The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “Why, I have taken a heavy piece of metal, dipped it into liquid air, and I could shatter the steel with a hammer as easily as a sheet of ice. The cold of liquid air is beyond belief.

  “Attempts have been made to make motors run with liquid air, but they have not succeeded. To condense air and to carry it about so that propellers might revolve in it, would be out of the question.”

  “You think so, Tom?” asked Mr. Damon.

  “I’m sure of it!”

  “Oh, dear! That’s too bad. Bless my overshoes, but I thought I had a new idea. Well, you ought to know. So Damon’s Whizzer goes on the scrap heap before ever it’s built. Well, we’ll say no more about it. You ought to know best, Tom. I wasn’t thinking of it so much for myself as for you. I thought you’d like some new idea to work on.”

  “Much obliged, Mr. Damon, but I have a new idea,” said Tom.

  “You have? What is it? Tell me—that is, if it isn’t a secret,” went on the eccentric man, as much delighted over Tom’s new plan as he had been over his own Whizzer, doomed to failure so soon.

  “It isn’t a secret from you,” said Tom. “I got the idea while I was riding with Mary. I wanted to talk to her—to tell her not to jump out when we had a little accident—but I had trouble making myself understood because of the noise of the motor.”

  “They do make a great racket,” conceded Mr. Damon. “But I don’t suppose anything can be done about it.”

  “I don’t see why there can’t!” exclaimed Tom. “And that’s my new idea—to make a silent aircraft motor—perhaps silent propeller blades, though it’s the motor that makes the most noise. And that’s what I’m going to do—invent a silent aeroplane. Not because I want so much to talk when I take passengers up in the air, but I believe such a motor would be valuable, especially for scouting planes in war work. To go over the enemy’s lines and not be heard would be valuable many times.

  “And that’s what I’m going to do—work on a silent motor for Uncle Sam. I’ve got the germ of an idea and now—”

  “Excuse me,” said a voice behind Mr. Damon and Tom, and, turning, the young inventor beheld the form of Mr. Peton Gale, president of the Universal Flying Machine Company.

  CHAPTER VI

  MAKING PLANS

  Tom Swift had drawn pencil and paper from his pocket, and, as he and Mr. Damon were sitting on the steps of one of the shops, the young inventor was about to demonstrate by a drawing part of his new project, when the interruption came in the shape of one of the men who had, an hour before, made a business offer to Tom.

  “Excuse me,” went on Mr. Peton Gale, “but Mr. Ware and I got to talking it over on our way to the station—the matter of having you in our company, Mr. Swift—and we concluded that it was worth twenty-five thousand dollars a year for us to have you. So I came back—”

  “It isn’t of the slightest use, Mr. Gale, I assure you,” said Tom, a bit heatedly, for he did not like the persistency of this man, nor did he like his coming on the factory grounds unannounced and in this secret manner. “I told you I could not accept your offer. It is not altogether a matter of money. My word was final.”

  “Oh very well, if you put it that way,” said Mr. Gale stiffly, “of course there is nothing more to say. But I thought perhaps you did not consider we had offered you enough and—”

  “Your offer is fair enough from a financial standpoint,” said Tom; “but I simply cannot accept it. I have other plans. Jackson!” he called to one of his mechanics who was passing, “kindly see Mr. Gale to the gate, and then let me know how it was any one came in here without a permit.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the mechanic, as he stood significantly waiting.

  “There was no one at the gate when I came in,” said Mr. Gale, and his manner was antagonizing. “I wanted to speak to you—to ask you to reconsider your offer—so I came back.”

  “It is against the rules to admit strangers to the shop grounds,” said Tom. “Good-day!”

  The president of the Universal Flying Machine Company did not respond, but there was a look on his face as he turned away that, had Tom seen it, might have caused him some uneasiness. But he did not see. Instead, he resumed his talk with Mr. Damon.

  “Tom, your idea is most interesting,” declared the eccentric man. “I hope you will be able to work it out!”

