saw from above that the flames were now on the side wall, and might reach the craft any minute. And it would not take much to inflict serious damage on the sky racer.

  “I’ll get her, fumes or no fumes!” murmured Tom, grimly. And, whether it was the effect of the chemical streams, or whether the choking odors were dissipated through the hole in the roof was not manifested, but, at any rate, Tom found that he could go in, though he coughed and gasped for breath.

  He wheeled the aeroplane outside, for the Hummin
g-Bird was almost as light as her namesake. A hurried glance by the gleam of the dying fire assured Tom that his craft was not damaged beyond a slight scorching of one of the wing tips.

  “That was a narrow escape!” he murmured, as he wheeled the sky racer far away, out of any danger from sparks. Then he went back to help fight the fire, which was extinguished in about ten minutes more.

  “It was a mighty queer blaze,” said Mr. Jackson, “starting at the top that way. I wonder what caused it?”

  “We’ll investigate in the morning,” decided Tom. “Now, dad, you must get back to your room.” He turned to help his father in, but at that moment Mr. Swift, who was trying to say something, fell over in a dead faint.

  “Quick! Help me carry him into the house!” cried Tom. “Then telephone for Dr. Gladby, Mr. Jackson.”

  The physician looked grave when, half an hour later, he examined his patient.

  “Mr. Swift is very much worse,” he said in a low voice. “The excitement of the fire has aggravated his ailment. I would like another doctor to see him, Tom.”

  “Another doctor?” Tom’s voice showed his alarm.

  “Yes, we must have a consultation. I think Dr. Kurtz will be a good one to call in. I should like his opinion before I decide what course to take.”

  “I’ll send Eradicate for him at once,” said the young inventor, and he went to give the colored man his instructions, while his heart was filled with a great fear for his father.

  CHAPTER Eighteen

  THE BROKEN BRIDGE

  Dr. Kurtz looked as grave as did Dr. Gladby when he had made an examination of the patient. Mr. Swift was still in a semi-conscious condition, hardly breathing as he rested on the bed where they had placed him after the fire.

  “Vell,” said the German physician, after a long silence, “vot is your obinion, my dear Gladby?”

  “I think an operation is necessary.”

  “Yes, dot is so; but you know vot kind of an operation alone vill safe him; eh, my dear Gladby?”

  Dr. Gladby nodded.

  “It will be a rare and delicate one,” he said. “There is but one surgeon I know of who can do it.”

  “You mean Herr Hendrix?” asked Dr. Kurtz.

  “Yes, Dr. Edward Hendrix, of Kirkville. If he can be induced to come I think there is a chance of saving Mr. Swift’s life. I’ll speak to Tom about it.”

  The two physicians, who had been consulting together, summoned the youth from another room, where, with Mrs. Baggert and Mr. Jackson he had been anxiously awaiting the verdict.

  “What is it?” the young inventor asked Dr. Gladby.

  The medical man told him to what conclusion he and his colleague had arrived, adding:

  “We advise that Dr. Hendrix be sent for at once. But I need hardly tell you, Tom, that he is a noted specialist, and his services are in great demand. He is hard to get.”

  “I’ll pay him any sum he asks!” burst out the youth. “I’ll spend all my fortune—and I have made considerable money of late—I’ll spend every cent to get my father well! Money need not stand in the way, Dr. Gladby.”

  “I knew that, Tom. Still Dr. Hendrix is a very busy man, and it is hard to induce him to come a long distance. It is over a hundred miles to Kirkville, and it is an out-of-the-way place. I never could understand why Dr. Hendrix settled there. But there he is, and if we want him he will have to come from there. The worst of it is that there are few trains, and only a single railroad line from there to Shopton.”

  “Then I’ll telegraph,” decided Tom. “I’ll offer him his own price, and ask him to rush here as soon as he can.”

  “You had better let Dr. Kurtz and me attend to that part of it,” suggested the physician. “Dr. Hendrix would hardly come on the request of some one whom he did not know. I’ll prepare a telegram, briefly explaining the case. It is the sort of an operation Dr. Hendrix is much interested in, and I think he will come on that account, if for no other reason. I’ll write out the message, and you can have Eradicate take it to the telegraph office.”

  “I’ll take it myself!” exclaimed Tom, as he got ready to go out into the night with the urgent request. “Is there any immediate danger for my father?” he asked.

  “No; not any immediate danger,” replied Dr. Gladby. “But the operation is imperative if he is to live. It is his one and only chance.”

  Tom thought only of his father as he hurried on through the night. Even the prospect of the great race, so soon to take place, had no part in his mind.

  “I’ll not race until I’m sure dad is going to get better,” he decided. With the message to the noted specialist Tom also sent one to Mr. Damon, telling him the news, and asking him to come to Shopton. Tom felt that the presence of the odd gentleman would help him, and Mr. Damon, who first intended to stay on at the Swift home until he and Tom departed for Eagle Park, had gone back to his own residence to attend to some business Tom knew he would come in the morning, and Mr. Damon did arrive on the first train.

