“Why, it looks more like excelsior than anything else,” went on the odd man, gingerly taking up some yellowish shreds in his fingers.
“And it will burn as harmlessly as excelsior in the open air,” went on Tom. “But I hope to prove, when it is confined in a chamber, that it will be highly explosive. I’m going to make a test of it soon.”
“Give me good notice, so I can get over in the next State!” exclaimed Ned Newton, with a laugh.
This was several days after our friends had returned from the disastrous gun test at Sandy Hook. Tom had at once gotten to work on the problem that confronted him—a problem of his own making—to build a giant cannon that would make the longest shots on record. And he had first turned his attention to the powder, or explosive, to be used.
“For,” he said, “there is no use having a big gun unless you can fire it. And the gun I am planning will need something more powerful in the powder line than any I’ve ever heard of.”
“Stronger than the kind General Waller used?” inquired Ned.
“Yes, but I’ll make my cannon correspondingly stronger, too, so there will be no danger.”
“Bless my shoe buttons!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “You boys must have had your nerve with you to stay around Sandy Hook after that gun went up in the air.”
“Oh, the danger was all over soon after it began,” spoke Tom, with a smile. “But now I’m going to test some of this powder. If you want to run away, Mr. Damon, I’ll have Koku take you up in one of the airships, and you’ll certainly be safe a mile or so in the air,” for Tom had instructed his giant servant how to run one of the simpler biplanes.
“No—no, Tom, I’ll stick!” exclaimed the eccentric man. “I’ll not promise not to hide behind the fence, or something like that, though, Tom; but I’ll stick.”
“So will I,” added Ned. “How are you going to make the test, Tom?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. I want to do a little figuring first.”
Tom had, before going to Sandy Hook, made some experiments in powder manufacturing, but they had not been very satisfactory. He had not been able to get power enough. On his return he had undertaken rather a daring innovation. He had mingled two varieties of powder, and the resulting combination would, he hoped, prove just what he wanted.
The powder was in gelatin form, being made with nitro-glycerine as a base. It looked, as Mr. Damon had said, like a bunch of excelsior, only it was yellow instead of white, and it felt not unlike pieces of dry macaroni.
“I have shredded the powder in this manner,” Tom explained, “so that it will explode more evenly and quickly. I want it to burn as nearly instantaneously as possible, and I think it will in this form.”
“But how are you going to tell how powerful it is unless you fire it in a cannon?” asked Ned. “And you haven’t even started your big gun yet.”
“Oh, I’ll show you,” declared Tom. “There are several ways of making a test, but I have one of my own. I am going to take a solid block of steel, of known weight—say about a hundred pounds. This I will put into a sort of square cylinder, or well, closed at the bottom somewhat like the breech of a gun. The block of steel fits so closely in the square well that no air or powder gas can pass it.
“In the bottom of this well, which may be a foot square, I will put a small charge of this new powder. On top of that will come the steel block. Then by means of electric wires I can fire the charge.
“Attached to the steel well, or chamber, will be a gauge, a pressure recorder and other apparatus. When the powder, of which I will use only a pinch, carefully weighing it, goes off, it will raise the hundred-pound weight a certain distance. This will be noted on the scale. There will also be shown the amount of pressure released in the gas given off by the powder. In that way I can make some calculations.”
“How?” asked Ned, who was much interested.
“Well, for instance, if one ounce of powder raises the weight three feet, and gives a muzzle pressure of, say, five hundred pounds, I can easily compute what a thousand pounds of powder, acting on a projectile weighing two tons and a half, would do, and how far it would shoot it.”
“Bless my differential gear!” cried Mr. Damon. “A projectile weighing two and a half, tons! Tom, it’s impossible!”
“That’s what General Waller said about his gun; but it burst, just the same,” declared Ned. “Poor man, I felt sorry for him. He seemed rather put out at you, Tom.”
“I guess he was—a bit—though I didn’t mean anything disrespectful in what I said. But now we’ll have this test. Koku, take the rest of this powder back. I’ll only keep a small quantity.”