  “I’m going to try,” said the young inventor. “I hope that man—Mr. Gale—didn’t hear anything of what I was saying. He sneaked up on us before I was aware any one was near but ourselves.”

  “I don’t imagine he heard very much, Tom,” said Mr. Damon. “He may have heard you mention a silent motor—”

  “That’s just what I wish he hadn’t heard,” broke in Tom. “That’s the germ of the idea, and once it becomes known that I am working on that— Well, there’s no use crying over spilled milk,” and he smiled at the homely proverb. “I’ll have to work in secret, once I’ve started.”

  “Do you think the government would use it, Tom?” asked his friend.

  “I should think it would be glad to. Consider what a wonderful part airships are playing in the present war. It really is a struggle to see which will be the master of the sky—the Allies or the Germans—and, up to recently, the Huns had the advantage. Then the Allies, recognizing how vital it was, began to forge ahead, and now Uncle Sam with his troops under General Pershing is leading everything, or will lead shortly. We have been a bit slow with our aircraft production, but now we are booming along. Uncle Sam will soon have the mastery of the sky.”

  “I hope so,” sighed Mr. Damon. “We must beat the Germans!”

  Briefly, Tom spoke of what Pershing’s men were doing with their aeroplanes in France, and mention was made of what the French and British had done prior to the entrance of the United States into the World War.

  “While we were yet neutral, Americans had made gallant names for themselves flying for France, and with my silent motor they ought to do better,” declared Tom.

  “Is silence its chief recommendation?” asked Mr. Damon.

  “Yes,” replied Tom. “Or rather, it will be when I have it perfected. Aeroplane motors now are about as compact and speedy as they can be made. It is only the terrific noise that is a handicap. It is a handicap to the pilots and observers in the craft, as they cannot communicate except through a special speaking tube, and this is not always satisfactory or sure. Then, too, the noise of an airship proclaims its approach to the enemy, sometimes long before it can be seen.

  “With a silent motor all this would be done away with. With my new craft, in case I can perfect it, the enemy’s lines can be approached as silently as the Indians used to approach the log cabins of the white settlers. That will be its great advantage—not that conversation can be more easily carried on, for that is, after all, an unimportant detail. But to approach the enemy’s lines in the silence of the night would be a distinct gain.”

  “I believe it would, Tom!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “And I should think, too, that Uncle Sam would be glad to get such a motor,” he added.

  “Well, he’ll have one to take if he wants it, if I can make my plans a success,” declared Tom. “That is, unless those other fellows get ahead of me.”

  “What other fellows?” asked Mr. Damon.

  “Gale, Ware and their crowd,” was the answer. “I fancy they are provoked because I wouldn’t agree to work for them, and now, that Gale overheard—as he must have—what I propose working on, they may try that game themselves.”

  “You mean try to turn out a silent motor?”

  “Yes. It would be a big feather in their cap for their company, so far, hasn’t been very successful on government orders. That’s why they came to me, I guess.”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised, Tom,” conceded Mr. Damon. “Since the government accepted your giant cannon and your great searchlight, you have come into greater prominence than ever before. And those two things are a wonderful success.”

  “Yes,” admitted Tom, modestly
enough, “the big electric light seems to have been of some benefit on the European battle front, and though they haven’t been able to make and transport as many of my giant cannons as I’d like to see over there, it is progressing, I understand.”

  And this is true. For the details of these two inventions of Tom Swift’s I refer my readers to the books bearing those titles. Sufficient to state here that the government was using these two inventions, and there had been no necessity for commandeering them either, since Tom had freely offered them at the declaration of war with Germany.

  “Well, since I can’t help you with my ‘Whizzer,’” said Mr. Damon, with a smile, “let me do what I can toward your silent motor, Tom. What are you going to call it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know—hadn’t thought of a name. I guess ‘Air Scout’ would be as good as any. That’s what it will be—a machine for silently scouting in the air. And now to get down to brass tacks, as the poet says, I believe I will—”

  “Gentleman to see you, Mr. Swift,” interrupted Jackson.

