“I think I’ll try some of those Murolloas, as they call them, Tom,” announced Mary, having made her selection of the pastry. “And may I have another cup of tea?”
“Two if you like,” answered the young inventor. “They say tea is good for the nerves, and you seem to need something, judging by the way you jumped when that plate fell.”
“Oh, Tom, that isn’t fair! After the way we had to come down in your ’plane!” objected Mary.
“That’s right!” he conceded. “I forgot about that. My fault, entirely!”
Mary smiled, and seemed to have regained her composure. Tom glanced at her anxiously, not because of what he thought might be the state of her nerves, but to see if she had sensed anything the two men behind the screen had said. But the girl gave no indication that her mind had been occupied with anything more than the selection of her dessert.
“I wonder who they are, and what they meant by that talk,” mused Tom, as the waiter served the Murolloas to him and Mary. “Poor Baxter! It looks as if he might have more enemies than the fireworks men he accuses of having taken his valuable formulae. I must see him soon, and have a talk with him. Yes, I must make a special point to see Josephus Baxter. But first I’d like to have a glimpse of these men.”
Tom’s wish in this respect was soon gratified, for before he and Mary had finished their pastry and tea there was a scraping of chairs back of the sheltering screen, and the two men, “Mr. Low” and “Mr. High,” who had finished their meal, came forth.
Tom’s judgment as to the statures of the men, based on the quality of their voices, was not exactly borne out. For it was the big man who had the high pitched, squeaky voice, and the little man who had the deep, rumbling tones.
They passed out, without more than a glance at Tom and his companion, but the young inventor peered at them sharply. As far as he could tell he had seen neither of them before, though he had an idea of their identity.
Tom took the chance to make certain this conjecture when Mary left her seat, announcing that she was going to the ladies’ parlor to arrange her hair, which the run to escape from the rain had disarranged.
“Some storm,” Tom observed to the waiter, who came up when the young inventor indicated that he wanted his check.
“Yes, sir, it came suddenly. Hope you didn’t have to change a tire in it, sir.”
“No, my machine isn’t that kind,” replied Tom, as he handed out a generous tip. “If I need a new tire I generally need a whole new outfit.”
“Oh, then—” Obviously the man was puzzled.
“We came in an aeroplane,” Tom explained. “But we had to make a forced landing. Is there a garage near here? I may need some help getting started.”
“We accommodate a few cars in what was once the barn, and we have a good mechanic, sir. If you’d like to see him—”
“I would,” interrupted Tom. “Tell the young lady to wait here for me. I’ll see if I can get the Scud to work. If not, I’ll have to telephone to town for a taxi. Did those men who just left come in a car?” and he nodded in the direction taken by the two who had dined behind the screen.
“Yes, sir. And they had engine trouble, I believe. Our man fixed up their machine.”
“Then he’s the chap I want to see,” thought Tom. “I’ll have a talk with him.” He reasoned that he could get more about the identity of the two mysterious men from the mechanic than from the waiter. Nor was he wrong in this surmise.
“Oh, them two fellers!” exclaimed the mechanician, after he had agreed to go with Tom to where the airship Scud was stalled. “They come from over Shopton way. They own a fireworks factory—or they did, before it burned.”
“Are they Field and Melling?” asked Tom, trying not to let any excitement betray itself in his voice.
“That’s the names they gave me,” said the man. “Little man’s Field. He gave me his card. I’m going to get a job overhauling his car. There isn’t enough work here to keep a man busy, and I told ’em I could do a little on the outside. This place just started, and not many folks know about it yet.”
“So I judge,” Tom said. “Well, I’ll be glad to have you give me a hand. I fancy the carburetor is out of order.”
And this, when the young inventor and the mechanician from Meadow Inn reached the stranded Scud, was found to be the case. The storm had passed, and Mary told Tom she would not mind waiting at the Inn until he found whether or not he could get his air craft in working order.