The giant, who, being more active than Eradicate, had rather supplanted the aged colored man, did as he was bid, and soon Tom, with Ned and Mr. Damon to help him, was preparing for the test.
They went some distance away from any of the buildings, for, though Tom was only going to use a small quantity of the explosive, he did not just know what the result would be, and he wanted to take no chances.
“I know from personal experience what the two kinds of powder from which I made this sample will do,” he said; “but it is like taking two known quantities and getting a third unknown one from them. There is an unequal force between the two samples that may make an entirely new compound.”
The steel chamber that was to receive the hundred-pound steel block had been prepared in advance, as had the various gauges and registering apparatus.
“Well, I guess we’ll start things moving now,” went on Tom, as he looked over the things he had brought from his shops to the deserted meadow. The fact of the test had been kept a secret, so there were no spectators. “Ned, give me a hand with this block,” Tom went on. “It’s a little too heavy to lift alone.” He was straining and tugging at the heavy piece of steel.
“Me do!” exclaimed Koku the giant, gently pushing Tom to one side. Then the big man, with one hand, raised the hundred-pound weight as easily as if it were a loaf of bread, and deposited it where Tom wanted it.
“Thanks!” exclaimed our hero, with a laugh. “I didn’t make any mistake when I brought you home with me, Koku.”
“Huh! I could hab lifted dat weight when I was a young feller!” exclaimed Eradicate, who was, it is needless to say, jealous of the giant.
The powder had been put in the firing chamber. The steel socket had been firmly fixed in the earth, so that if the force of the explosion was in a lateral direction, instead of straight up, no damage would result. The weight, even if it shot from the muzzle of the improvised “cannon,” would only go harmlessly up in the air, and then drop back. The firing wires were so long that Tom and his friends could stand some distance away.
“Are you all ready?” cried Tom, as he looked to see that the wiring was clear.
“As ready as we ever shall be,” replied Mr. Damon, who, with Ned and the others, had taken refuge behind a low hill.
“Oh, this isn’t going to be much of an explosion,” laughed Tom. “It won’t be any worse than a Fourth of July cannon. Here she goes!”
He pressed the electric button, there was a flash, a dull, muffled report and, for a moment, something black showed at the top of the steel chamber. Then it dropped back inside again.
“Pshaw!” cried Tom, in disappointed tones. “It didn’t even blow the weight out of the tube. That powder’s no good! It’s a failure!”
Followed by the others, the young inventor started toward the small square “cannon.” Tom wanted to read the records made by the gases.
Suddenly Koku cried:
“There him be, master! There him be!” and he pointed toward a distant path that traversed the meadow.
“He? Whom do you mean?” asked Tom, startled the giant’s excited manner.
“That man what come and look at Master’s new powder,” was the unexpected answer. “Him say he want to surprise you, and he come today, but no speak. He run away. Look—him go!” and he pointed toward a figure of distinctly military bearing hurrying al
ong the road that led to Shopton.
CHAPTER X
SOMETHING WRONG
“Bless my buttons!” cried Mr. Damon.
“Let’s chase after him!” yelled Ned.
“Koku kin run de fastest oh any oh us,” put in Eradicate. “Let him go.”
“Hold on—wait a minute!” exclaimed Tom. “We want to know who that man is—and why we’re going to chase after him. Koku, I guess it’s up to you. Something has been going on here that I don’t know anything about. Explain!”
“Well, it’s no use to chase after him now,” said Ned. “There he goes on his motor-cycle.”
As he spoke the man, who, even from a rear view, presented all the characteristics of an army man, so straight was his carriage, leaped upon a motor-cycle that he pulled from the roadside bushes, and soon disappeared in a cloud of dust.
“No, he’s gone,” spoke Tom, half-regretfully. “But who was he, Koku? You seemed to know him. What was he doing out here, watching my test?”