  “Bless my penwiper!” cried Mr. Damon. “More visitors! I hope it isn’t Gale or Ware come back to see what they can spy on!”

  CHAPTER VII

  A PROBLEM IN SOUND

  Tom Swift looked up with a distinct appearance of being annoyed that was unusual with him, for he was, nearly always, good-natured. But the frown that had replaced the pleasant look on his face while he was talking to Mr. Damon about the projected new air scout was at once wiped away as he looked at the card Jackson held out to him.

  “Bring him in right away!” he ordered. “He needn’t have stood on that ceremony.”

  “Well, he said it was a business call,” returned the mechanician with a cheerful grin, “and he said he wanted it done according to form. So he gave me his card to bring you.”

  “Who is it?” asked Mr. Damon, with the privilege of an old friend.

  “It’s Ned Newton,” Tom answered; “though why he’s putting on all this formality I can’t fathom.”

  Jackson went back to the main gate and told the man on guard there to admit Ned, who had so formally sent in his card.

  “Ah, Mr. Swift, I believe?” began the bank employee with that suave, formal air which usually precedes a business meeting.

  “That is my name,” said Tom, with a suppressed grin, and he spoke as stiffly as though to a perfect stranger.

  “Mr. Tom Swift, the great inventor?” went on Ned.

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, then I am at the right place. Just sign here, please, on the dotted line,” and he held out a blank form, and a fountain pen to Tom, who took them half mechanically.

  “Huh? What’s the big idea, Ned?” asked the young inventor, unable longer to carry on the joke. “Is this a warrant for my arrest, or merely a testimonial to you. If it’s the latter, and concerns your nerve, I’ll gladly sign it.”

  “Well, it’s something like that!” laughed Ned. “That’s your application for another block of Liberty Bonds, Tom, and I want you, as a personal favor to me, as a business favor to the bank, and as your plain duty to Uncle Sam, to double your last subscription.”

  Tom looked at the sum Ned had filled in on the blank form, and uttered a slight whistle of surprise.

  “That’s all right now,” said Ned, with the air of a professional salesman. “You can stand that and more, too. I’m letting you off easy. Why, I got Mary’s father—Mr. Nestor—for twice what he took last time, and Mary herself—hard as she’s working for the Red Cross—gave me a nice application. So it’s up to you to—”

  “Nuff said!” exclaimed Tom, sententiously, as he signed his name. “I may have to reconsider my recent refusal of the offer of the Universal Flying Machine Company, though, if I haven’t money enough to meet this subscription, Ned.”

  “Oh, you’ll meet it all right! Much obliged,” and Ned folded the Liberty Bond subscription paper and put it in his pocket. “But did you turn down the offer from those people?”

  “I did,” answered Tom. “But how did you know about it, Ned?”

  “First let me say that I’m glad you decided to have nothing to do with them. They’re a rich firm, and have lots of money, but I wouldn’t trust ’em, even if they have some government contracts. The way I happened to know they were likely to make you an offer is this,” continued Ned Newton.

  “They do business with one of the New York banks with which my bank—notice the accent on the my, Tom—is connected. The other day I happened to see some correspondence about you. These flying machine people asked our bank to find out certain things about you, and, as a matter of business, we had to give the information. Sort of a commercial agency report, you know, nothing unusual, and it isn’t the first time it’s been done since your business got so large. But that’s how I happened to know these fellows contemplated dickering with you.”

  “Do you know Gale or Ware?” Tom asked.

  “Not personally. But in a business way, Tom, I’d warn you to look out for them, as they’re sharp dealers. They put one over on the government all right, and there may be some unpleasant publicity to it later. But they’re putting up a big bluff, and pretending they can turn out a lot of flying machines for use in Europe. Why don’t you get busy on that end of the game, Tom?”

  “I know you’ve more than done your bit, with Liberty Bonds, subscriptions to the Y. M. C. A. and other war work, besides your war tank and other inventions. But you’re such a shark on flying machines I should think you’d offer your factory to the government for the production of aeroplanes.”

