The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “Bless my shoe buttons!” gasped Mr. Damon. “Come on out, everybody! We’ve got to help Tom!”

  “Yes!” assented Mr. Swift. “Call someone on the telephone! Get a doctor! Maybe he’s shocked! Where’s Koku, the giant? Maybe he can help!”

  “Now doan’t yo’ go t’ gittin’ all excited-laik,” objected Eradicate Sampson, the aged colored man. “Remember yo’ all has got a weak heart, Massa Swift!”

  “I know it; but I must save my son. Hurry!”

  Mr. Swift ran from the room, followed by Mr. Damon and Mr. Peterson, while Eradicate trailed after them as fast as his tottering limbs would carry him, murmuring to himself.

  “There he is!” cried Mr. Damon, as he caught sight of the young inventor in his airship, in a position of peril. Truly it was as Eradicate had said. Caught on the slope of the roof of his big balloon shed, Tom Swift was in great danger.

  From his airship there shot dazzling sparks, and streamers of green and violet fire. There was a snapping, cracking sound that could be heard above the whir of the craft’s propellers, for the motor was still running.

  “Oh, Tom! Tom! What is it? What has happened?” cried his father.

  “Keep back! Don’t come too close!” yelled the young inventor, as he clung to the seat of the aeroplane, that was tilted at a dangerous angle. “Keep away!”

  “What’s the matter?” demanded Mr. Damon. “Bless my pocket comb—what is it?”

  “A live wire!” answered Tom. “I’m caught in a live wire! The trailer attached to the wireless outfit on my airship is crossed with the wire from the power plant. There’s a short circuit somewhere. Don’t come too close, for it may burn through any second and drop down. Then it will twist about like a snake!”

  “Land ob massy!” cried Eradicate.

  “What can we do to help you?” called Mr. Swift. “Shall I run and shut off the power?” for in the shop where Tom did most of his inventive work there was a powerful dynamo, and it was on one of the wires extending from it, that brought current into the house, that the craft had caught.

  “Yes, shut it off if you can!” Tom shouted back. “But be careful. Don’t get shocked! Wow! I got a touch of it myself that time!” and he could be seen to writhe in his seat.

  “Oh, hurry! hurry! Find Koku!” cried Mr. Swift to Mr. Damon, who had started for the power house on the run.

  The sparks and lances of fire seemed to increase around the young inventor. The airship could be seen to slip slowly down the sloping roof.

  “Land ob massy! He am suah gwine t’ fall!” yelled Eradicate.

  “Oh, he’ll never get that current shut off in time!” murmured Mr. Swift, as he started after Mr. Damon.

  “Wait! I think I have a plan!” called Mr. Peterson. “I think I can save Tom!”

  He did not waste further time in talk, but, running to a nearby shed, he got a long ladder that he saw standing under it. With this over his shoulder he retraced his steps to the balloon hangar and placed the ladder against the side. Then he started to climb up.

  “What are you going to do?” yelled Tom, leaning over from his seat to watch the elderly fortune-hunter.

  “I’m going to cut that wire!” was the answer.

  “Don’t! If you touch it you’ll be shocked to death! I may be able to get out of here. So far I’ve only had light shocks, but the insulation is burning out of my magneto, and that will soon stop. When it does I can’t run the motor, and—”

  “I’m going to cut that wire!” again shouted Mr. Peterson.

  “But you can’t, without pliers and rubber gloves!” yelled Tom. “Keep away, I tell you!”

  The man on the ladder hesitated. Evidently he had not thought of the necessity of protecting his hands by rubber covering, in order that the electricity might be made harmless. He backed down to the ground.

  “I saw a pair of old gloves in the shed!” he cried. “I’ll get them—they look like rubber.”

  “They are!” cried Tom, remembering now that he had been putting up a new wire that day, and had left his rubber gloves there. “But you haven’t any pliers!” the lad went. “How can you cut wire without them? There’s a pair in the shop, but—”

  “Heah dey be! Heah dey be!” cried Eradicate, as he produced a heavy pair from his pocket. “I—I couldn’t find de can-opener fo’ Mrs. Baggert, an’ I jest got yo’ pliers, Massa Tom. Oh, how glad I is dat I did. Here’s de pincers, Massa Peterson.”