“Me tell,” said the giant, simply. “Little while after Master come back from where him say big gun all go smash, man come to shop when Master out one day. Him very nice man, and him say him know you, and want to help you make big cannon. I say, ‘Master no be at home.’ Man say him want to give master a little present of powder for use in new cannon. Master be much pleased, man say. Make powder better. I take, and I want Master to be pleased. I put stuff what man gave me in new powder. Man go away—he laugh—he say he be here today see what happen—I tell him you go to make test today. Man say Master be much surprised. That all I know.”
Silence followed Koku’s statement. To Ned and Mr. Damon it was not exactly clear, but Tom better understood his giant servant’s queer talk.
“Is that what you mean, Koku?” asked the young inventor, after a pause. “Did some stranger come here one day when I was out, after I had made my new powder, and did he give you some ‘dope’ to put in it?”
“What you mean by ‘dope’?”
“I mean any sort of stuff.”
“Yes, man give me something like sugar, and I sprinkle it on new powder for to surprise Master.”
“Well, you’ve done it, all right,” said Tom, grimly. “Have you any of the stuff left?”
“I put all in iron box where Master keep new powder.”
“Well, then some of it must be there yet. Probably it sifted through the excelsior-like grains of my new explosive, and we’ll find it on the bottom of the powder-case. But enough stuck to the strands to spoil my test. I’ll just take a reading of the gauges, and then we’ll make an investigation.”
Tom, with Ned to help him, made notes of how far the weight had risen in the tube, and took data of other points in the experiment.
“Pshaw!” exclaimed Tom. “There wasn’t much more force to my new powder, doped as it apparently has been, than to the stuff I can buy in the open market. But I’m glad I know what the trouble is, for I can remedy it. Come on back to the shop. Koku, don’t you ever do anything like this again,” and Tom spoke severely.
“No, Master,” answered the giant, humbly.
“Did you ever see this man before, Koku?”
“No, Master.”
“What kind of a fellow was he?” asked Ned.
“Oh, him got whiskers on him face, and stand very straight, like stick bending backwards. Him look like a soldier, and him blink one eye more than the other.”
Tom and Ned started and looked at one another.
“That description fits General Waller,” said Ned, in a low voice to his chum.
“Yes, in a way; but it would be out of the question for the General to do such a thing. Besides, the man who ran away, and escaped on his motor-cycle, was larger than General Waller.”
“It was hard to tell just what size he was at the distance,” spoke Ned. “It doesn’t seem as though he would try to spoil your experiments, though.”
“Maybe he hoped to spoil my cannon,” remarked Tom, with a laugh that had no mirth in it. “My cannon that isn’t cast yet. He probably misunderstood Koku’s story of the test, and had no idea it was only a miniature, experimental, gun.
“This will have to be looked into. I can’t have strangers prowling about here, now that I am going to get to work on a new invention. Koku, I expect you, after this, not to let strangers approach unless I give the word. Eradicate, the same thing applies to you. You didn’t see anything of this mysterious man; did you?”
“No, Massa Tom. De only s’picious man I see was mab own cousin sneakin’ around mah chicken coop de odder night. I tooks mah ole shot gun, an’ sa’ntered out dat way. Den in a little while dere wasn’t no s’picious man any mo’.”
“You didn’t shoot him; did you, Rad?” cried Tom, quickly.
“No, Massa Tom—dat is, I didn’t shoot on puppose laik. De gun jest natchelly went off by itself accidental-laik, an’ it peppered him good an’ proper.”
“Why, Rad!” cried Ned. “You didn’t tell us about this.”
“Well, I were ’shamed ob mah cousin, so I was. Anyhow, I only had salt an’ pepper in de gun—’stid ob shot. I ’spect mah cousin am pretty well seasoned now. But dat’s de only s’picious folks I see, ’ceptin’ maybe a peddler what wanted t’ gib me a dish pan fo’ a pair ob ole shoes; only I didn’t hab any.”
“There are altogether too many strangers coming about here,” went on Tom. “It must be stopped, if I have to string charged electric wires about the shops as I once did.”
They hurried back to the shop where the new powder was kept, and Tom at once investigated it. Taking the steel box from where it was stored he carefully removed the several handfuls of excelsior-like explosive. On the bottom of the box, and with some of it clinging to some of the powder threads, was a sort of white powder. It had a peculiar odor.