  “I would in a minute, Ned, and you know it; but the fact of the matter is my shops aren’t equipped for the production of anything in large numbers. We do mostly an experimenting business here, making only one or two of a certain machine. I have told the government officials they can have anything I’ve got, and you know they wouldn’t let me enlist when I was working on the war tank.”

  “Yes, I remember that,” said Ned. “You’re no slacker! I wanted to shoulder a rifle, too, but they keep me at this Liberty Loan work. Well, Uncle Sam ought to know.”

  “That’s what I say,” agreed Tom, “and that’s why I haven’t gone to the front myself. And now, as it happens, I’ve got something else in mind that may help Uncle Sam.”

  “What is it?”

  “A silent flying machine for scout work on the battle front,” Tom told his friend, and then he gave a few details, such as those he had been telling Mr. Damon.

  “Then I don’t wonder you turned down the offer of the Universal people,” remarked Ned, at the conclusion of the recital. “This will be a heap more help to the government, Tom, than working for those people, even at twenty-five thousand dollars a year. And if you get short, and can’t meet your newest Liberty Bond payments, why, I guess the bank will stretch your credit a little.”

  “Thanks!” laughed Tom, “but I’ll try not to ask them.”

  The friends talked together a little longer, and then Ned had to take his departure to solicit more subscriptions, while Mr. Damon went with him, the eccentric man saying he would go home to Waterfield.

  “But, bless my overshoes, Tom!” he exclaimed, as he departed, “don’t forget to let me know when you have your silent motor working. I want to see it.”

  “I’ll let you know,” was the promise given by the young inventor.

  “And watch out for those Universal people,” warned Ned. “I’m not telling you this as a bank official, for I’m not supposed to, but it’s personal.”

  “I’ll be on the watch,” said Tom. And, as he went into his private workshop, he wondered why it was his father and Ned had both warned him not to trust Gale and Ware.

  The next few days were busy ones for Tom Swift. Once he had made up his mind to go to work seriously on a silent motor, all else was put aside. He sent a note to Mary Nestor, telling her what he was going to do, and, asking her to say nothing about it, which, of course, Mary agreed to.

  “Come and see me when y
ou can,” she sent back word, “but I know you won’t have much chance when you’re experimenting with your invention. And I shall be working so hard for the Red Cross that I sha’n’t get much chance to entertain you. But the war can’t last forever.”

  “No,” agreed Tom with a sigh, as he put away her letter, “and thank goodness that it can’t!”

  The young inventor threw himself into the perplexing work of inventing a silent motor with all the fervor he had given to the production of his war tank, his giant cannon, his wonderful searchlight and other machines.

  “And,” mused Tom, as he sat at his work table with pencil and paper before him, “since this is a problem in acoustics, I had best begin. I suppose by going back to first principles, and after determining what makes an aeroplane engine noisy, try to figure out how to make it quiet. Now as to the first, the principle causes of noise are—”

  And at that instant there broke on Tom’s ears a succession of discordant sounds which seemed to be a combination of an Indian’s war whoop and a college student’s yells at a football game.

  “Now I wonder what that is!” mused the young inventor as he hastily arose. “Better solve that problem before I tackle the aeroplane motor.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  THROUGH THE ROOF

  Tom rushed from his private office, and when he reached the outer door he heard with more distinctness the sounds that had alarmed him. They seemed to come from a small building given over to electrical apparatus, and which, at the time, was not supposed to be in use. It had been Tom’s workroom, so to speak, when he was developing his electric runabout and rifle, but of late he had not spent much time in it.

  “Somebody’s in there!” reflected the young inventor, as he heard yells coming from the open door of the place. “And if it isn’t Koku and Eradicate I miss my guess! Wonder what they can be doing there.”

  He crossed the yard between his private office and the electrical shop in a few rapid strides, and, as he entered the latter place, he was greeted with a series of wild yells.