CHAPTER XI.
A VINDICTIVE TRAMP
Though Tom's father had told him there was no necessity for anygreat speed, the young inventor could not resist the opportunity forpushing his machine to the limit. The road was a level one and ingood condition, so the motor-cycle fairly flew along. The day waspleasant, a warm sun shining overhead, and it was evident that earlysummer was crowding spring rather closely.
"This is glorious!" exclaimed Tom aloud as he spun along. "I'm glad Ipersuaded dad to let me take this trip. It was a great idea. Wish NedNewton was along, though. He'd be company for me, but, as Ned wouldsay, there are two good reasons why he can't come. One is he has towork in the bank, and the other is that he has no motor-cycle."
Tom swept past house after house along the road, heading in theopposite direction from that in which lay the town of Shopton andthe city of Mansburg. For several miles Tom's route would liethrough a country district. The first large town he would reachwould be Centreford. He planned to get lunch there, and he hadbrought a few sandwiches with him to eat along the road in case hebecame hungry before he reached the place.
"I hope the package containing the model doesn't jar off," mused thelad as he reached behind to make sure that the precious bundle wassafe. "Dad would be in a bad way if that should disappear. And thepapers, too." He put his hand to his inner pocket to feel that theywere secure. Coming to a little down-grade, Tom shut off some of thepower, the new levers he had arranged to control the gasolene andspark working well.
"I think I'll take the old wood road and pass through Pompville,"Tom decided, after covering another mile or two. He was approachinga division in the highway. "It's a bit sandy," he went on, "and thegoing will be heavy, but it will be a good chance to test mymachine. Besides, I'll save five miles, and, while I don't have tohurry, I may need time on the other end. I'd rather arrive in Albanya little before dusk than after dark. I can deliver the model andpapers and have a good night's sleep before starting back. So theold wood road it will be."
The wood road, as Tom called it, was a seldom used highway, which,originally, was laid out for just what the name indicated, to bringwood from the forest. With the disappearance of most of the treesthe road became more used for ordinary traffic between the towns ofPompville and Edgefield. But when the State built a new highwayconnecting these two places the old road fell into disuse, though itwas several miles shorter than the new turnpike.
He turned from the main thoroughfare, and was soon spinning alongthe sandy stretch, which was shaded with trees that in some placesmet overhead, forming a leafy arch. It was cool and pleasant, andTom liked it.
"It isn't as bad as I thought," he remarked. "The sand is prettythick, but this machine of mine appears to be able to crawl throughit."
Indeed, the motor-cycle was doing remarkably well, but Tom foundthat he had to turn on full power, for the big rubber wheels wentdeep into the soft soil. Along Tom rode, picking out the firmestplaces in the road. He was so intent on this that he did not paymuch attention to what was immediately ahead of him, knowing that hewas not very likely to meet other vehicles or pedestrians. He wasconsiderably startled therefore when, as he went around a turn inthe highway where the bushes grew thick, right down to the edge ofthe road, to see a figure emerge from the underbrush and startacross the path. So quickly did the man appear that Tom was almostupon him in an instant, and even though the young inventor shut offthe power and applied the brake, the front wheel hit the man andknocked him down.
"What's the matter with you? What are you trying to do--kill me? Whydon't you ring a bell or blow a horn when you're coming?" The man hadsprung up from the soft sand where the wheel from the motor-cycle hadsent him and faced Tom angrily. Then the rider, who had quicklydismounted, saw that his victim was a ragged tramp.
"I'm sorry," began Tom. "You came out of the bushes so quickly thatI didn't have a chance to warn you. Did I hurt you much?"
"Well, youse might have. 'Tain't your fault dat youse didn't," andthe tramp began to brush the dirt from his ragged coat. Tom wasinstantly struck by a curious fact. The tramp in his second remarksused language more in keeping with his character, whereas, in hisfirst surprise and anger, he had talked much as any other personwould. "Youse fellers ain't got no right t' ride dem machines likelightnin' along de roads," the ragged chap went on, and he stillclung to the use of words and expressions current among hisfraternity. Tom wondered at it, and then, ascribing the use of thebetter language to the fright caused by being hit by the machine,the lad thought no more about it at the time. There was occasion,however, when he attached more meaning to it.
"I'm very sorry," went on Tom. "I'm sure I didn't mean to. You see,I was going quite slowly, and--"
"You call dat slow, when youse hit me an' knocked me down?" demandedthe tramp. "I'd oughter have youse arrested, dat's what, an' I wouldif dere was a cop handy."
"I wasn't going at all fast," said Tom, a little nettled that hisconciliatory words should be so rudely received. "If I had beengoing full speed I'd have knocked you fifty feet."
