The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “Oh, yes there is, Ned!”

  “There is!” cried Ned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean there may be something like them—soon.”

  “There may? Say, Tom—”

  “Now don’t ask me a lot of questions, Ned, for I can’t answer them. When I say there may be something like them, I mean it isn’t beyond the realms of possibility that some one—perhaps the Germans—may turn out even bigger and better tanks.”

  “Oh!” And Ned’s voice showed his disappointment. “I thought maybe you were in on that game yourself, Tom. Say, couldn’t you get up something almost as good as this?” and he indicated the picture in the paper. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Oh, well, it’s good, Ned, but there are others. Yes, Dad, I’m coming,” he called, as he saw his father beckoning to him from a distant building.

  “Well, I’ve got to get along,” said Ned. “But I certainly am disappointed, Tom. I thought you’d go into a fit over this picture—it’s one of the first allowed to get out of England, my London friend said. And instead of enthusing you’re as cold as a clam;” and Ned shook his head in puzzled and disappointed fashion as he walked slowly along beside the young inventor.

  They passed a new building, one of the largest in the group of the many comprising the Swift plant. Ned looked at the door which bore a notice to the effect that no one was admitted unless bearing a special permit, or accompanied by Mr. Swift or Tom.

  “What’s this, Tom?” asked Ned. “Some new wrinkle?”

  “Yes, an invention I’m working on. It isn’t in shape yet to be seen.”

  “It must be something big, Tom,” observed Ned, as he viewed the large building.

  “It is.”

  “And say, what a whopping big fence you’ve got around the back yard!” went on the young banker. “Looks like a baseball field, but it would take some scrambling on the part of a back-lots kid to get over it.”

  “That’s what it’s for—to keep people out.”

  “I see! Well, I’ve got to get along. I’m a bit back in my day’s quota of selling Liberty Bonds, and I’ve got to hustle. I’m sorry I bothered you about that tank picture, Tom.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t a bother—don’t think that for a minute, Ned! I was glad to see it.”

  “Well, he didn’t seem so, and his manner was certainly queer,” mused Ned, as he walked away, and turned in time to see Tom enter the new building, which had such a high fence all around it. “I never saw him more indifferent. I wonder if Tom isn’t interested in seeing Uncle Sam help win this war? That’s the way it struck me. I thought surely Tom would go up in the air, and say this was a dandy,” and Ned unfolded the paper and took another look at the British tank photograph. “If there’s anything can beat that I’d like to see it,” he mused.

  “But I suppose Tom has discovered some new kind of air stabilizer, or a different kind of carburetor that will vaporize kerosene as well as gasolene. If he has, why doesn’t he offer it to Uncle Sam? I wonder if Tom is pro-German? No, of Course he can’t be!” and Ned laughed at his own idea.

  “At the same time, it is queer,” he mused on. “There is something wrong with Tom Swift.”

  Once more Ned looked at the picture. It was a representation of one of the newest and largest of the British tanks. In appearance these are not unlike great tanks, though they are neither round nor square, being shaped, in fact, like two wedges with the broad ends put together, and the sharper ends sticking out, though there is no sharpness to a tank, the “noses” both being blunt.

  Around each outer edge runs an endless belt of steel plates, hinged together, with ridges at the joints, and these broad belts of steel plates, like the platforms of some moving stairways used in department stores, moving around, give motion to the tank.

  Inside, well protected from the fire of enemy guns by steel plates, are the engines for driving the belts, or caterpillar wheels, as they are called. There is also the steering apparatus, and the guns that fire on the enemy. There are cramped living and sleeping quarters for the tank’s crew, more limited than those of a submarine.

  The tank is ponderous, the smallest of them, which were those first constructed, weighing forty-two tons, or about as much as a good-sized railroad freight car. And it is this ponderosity, with its slow but resistless movement, that gives the tank its power.