  He handed them to the fortune-hunter, who came running back with the rubber gloves. Mr. Damon was no more than half way to the power house, which was quite a distance from the Swift homestead. Meanwhile Tom’s airship was slipping more and more, and a thick, pungent smoke now surrounded it, coming from the burning insulation. The sparks and electrical flames were worse than ever.

  “Just a moment now, and I’ll have you safe!” cried the fortune-hunter, as he again mounted the ladder. Luckily the charged wire was near enough to be reached by going nearly to the top of the ladder.

  Holding the pincers in his rubber-gloved hands, the old man quickly snipped the wire. There was a flash of sparks as the copper conductor was severed, and then the shower of sparks about Tom’s airship ceased.

  In another second he had turned on full power, the propellers whizzed with the quickness of light, and he rose in the air, off the shed roof, the live wire no longer entangling him. Then he made a short circuit of the work-shop yard, and came to the ground safely a little distance from the balloon hangar.

  “Saved! Tom is saved!” cried Mr. Swift, who had seen the act of Mr. Peterson from a distance. “He saved my boy’s life!”

  “Thanks, Mr. Peterson!” exclaimed the young inventor, as he left his seat and walked up to the fortune-hunter. “You certainly did me a good turn then. It was touch and go! I couldn’t have stayed there many seconds longer. Next time I’ll know better than to fly with a wireless trailer over a live conductor,” and he held out his hand to Mr. Peterson.

  “I’m glad I could help you, Tom,” spoke the other, warmly. “I was afraid that if you had to wait until they shut off the power it would be too late.”

  “It would—it would—er—I feel—I—”

  Tom’s voice trailed off into a whisper and he swayed on his feet.

  “Cotch him!” cried Eradicate. “Cotch him! Massa Tom’s hurt!” and only just in time did Mr. Peterson clutch the young inventor in his arms. For Tom, white of face, had fallen back in a dead faint.

  CHAPTER II

  “WE’LL TAKE A CHANCE!”

  “Carry him into the house!” cried Mr. Swift, as he came running to where Mr. Peterson was loosening Tom’s collar.

  “Git a doctor!” murmured Eradicate. “Call someone on de tellifoam! Git fo’ doctors!”

  “We must get him into the house first,” declared Mr. Damon, who, seeing that Tom was off the shed roof, had stopped mid-way to the powerhouse, and retraced his steps. “Let’s carry him into the house. Bless my pocketbook! but he must have been shocked worse than he thought.”

  They lifted the inert form of our hero and walked toward the mansion with him, Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, standing in the doorway in dismay, uncertain what to do.

  And while Tom is being cared for I will take just a moment to tell my new readers something more about him and his inventions, as they have been related in the previous books of this series.

  The first volume was called “Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle,” and this machine was the means of his becoming acquainted with Mr. Wakefield Damon, the odd gentleman who so often blessed things. On his motor-cycle Tom had many adventures.

  The lad was of an inventive mind, as was his father, and in the succeeding books of the series, which you will find named in detail elsewhere, I related how Tom got a motorboat, made an airship, and later a submarine, in all of which craft he had strenuous times and adventures.

  His electric runabout was quite the fastest car on the road, and when he sent his wonderful wireless message he saved hi
mself and others from Earthquake Island. He solved the secret of the diamond makers, and, though he lost a fine balloon in the caves of ice, he soon had another air craft—a regular sky-racer. His electric rifle saved a party from the red pygmies in Elephant Land, and in his air glider he found the platinum treasure. With his wizard camera, Tom took wonderful moving pictures, and in the volume immediately preceding this present one, called “Tom Swift and His Great Searchlight,” I had the pleasure of telling you how the lad captured the smugglers who were working against Uncle Sam over the border.

  Tom, as you will see, had, with the help of his father, perfected many wonderful inventions. The lad lived with his aged parent, his mother being dead, in the village of Shopton, in New York State.

  While the house, which was presided over by the motherly Mrs. Baggert, was large, it was almost lost now amid the many buildings surrounding it, from balloon and airship hangars, to shops where varied work was carried on. For Tom did most of his labor himself, of course with men to help him at the heavier tasks. Occasionally he had to call on outside shops.