“There you are! That’s the trouble!” exclaimed the mechanician, as he took something out of the carburetor. “A bit of rubber washer choked the needle valve.”
“Glad you found it,” said Tom heartily. “Now I guess we can ride back.”
While preparations were being made to test the Scud after the carburetor had been reassembled, Tom’s mind was busy with many thoughts, and chief among them were suspicions concerning Field and Melling.
“If their talk meant anything at all,” reasoned the young inventor, “it meant that there was some deal in which Josephus Baxter got the worst of it. ‘Putting it over on him in the fire,’ could only mean that. Of course it isn’t any of my business, in a way, but I don’t think it is right to stand by and see a fellow inventor defrauded.
“Of course,” mused Tom, while his helper put the finishing touches to the carburetor, “it may have been a business deal in which one took as many chances as the other. There are always two sides to every story. Baxter says they took his formulae, but he may have taken something from them to make it even. The only thing is that I’d trust Baxter sooner than I would those two fellows, and he certainly had a narrow squeak at the fire.
“But I have my own troubles, I guess, trying to perfect that fire-fighting chemical, and I haven’t much time to bother with Field and Melling, unless they come my way.”
“There, I reckon she’ll work,” said the mechanician, as he fastened the last valve in the carburetor. “It was an easier job than I expected. Wasn’t as much trouble as I had over their car those two fellers you were speaking of—Field and Melling. They’re rich guys!”
“Yes?” replied Tom, questioningly.
“Sure! They’ve started a big dye company.”
“A dye company?” repeated the young inventor, all his suspicions coming back as he recalled that Baxter had said his formulae were more valuable for dyes than for fireworks.
“Yes, they’re trying to get the business that used to go to the Germans before the war,” went on the man.
“Yes, the Germans used to have a monopoly of the dye industry,” said Tom, hoping the man would talk on. He need not have worried. He was of the talkative type.
“Well, if these fellers have their way they’ll make a million in dyes,” proceeded the mechanician, as he stepped down out of the airship. “They’ve built a big plant, and they have offices in the Landmark Building.”
“Where’s that?” asked Tom.
“Over in Newmarket,” the man went on, naming the nearest large city to Shopton. “The Landmark Building is a regular New York skyscraper. Haven’t you seen it?”
“No,” Tom answered, “I haven’t. Been too busy, I guess. So Field and Melling have their offices there?”
“Yes, and a big plant on the outskirts for making dyes. They half offered me a job at the factory, but I thought I’d try this out first; I like it here.”
“It is a nice place,” agreed Tom. “Well, now let’s see if she’ll work,” and he nodded at the Scud.
It needed but a short test to demonstrate this and soon Tom went back to the Inn for Mary.
“Are you sure we shall not have to make another forced landing?” she asked with a smile, a she took her place in the cockpit.
“You can’t guarantee anything about an aeroplane,” said Tom. “But everything is in our favor, and if we do have to come down I have a better landing field than this.” He glanced over the meadow near the wayside inn.
“I suppose I’ll have to take a chance,�
� said Mary.
However, neither of them need have worried, for the Scud tried, evidently, to redeem herself, and flew back to Shopton without a hitch. After making sure that his engine was running smoothly, Tom found his mind more at ease, and again he caught himself casting about to find some basis for his suspicious thoughts regarding the two men who had talked behind the screen.
“What is their game?” Tom found himself asking himself over and over again. “What did they ‘put over’ on poor Baxter?”
Tom had a chance to find out more about this, or at least start on the trail sooner than he expected. For when he landed he saw Koku, the giant, coming toward him with an appearance of excitement.
“Is Rad worse? Is there more trouble with his eyes?” asked the young inventor.
“No, him not much too bad,” answered Koku. “I keep him good as I can. He sleep now, so I come out to swallow some fresh air. But man come to see you—much mad man.”
“Mad?” queried Tom.