  The tank, by means of the endless belts of steel plates, can travel over the roughest country. It can butt into a tree, a stone wall, or a house, knock over the obstruction, mount it, crawl over it, and slide down into a hole on the other side and crawl out again, on the level, or at an angle. Even if overturned, the tanks can sometimes right themselves and keep on. At the rear are trailer wheels, partly used in steering and partly for reaching over gaps or getting out of holes. The tanks can turn in their own length, by moving one belt in one direction and the other oppositely.

  Inside there is nothing much but machinery of the gasolene type, and the machine guns. The tank is closed except for small openings out of which the guns project, and slots through which the men inside look out to guide themselves or direct their fire.

  Such, in brief, is a British tank, one of the most powerful and effective weapons yet loosed against the Germans. They are useful in tearing down the barbed-wire entanglements on the Boche side of No Man’s Land, and they can clear the way up to and past the trenches, which they can straddle and wriggle across like some giant worm.

  “And to think that Tom Swift didn’t enthuse over these!” murmured Ned. “I wonder what’s the matter with him!”

  CHAPTER IV

  QUEER DOINGS

  There was a subdued air of activity about the Swift plant. Subdued, owing to the fact that it was mostly confined to one building—the new, large one, about which stretched a high and strong fence, made with tongue-and-groove boards so that no prying eyes might find a crack, even, through which to peer.

  In and out of the other buildings the workmen went as they pleased, though there were not many of them, for Tom and his father were devoting most of their time and energies to what was taking place in the big, new structure. But here there was an entirely different procedure.

  Workmen went in and out, to be sure, but each time they emerged they were scrutinized carefully, and when they went in they had to exhibit their passes to a man on guard at the single entrance; and the passes were not scrutinized perfunctorily, either.

  Near the building, about which there seemed to be an air of mystery, one day, a week after the events narrated in the opening chapters, strolled the giant Koku. Not far away, raking up a pile of refuse, was Eradicate Sampson, the aged colored man of all work. Eradicate approached nearer and nearer the entrance to the building, pursuing his task of gathering up leaves, dirt and sticks with the teeth of his rake. Then Koku, who had been lounging on a bench in the shade of a tree, Called:

  “No more, Eradicate!”

  “No mo’ whut?” asked the negro quickly. “I didn’t axt yo’ fo’ nuffin yit!”

  “No more come here!” said the giant, pointing to the building and speaking English with an evident effort. “Master say no one come too close.”

  “Huh! He didn’t go fo’ t’ mean me!” exclaimed Eradicate. “I kin go anywheres; I kin!”

  “Not here!” and Koku interposed his giant frame between the old man and the first step leading into the secret building. “You no come in here.”

  “Who say so?”

  “Me—I say so! I on guard. I what you call special policeman—detectiff—no let enemies in!”

  “Huh! You’s a hot deteckertiff, yo’ is!” snorted Eradicate. “Anyhow, dem orders don’t mean me! I kin go anywhere, I kin!”

  “Not here!” said Koku firmly. “Master Tom say let nobody come near but workmen who have got writing-paper. You no got!”

  “No, but I kin git one, an’ I’s gwine t’ hab it soon! I’ll see Massa Tom, dat’s whut I will. I guess yo’ ain’t de only deteckertiff on de place. I ki
n go on guard, too!” and Eradicate, dropping his rake, strolled away in his temper to seek the young inventor.

  “Well, Rad, what is it?” asked Tom, as he met the colored man. The young inventor was on his way to the mysterious shop. “What is troubling you?”

  “It’s dat dar giant. He done says as how he’s on guard—a deteckertiff—an’ I can’t go nigh dat buildin’ t’ sweep up de refuse.”

  “Well, that’s right, Rad. I’d prefer that you keep away. I’m doing some special work in there and it’s—”

  “Am it dangerous, Massa Tom? I ain’t askeered! Anybody whut kin drive mah mule Boomerang—”

  “I know, Eradicate, but this isn’t so dangerous. It’s just secret, and I don’t want too many people about. You can go anywhere else except there. Koku is on guard.”