  In the household, beside his father, himself and Mrs. Baggert, was Eradicate Sampson, an aged colored man-of-all-work, who said he was called “Eradicate” because he eradicated dirt. There was also Koku, a veritable giant, one of two brothers whom Tom had brought with him from Giant Land, when he escaped from captivity there, as related in the book of that name.

  Mr. Damon was, with Ned Newton, Tom’s chum, the warmest friend of the family, and was often at Tom’s home, coming from the neighboring town of Waterford, where he lived.

  Tom had been back some time now from working for the government in detecting the smugglers, but, as you may well suppose, he had not been idle. Inventing a number of small things, including useful articles for the house, was a sort of recreation for him, but his mind was busy on one great scheme, which I will tell you about in due time.

  Among other things he had just perfected a new style of magneto for one of his airships. The magneto, as you know, is a sort of small dynamo, that supplies the necessary spark to the cylinder, to explode the mixture of air and gasoline vapor. He was trying out this magneto in the Humming Bird when the accident I have related in the first chapter occurred.

  “There! He’s coming to!” exclaimed Mrs. Baggert, as she leaned over Tom, who was stretched out on the sofa in the library. “Give him another smell of this ammonia,” she went on, handing the bottle to Mr. Swift.

  “No—no,” faintly murmured Tom, opening his eyes. “I—I’ve had enough of that, if you please! I’m all right.”

  “Are you sure, Tom?” asked his father. “Aren’t you hurt anywhere?”

  “Not a bit, Dad! It was foolish of me to go off that way; but I couldn’t seem to help it. It all got black in front of me, and—well, I just keeled over.”

  “I should say you did,” spoke Mr. Peterson.

  “An’ ef he hadn’t a-been there to cotch yo’ all,” put in Eradicate, “yo’ all suah would hab hit de ground mighty hard.”

  “That’s two services he did for me today,” said Tom, as he managed to sit up. “Cutting that wire—well, it saved my life, that’s certain.”

  “I believe you, Tom,” said Mr. Swift, solemnly, and he held out his hand to his old mining partner.

  “Do you need the doctor?” asked Mr. Damon, who was at the telephone. “He says he’ll come right over—I can get him in Tom’s electric runabout, if you say so. He’s on the wire now.”

  “No, I don’t need him,” replied the young inventor. “Thank him just the same. It was only an ordinary faint, caused by the slight electrical shocks, and by getting a bit nervous, I guess. I’m all right—see,” and he proved it by standing up.

  “He’s ail right—don’t come, doctor,” said Mr. Damon into the telephone. “Bless my keyring!” he exclaimed, “but that was a strenuous time!”

  “I’ve been in some tight places before,” went on Tom, as he sat down in an easy chair, “and I’ve had any number of shocks when I’ve been experimenting, but this was a sort of double combination, and it sure had me guessing. But I’m feeling better every minute.”

  “A cup of hot tea will do you good,” said motherly Mrs. Baggert, as she bustled out of the room. “I’ll make it for you.”

  “You cut that wire as neatly as any lineman could,” went on Tom, glancing from Mr. Peterson out of the window to where one of his workmen was repairing the break. “When I flew over it in my airship I never gave a thought to the trailer from my wireless outfit. The first I knew I was caught back, and then pulled down to the balloon shed roof, for I tilted the deflecting rudder by mistake.

  “But, Mr. Peterson,” Tom went on, “I haven’t seen you in some time. Anything new on, that brings you here?” for the fortune-hunter had called at the Swift house after Tom had gone out to the shop to get his airship ready for the flight to try the magneto.

  “Well, Tom, I have something rather new on,” replied Mr. Peterson. “I hoped to interest your father in it, but he doesn’t seem to care to take a chance. It’s a lost opal mine on a little-known island in the Caribbean Sea not far from the city of Colon. I say not far—by that I mean about twenty miles. But your father doesn’t want to invest, say, ten thousand dollars in it, though I can almost guarantee that he’ll get five times that sum back. So, as long as he doesn’t feel that he can help me out, I guess I’d better be traveling on.”