  “Bless my soul!” he exclaimed with ready sympathy, as he extended his hand to Tom. “What’s all this?” The young inventor told him, beginning with the fire that had been the cause of the excitement which produced the change in Mr. Swift.

  “But I have great hopes that the specialist will be able to cure him,” said Tom, for, with the coming of daylight, his courage had returned to him. “Dr. Gladby and Dr. Kurtz depend a great deal on Dr. Hendrix,” he said.

  “Yes, he certainly is a wonderful man. I have heard a great deal about him. I have no doubt but what he will cure your father. But about the fire? How did it start?”

  “I don’t know, but now that I have a few hours to spare before the doctor can get here, I’m going to make an examination.”

  “Bless my penwiper, but I’ll help you.”

  Tom went into the house, to inquire of Mrs. Baggert, for probably the tenth time that morning, how his father was doing. Mr. Swift was still in a semi-conscious condition, but he recognized Tom, when the youth stood at his bedside.

  “Don’t worry about me, son,” said the brave old inventor, as he took Tom’s hand. “I’ll be all right. Go ahead and get ready for the race. I want you to win!”

  Tears came into Tom’s eyes. Would his father be well enough to allow him to take part in the big event? He feared not.

  By daylight it was seen that quite a hole had been burned in the aeroplane shed. Tom and Mr. Damon, accompanied by Mr. Jackson, walked through the place.

  “And you say the fire broke out right after you had seen the mysterious airship hovering over the house?” asked the eccentric man.

  “Well, not exactly after,” answered Tom, “but within an hour or so. Why do you ask?”

  But Mr. Damon did not answer. Something on the floor of the shed, amid a pile of blackened and charred pieces of wood, attracted his attention. He stooped over and picked it up.

  “Is this yours?” he asked Tom.

  “No. What is it?”

  The object looked like a small iron ball, with a tube about half an inch in diameter projecting slightly from it. Tom took it’.

  “Why, it looks like an infernal machine or a dynamite bomb,” he said. “I wonder where it came from? Guess I’d better drop it in a pail of water. Maybe Eradicate found it and brought it here. I never saw it before. Mr. Jackson, please hand me that pail of water. We’ll soak this bomb.”

  “There is no need,” said Mr. Damon, quietly. “It is harmless now. It has done its work. It was that which set fire to your shed, and which caused the stifling fumes.”

  “That?” cried Tom.

  “Yes. This ball is hollow, and was filled with a chemical. It was dropped on the roof, and, after a certain time, the plug in the tube was eaten through, the chemicals ran out, set the roof ablaze, and, dripping down inside spread the choking odors that nearly prevented you from getting out your aeroplane.”

  “Are you sure of this?” asked the young inventor.

  “Positive. I read about th
ese bombs recently. A German invented them to be used in attacking a besieged city in case of war.”

  “But how did this one get on my shed roof?” asked Tom.

  “It was dropped there by the mysterious airship!” exclaimed the odd man. “That was why the aeroplane moved about over your place. Those in it hoped that the fire would not break out until you were all asleep, and that the shed and the Humming-Bird would be destroyed before you came to the rescue. Some of your enemies are still after you, Tom.”

  “And it was Andy Foger, I’ll wager!” he cried. “He was in that aircraft! Oh, I’ll have a long score to settle with him!”

  “Of course you can’t be sure it was he,” said Mr. Damon, “but I wouldn’t be a bit surprised but what it was. Andy is capable of such a thing. He wanted to prevent you from taking part in the race.”

  “Well, he sha’n’t!” cried Tom, and then he thought of his invalid father. They made a further examination of the shed, and discovered another empty bomb. Then Tom recalled having seen something drop from the mysterious aeroplane as it passed over the shed.

  “It was these bombs,” he said. “We certainly had a narrow escape! Oh, wait until I settle my score with Andy Foger!”

  As there would be but little use for the aeroplane shed now, if Tom sent his craft off to the meet, it was decided to repair it temporarily only, until he returned.

  Accordingly, a big tarpaulin was fastened over the hole in the roof. Then Tom put a new wing tip on in place of the one that had been scorched. He looked all over his sky racer, and decided that it was in fit condition for the coming meet.

  “I’ll begin to take it apart for shipment, as soon as I hear from the specialist that dad is well enough for me to go,” he said.

  It was a few hours after the discovery of the empty bomb that Tom saw Dr. Gladby coming along. The physician was urging his horse to top speed. Tom felt a vague fear in his heart.

  “I’ve got a message from Dr. Hendrix, Tom,” he said, as he stopped his carriage, and approached the lad.

  “When can he come?” asked the young inventor, eagerly.