  “Den can’t I be, Massa Tom?” asked the colored man eagerly. “I kin guard an’ detect same as dat low-down, good-fo’-nuffin white trash Koku!”

  Tom hesitated.

  “I suppose I could get you a sort of officer’s badge,” he mused, half aloud.

  “Dat’s whut I want!” eagerly exclaimed Eradicate. “I ain’t gwine hab dat Koku—dat cocoanut—crowin’ ober me! I kin guard an’ detect as good’s anybody!”

  And the upshot of it was that Eradicate was given a badge, and put on a special post, far enough from Koku to keep the two from quarreling, and where, even if he failed in keeping a proper lookout, the old servant could do no harm by his oversight.

  “It’ll please him, and won’t hurt us,” said Tom to his father. “Koku will keep out any prying persons.”

  “I suppose you are doing well to keep it a secret, Tom,” said Mr. Swift, “but it seems as if you might announce it soon.”

  “Perhaps we may, Dad, if all goes well. I’ve given her a partial shop-tryout, and she works well. But there is still plenty to do. Did I tell you about meeting Blakeson?”

  “Yes, and I can’t understand why he should be in this vicinity. Do you think he has had any intimation of what you are doing?”

  “It’s hard to say, and yet I would not be surprised. When Uncle Sam couldn’t keep secret the fact of our first soldiers sailing for France. How can I expect to keep this secret? But they won’t get any details until I’m ready, I’m sure of that.”

  “Koku is a good discourager,” said Mr. Swift, with a chuckle. “You couldn’t have a better guard, Tom.”

  “No, and if I can keep him and Eradicate from trying to pull off rival detective stunts, or ‘deteckertiff,’ as Rad calls it, I’ll be all right. Now let’s have another go at that carburetor. There’s our weak point, for it’s getting harder and harder all the while to get high-grade gasolene, and we’ll have to come to alcohol of low proof, or kerosene, I’m thinking.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised, Tom. Well, perhaps we can get up a new style of carburetor that will do the trick. Now look at this needle valve; I’ve given it a new turn,” and father and son went into technical details connected with their latest invention.

  These were busy days at the Swift plant. Men came and went—men with queerly shaped parcels frequently—and they were admitted to the big new building after first passing Eradicate and then Koku, and it would be hard to say which guard was the more careful. Only, of course, Koku had the final decision, and more than one person was turned back after Eradicate had passed him, much to the disgust of the negro.

  “Pooh! Dat giant don’t know a workman when he sees ’im!” snorted Eradicate. “He so lazy his own se’f dat he don’t know a workman! Ef I sees a spy, Massa Tom, or a crook, I’s gwine git him, suah pop!”

  “I hope you do, Rad. We can’t afford to let this secret get out,” said the young inventor.

  It was one evening, when taking a short cut to his home, that Mr. Nestor, the father of Mary Nestor, in whom Tom was more than ordinarily interested, passed not far from the big enclosure which was guarded, on the factory side, day and night. Inside, though out of sight and hidden by the high fence, were other guards.

  As Mr. Nestor passed along the fence, rather vaguely wondering why it was so high, tight and strong, he felt the ground trembling beneath his feet. It rumbled and shook as though a distant train were passing, and yet there was none due now, for Mr. Nestor had just left one, and another would not arrive for an hour.

  “That’s queer,” mused Mary’s father. “If I didn’t know to the contrary, I’d say that sounded like heavy guns being fired from a distance, or else blasting. It seems to come from the Swift place,” he went on. “I wonder what they’re up to in there.”

  Suddenly the rumbling became more pronounced, and mingled with it, in the dusk of the evening, were the shouts of men.

  “Look out!” some one cried. “She’s going for the fence!”

  A second later there was a cracking and straining of boards, and the fence near Mr. Nestor bulged out as though something big, powerful and mighty were pressing it from the inner side.

  But the fence held, or else the pressure was removed, for the bulge went back into place, though some of the boards were splintered.

  “Have to patch that up in the morning,” called another voice, and Mr. Nestor recognized it as that of Tom Swift.