“Well, what you say—angry,” went on Koku. “Man what was in Roman Skycracker blaze.”
“Oh, you mean Mr. Baxter, who was in the fireworks blaze,” translated Tom. “Where is he, and what’s the matter?”
CHAPTER X
ANOTHER ATTEMPT
Koku managed to make Tom understand that the dye inventor was in the main office of the Swift plant talking to Tom’s father. The young inventor sent Mary home in his electric runabout in company with Ned Newton, who, fortunately, happened along just then, and hurried to his office.
“Oh, Tom, I’m glad you have arrived,” said his father. “You remember Mr. Baxter, of course.”
“I should hope so,” Tom answered, extending his hand. He noticed that the man whom he had helped save from the fireworks blaze was under the stress of some excitement.
“I hope he hasn’t been getting on dad’s nerves,” thought Tom, as he took a seat. The elder Mr. Swift had been quite ill, and it was thought for a time that he would have to give up helping Tom. But there had been a turn for the better, and the aged inventor had again taken his place in the laboratory, though he was frail.
“What’s the trouble now?” asked Tom. “At least I assume there has been some trouble,” he went on. “If I am wrong—”
“No, you are right, unfortunately,” said Mr. Baxter gloomily. “The trouble is that everything I do is a failure. Up to a little while ago I thought I might succeed, in spite of Field and Melling’s theft of the formulae from me. I made a purple dye the other day, and tested it today. It was a miserable failure, and it got on my nerves. I came to see if you could help me.”
“In what way?” asked Tom, wondering whether or not he had best tell Mr. Baxter what he had overheard at the Inn.
“Well, I need better laboratory facilities,” the man went on. “I know you have been very kind to me, Mr. Swift, and it seems like an imposition to ask for more. But I need a different lot of chemicals, and they cost money. I also need some different apparatus. You have it in your big laboratory. That wouldn’t cost you anything. But of course to go out and buy what I need—”
“Oh I guess we can stand that, can’t we, Dad?” asked Tom, with a genial smile. “You may have free access to our big laboratory, Mr. Baxter, and I’ll see that you get what chemicals you need.”
“Oh, thank you!” exclaimed the inventor. “Now I believe I shall succeed in spite of those rascals. Just think, Mr. Swift! They have started a big new dye factory.”
“So I have heard,” replied Tom.
“And I’m almost sure they’re using the secret formulae they stole from me!” exclaimed Mr. Baxter. “But I’ll get the best of them yet! I’ll invent a better dye than they ever can, even if they use the secrets the old Frenchman gave me. All I need is a better place to work and all the chemicals at my disposal.”
“Then we’ll try to help you,” offered Tom.
“And if I can do anything let me know,” put in Mr. Swift. “I shall be glad to get in the harness again, Tom!” he added.
“Well, if you’re so anxious to work, Dad, why not give me a hand with my fire extinguisher chemical?” asked Tom. “I haven’t been able to hit on the solution, somehow or other.”
“Perhaps I may be able to give you a hint or two after I get settled down,” suggested Mr. Baxter.
“I shall be glad of any assistance you can give,” replied Tom Swift. “And now I’m going to start right in. Dad, you can make the arrangements for Mr. Baxter to use our big laboratory. And let him have credit for any chemicals he needs. Have them put on my bill, for I am buying a lot myself.”
“I’ll never forget this,” said Mr. Baxter, and there were tears in his eyes as he shook hands with Tom, who tried to make light of his generous act.
Tom, after the wrecking of his laboratory, in which accident poor Eradicate was injured, had built himself another—two others, in fact, after having shared Mr. Baxter’s temporary one for a time. Tom put up the most completely equipped laboratory that could be devised, and he also erected a smaller one for his own personal use, the main one being at the disposal of his father and the various heads of the different departments of the Shopton plant.
The little conference broke up, and Tom was on his way to his own special private laboratory when there came the sound of some excitement in the corridor outside and Mr. Damon burst in.