“Ha!” cried Tom, as soon as he saw it. “I know what that is. It’s a new form of gun-cotton, very powerful. Whoever gave it to Koku to put on my powder hoped to blow to atoms any cannon in which it might be used. There’s enough here to do a lot of damage.”
“How is it that it didn’t blow your test cylinder to bits?” asked Ned.
“For the reason that the stuff I use in my powder and this new gun-cotton neutralized one another,” the young inventor explained. “One weakened the other, instead of making a stronger combination. A chemical change took place, and lucky for us it did. It was just like a man taking an over-dose of poison—it defeated itself. That’s why my experiment was a failure. Now to put this stuff where it can do no harm. Is this what that man gave you, Koku?”
“That’s it, Master.”
There came a tap on the door of the private room, and instinctively everyone started. Then came the voice of Eradicate, saying:
“Dere’s a army gen’men out here to see you. Massa Tom; but I ain’t gwine t’ let him in lessen as how you says so.”
“An army gentleman!” repeated Tom.
“Yais, sah! He say he General Waller, an’ he come on a motor-cycle.”
“General Waller!” exclaimed Tom. “What can he want out here?”
“And on a motor-cycle, too!” added Ned. “Tom, what’s going on, anyhow?”
The young inventor shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he replied; “but I suppose I had better see him. Here. Koku, put this powder away, and then go outside. Mr. Damon, you’ll stay; won’t you?”
“If you need me, Tom. Bless my finger nails! But there seems to be something wrong here.”
“Show him in, Rad!” called Tom.
“Massa Gen’l Herodotus Waller!” exclaimed the colored man in pompous tones, as he opened the door for the officer, clad in khaki, whom Tom had last seen at Sandy Hook.
“Ah, how do you do, Mr. Swift!” exclaimed General Waller, extending his hand. “I got your letter inviting me to a test of your new explosive. I hope I am not too late.”
Tom stared at him in amazement.
CHAPTER XI
FAILURE AND
SUCCESS
“You—you got my letter!” stammered Tom, holding out his hand for a missive which the General extended. “I—I don’t exactly understand. My letter?”
“Yes, certainly,” went on the officer. “It was very kind of you to remember me after—well, to be perfectly frank with you, I did resent, a little, your remarks about my unfortunate gun. But I see you are of a forgiving spirit.”
“But I didn’t write you any letter!” exclaimed Tom, feeling more and more puzzled.
“You did not? What is this?” and the General unfolded a paper. Tom glanced over it. Plainly it was a request for the General to be present at the test on that day, and it was signed with Tom Swift’s name.
But as soon as the young inventor saw it, he knew that it was a forgery.
“I never sent that letter!” he exclaimed. “Look, it is not at all like my handwriting,” and he took up some papers from a near-by table and quickly compared some of his writing with that in the letter. The difference was obvious.
“Then who did send it?” asked General Waller. “If someone has been playing a joke on me it will not be well for him!” and he drew himself up pompously.
“If a joke has been played—and it certainly seems so,” spoke Tom, “I had no hand in it. And did you come all the way from Sandy Hook because of this letter?”
“No, I am visiting friends in Waterford,” said the officer, naming the town where Mr. Damon lived. “My cousin is Mr. Pierce Watkins.”
“Bless my doorbell!” exclaimed Mr. Damon, “I know him! He lives just around the corner from me. Bless my very thumb prints!”
General Waller stared at Mr. Damon in some amazement, and resumed:
“Owing to the unfortunate accident to my gun, and to some slight injuries I sustained, I found my health somewhat impaired. I obtained a furlough, and came to visit my cousin. The doctor recommended open air exercise, and so I brought with me my motor-cycle, as I am fond of that means of locomotion.”
“I used to be,” murmured Mr. Damon; “but I gave it up.”
“After his machine climbed a tree,” Tom explained, with a smile, remembering how he had originally met Mr. Damon, and bought the damaged machine from him, as told in the first volume of this series.
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 196