  “Hold on! Wait a minute. Don’t be in a hurry,” said Mr. Swift.

  Mr. Peterson was an old friend, and when he and Mr. Swift were young men they had prospected and grub-staked together. But Mr. Swift soon gave that up to devote his time to his inventions, while Mr. Peterson became a sort of rolling stone.

  He was a good man, but somewhat visionary, and a bit inclined to “take chances”—such as looking for lost treasure—rather than to devote himself to some steady employment. The result was that he led rather a precarious life, though never being actually in want.

  “No, pardner,” he said to Mr. Swift. “It’s kind of you to ask me to stay; but this mine business has got a grip on me. I want to try it out. If you won’t finance the project someone else may. I’ll say good-bye, and—”

  “Now just a minute,” said Mr. Swift. “It’s true, Alec, I had about made up my mind not to go into this thing, when this accident happened to Tom. Now you practically saved his life. You—”

  “Oh, pshaw! I only acted on the spur of the moment. Anyone could have done what I did,” protested the fortune-hunter.

  “Oh, but you did it!” insisted Mr. Swift, “and you did it in the nick of time. Now I wouldn’t for a moment think of offering you a reward for saving my son’s life. But I do feel mighty friendly toward you—not that I didn’t before—but I do want to help you. Alec, I will go into this business with you. We’ll take a chance! I’ll invest ten thousand dollars, and I’m not so awful worried about getting it back, either—though I don’t believe in throwing money away.”

  “You won’t throw it away in this case!” declared Mr. Peterson, eagerly. “I’m sure to find that mine; but it will take a little capital to work it. That’s what I need—capital!”

  “Well, I’ll supply it to the extent of ten thousand dollars,” said Mr. Swift. “Tom, what do you think of it? Am I foolish or not?”

  “Not a bit of it, Dad!” cried the young man, who was now himself again. “I’m glad you took that chance, for, if you hadn’t—well, I would have supplied the money myself—that’s all,” and he smiled at the fortune-hunter.

  CHAPTER III

  PLANNING A BIG GUN

  “BUT, Tom, I don’t see how in the world you can ever hope to make a bigger gun than that.”

  “I think it can be done, Ned,” was the quiet answer of the young inventor. He looked up from some drawings on the table in the office of one of his shops. “Now I’ll just show you—”

  “Hold on, Tom. You know I have a very poor head for figures, even if I do help you out once in a while on som
e of your work. Skip the technical details, and give me the main facts.”

  The two young men—Ned Newton being Tom’s special chum—were talking together over Tom’s latest scheme.

  It was several days after Tom’s accident in the airship, when he had been saved by the prompt action of Mr. Peterson. That fortune-hunter, once he had the promise of Mr. Swift to invest in his somewhat visionary plan of locating a lost opal mine near the Panama Canal, had left the Swift homestead to arrange for fitting out the expedition of discovery. He had tried to prevail on Tom to accompany him, and, failing in that, tried to work on Mr. Damon.

  “Bless my watch chain!” exclaimed that odd gentleman. “I would like to go with you first rate. But I’m so busy—so very busy—that I can’t think of it. I have simply neglected all my affairs, chasing around the country with Tom Swift. But if Tom goes I—ahem! I think perhaps I could manage it—ahem!”

  “I thought you were busy,” laughed Tom.

  “Oh, well, perhaps I could get a few weeks off. But I’m not going—no, bless my check book, I must get back to business!”

  But as Mr. Damon was a retired gentleman of wealth, his “business” was more or less of a joke among his friends.

  So then, a few days after the departure of Mr. Peterson, Tom and Ned sat in the former’s office, discussing the young inventor’s latest scheme.

  “How big is the biggest gun ever made, Tom?” asked his chum. “I mean in feet, in inches, or in muzzle diameter, however they are measured.”

  “Well,” began Tom, “of course some nation may, in secret, be making a bigger gun than any I have ever heard of. As far as I know, however, the largest one ever made for the United States was a sixteen-inch rifled cannon—that is, it was sixteen inches across at the muzzle, and I forget just how long. It weighed many tons, however, and it now lies, or did a few years ago, in a ditch at the Sandy Hook proving grounds. It was a failure.”