“Bless my accident policy, Tom! what’s this I hear?” he asked, all in a fluster.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” answered the young inventor, with a smile. “What about?”
“About you and Mary Nestor being killed!” burst out Mr. Damon. “I heard you fell in the aeroplane and were both dashed to pieces!”
“If you can believe the evidence of your own eyes, I’m far from being in that state,” laughed Tom. “And as for Mary, she just left here with Ned Newton.”
“Thank goodness!” sighed Mr. Damon, sinking into a chair. “Bless my elevator! I rushed over as soon as I heard the news, and I was almost afraid to come in. I’m so glad it didn’t happen!”
“No gladder than I,” said Tom. “We had to make a forced landing, that was all,” and he made as light of the incident as possible when he saw the look of terror in his father’s eyes.
“Some people in Waterford saw you going down,” went on Mr. Damon, “and they told me.”
“It was a false alarm,” replied Tom. “And now, Mr. Damon, if you want to smell some perfumes come with me.”
“Are you going into that line, Tom?” asked the eccentric man. “Bless my handkerchief, my wife will be glad of that!”
“I mean I’m going to experiment some more with fire-extinguishing chemicals,” laughed the young inventor. “If you want to—”
“Bless my gas mask, I should say not!” cried Mr. Damon. “I don’t see how you stand those odors, Tom Swift.”
“Guess I’m used to ’em,” was the answer. And then, leaving his father to entertain Mr. Damon and to make arrangements for Mr. Baxter’s use of the main laboratory, he betook himself to his own private quarters.
The next week or so was a busy time for Tom; so busy, in fact, that he had little chance to see Mr. Baxter. All he knew was that the unfortunate man was also laboring in his own line, and Tom wished him success. He knew that if the man made any discoveries that would help with the fire-extinguishing fluid he would report, as he had promised.
“Well, Tom, how goes it?” asked Ned one day when he came over to call on his chum. “Are you ready to accept contracts for putting out skyscraper blazes in all big cities?”
“Not yet,” was the answer. “But I’m going to make another attempt, Ned.”
“You mean another experiment?”
“Yes, I have evolved a new combination of chemicals, using something of the carbonate idea as a basis. I found that I couldn’t get away from that, much as I wanted to. But my application is entirely new, at least I hope it will prove so.”
“When are you going to try it?” asked Ned.
&nbs
p; “Right away. All I have to do is to put the chemicals in the metal tank.”
“Then I’d better get my leather suit on,” remarked Ned, starting to take off his street coat. Tom kept for his chum a full outfit of flying garments, one suit being electrically heated.
“Oh, we aren’t going up in any airship,” Tom said.
“Why, I thought you were going to test your aerial fire fighting dingus!” exclaimed Ned.
“So I am. But I want to stay on the ground and watch the effect on the blaze as the tank bursts and scatters the chemical fluid.”
“Then you want me, and perhaps Mr. Damon to take the stuff up in the machine? Excuse me. I don’t believe I care to run an airship myself.”
“No,” went on Tom, “there isn’t any question of an airship this time. No one is going up. Come on out into the yard and I’ll show you.”
Ned Newton followed his chum out into the big yard near one of the shops. Erected in it, and evidently a new structure, was a large wooden scaffold in square tower shape with a long overhanging arm and a platform on the extremity. Beneath it was a pit dug in the earth, and in this pit, which was directly under the outstanding arm of the tower, was a pile of wood and shavings, oil-soaked.
“Oh, I see the game,” remarked Ned. “You’re going to drop the stuff from this height instead of doing it from an airship.”
“Yes,” Tom answered. “There will be time enough to go on with the airship end of it after I get the right combination of chemicals. And by having a metal container with the stuff in dropped from this frame work, I can station myself as near the burning pit as I can get and watch what happens.”
“It’s a good idea,” decided Ned. “I wonder you didn’t try that before.”
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 303