  “What queer doings are going on here?” mused Mary’s father. “Have they got a wild bull shut up in there, and is he trying to get out? Lucky for me he didn’t,” and he hurried on, the rumbling noise become fainter until it died away altogether.

  That night, after his supper and while reading the paper and smoking a cigar, Mr. Nestor spoke to his daughter.

  “Mary, have you seen anything of Tom Swift lately?”

  “Why, yes, Father. He was over for a little while the other night, but he didn’t stay long. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, nothing special. I just came past his place and I heard some queer noises, that’s all. He’s up to some more of his tricks, I guess. Has be enlisted yet?”

  “No.

  “Is he going to?”

  “I don’t know,” and Mary seemed a bit put out by this simple question. “What do you mean by his tricks?” she asked, and a close observer might have thought she was anxious to get away from the subject of Tom’s enlistment.

  “Oh, like that one when he sent you something in a box labeled ‘dynamite,’ and gave us all a scare. You can’t tell what Tom Swift is going to do next. He’s up to something now, I’ll wager, and I don’t believe any good will come of it.”

  “You didn’t think so after he sent his wireless message, and saved us from Earthquake Island,” said Mary, smiling.

  “Hum! Well, that was different,” snapped Mr. Nestor. “This time I’m sure he’s up to some nonsense! The idea of crashing down a fence! Why doesn’t he enlist like the other chaps, or sell Liberty Bonds like Ned Newton?” and Mr. Nestor looked sharply at his daughter. “Ned gave up a big salary as the Swifts financial man—a place he had held for a year—to go back to the bank for less, just so he could help the Government in the financial end of this war. Is Tom doing as much for his country?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” answered Mary; and soon after, with averted face, she left the room.

  “Hum! Queer goings on,” mused Mr. Nestor. “Tom Swift may be all right, but he’s got an unbalanced streak in him that will bear looking out for, that’s what I think!”

  And having settled this matter, at least to his own satisfaction, Mr. Nestor resumed his smoking and reading.

  A little later the bell rang. There was a murmur of voices in the hall, and Mr. Nestor, half listening, heard a voice he knew.

  “There’s Tom Swift now!” he exclaimed. “I’m going to find out why he doesn’t enlist!”

  CHAPTER V

  “IS HE A SLACKER?”

  Mr. Nestor, whatever else he was, proved to be a prudent father. He did not immediately go into the front room, whither Mary and Tom hastened, their voices mingling in talk and laughter.

  Mr. Nestor, after leaving the young folks alone for a while, w
ith a loud “Ahem!” and a rattling of his paper as he laid it aside, started for the parlor.

  “Good-evening, Mr. Nestor!” said Tom, rising to shake hands with the father of his young and pretty hostess.

  “Hello, Tom!” was the cordial greeting, in return. “What’s going on up at your place?” went on Mr. Nestor, as he took a chair.

  “Oh, nothing very special,” Tom answered. “We’re turning out different kinds of machines as usual, and dad and I are experimenting, also as usual.”

  “I suppose so. But what nearly broke the fence tonight?”

  Tom started, and looked quickly at his host.

  “Were you there?” he asked quickly.

  “Well, I happened to be passing—took a short cut home—and I heard some queer goings on at your place. I was speaking to Mary about them, and wondering—”

  “Father, perhaps Tom doesn’t want to talk about his inventions,” interrupted Mary. “You know some of them are secret—”

  “Oh, I wasn’t exactly asking for information!” exclaimed Mr. Nestor quickly. “I just happened to hear the fence crash, and I was wondering if something was coming out at me. Didn’t know but what that giant of yours was on a rampage, Tom,” and he laughed.

  “No, it wasn’t anything like that,” and Tom’s voice was more sober than the occasion seemed to warrant. “It was one of our new machines, and it didn’t act just right. No great damage was done, though. How do you find business, Mr. Nestor, since the war spirit has grown stronger?” asked Tom, and it seemed to both Mary and her father that the young inventor deliberately changed the subject.