"It's a good thing. Cracky, den I'm glad dat youse wasn't goin' likedat," and the tramp seemed somewhat confused. This time Tom lookedat him more closely, for the change in his language had been veryplain. The fellow seemed uneasy, and turned his face away. As he didso Tom caught a glimpse of what he was sure was a false beard. Itwas altogether too well-kept a beard to be a natural one for such adirty tramp as this one appeared to be.
"That fellow's disguised!" Tom thought. "He's playing a part. Iwonder if I'd better take chances and spring it on him that I'm onto his game?"
Then the ragged man spoke again:
"I s'pose it was part my fault, cully. I didn't know dat any guy wascomin' along on one of dem buzz-machines, or I'd been more careful.I don't s'pose youse meant to upset me?" and he looked at Tom moreboldly. This time his words seemed so natural, and his beard, nowthat Tom took a second look at it, so much a part of himself, thatthe young inventor wondered if he could have been mistaken in hisfirst surmise.
"Perhaps he was once a gentleman, and has turned tramp because ofhard luck," thought Tom. "That would account for him using goodlanguage at times. Guess I'd better keep still." Then to the tramphe said: "I'm sure I didn't mean to hit you. I admit I wasn'tlooking where I was going, but I never expected to meet any one onthis road. I certainly didn't expect to see a--"
He paused in some confusion. He was about to use the term "tramp,"and he hesitated, not knowing how it would be received by hisvictim.
"Oh, dat's all right, cully. Call me a tramp--I know dat's whatyouse was goin' t' say. I'm used t' it. I've been a hobo so manyyears now dat I don't mind. De time was when I was a decent chap,though. But I'm a tramp now. Say, youse couldn't lend me a quarter,could youse?"
He approached closer to Tom, and looked quickly up and down theroad. The highway was deserted, nor was there any likelihood thatany one would come along. Tom was somewhat apprehensive, for thetramp was a burly specimen. The young inventor, however, was not somuch alarmed at the prospect of a personal encounter, as that hefeared he might be robbed, not only of his money, but the valuablepapers and model he carried. Even if the tramp was content withtaking his money, it would mean that Tom would have to go back homefor more, and so postpone his trip.
So it was with no little alarm that he watched the ragged man comingnearer to him. Then a bright idea came into Tom's head. He quicklyshifted his position so that he brought the heavy motor-cyclebetween the man and himself. He resolved, if the tramp showed adisposition to attack him, to push the machine over on him, and thiswould give Tom a chance to attack the thief to better advantage.However, the "hobo" showed no evidence of wanting to resort tohighwayman methods. He paused a short distance from the machine, andsaid admiringly:
"Dat's a pretty shebang youse has."
"Yes, it's very fair," admitted Tom, who was not yet breathingeasily.
"Kin youse go far on it?"
"Two hundred miles a day, easily."
"Fer cats' sake! An' I can't make dat ridin' on de blind baggage;but dat's 'cause I gits put off so much. But say, is youse goin' tolet me have dat quarter? I need it, honest I do. I ain't had nuttin't' eat in two days."
The man's tone was whining. Surely he seemed like a genuine tramp,and Tom felt a little sorry for him. Besides, he felt that he owedhim something for the unceremonious manner in which he had knockedthe fellow down. Tom reached his hand in his pocket for some change,taking care to keep the machine between himself and the tramp.
"Are youse goin' far on dat rig-a-ma-jig?" went on the man as helooked carefully over the motor-cycle.
"To Albany," answered Tom, and the moment the words were out of hismouth he wished he could recall them. All his suspicions regardingthe tramp came back to him. But the ragged chap appeared to attachno significance to them.
"Albany? Dat's in Jersey, ain't it?" he asked.
"No, it's in New York," replied Tom, and then, to change thesubject, he pulled out a half-dollar and handed it to the man. As hedid so Tom noticed that the tramp had tattooed on the little fingerof his left hand a blue ring.
"Dat's de stuff! Youse is a reg'lar millionaire, youse is!"exclaimed the tramp, and his manner seemed in earnest. "I'llremember youse, I will. What's your name, anyhow, cully?"
"Tom Swift," replied our hero, and again he wished he had not told.This time he was sure the tramp started and glanced at him quickly,but perhaps it was only his imagination.
"Tom Swift," repeated the man musingly, and his tones were differentfrom the whining ones in which he had asked for money. Then, as ifrecollecting the part he was playing, he added: "I s'pose dey callsyouse dat because youse rides so quick on dat machine. But I'mcertainly obliged to youse--Tom Swift, an' I hopes youse gits t'Albany, in Jersey, in good time."
He turned away, and Tom was beginning to breathe more easily whenthe ragged man, with a quick gesture, reached out and grabbed holdof the motor-cycle. He gave it such a pull that it was nearly tornfrom Tom's grasp. The lad was so startled at the sudden exhibitionof vindictiveness an the part of the tramp that he did not know whatto do. Then, before he could recover himself, the tramp darted intothe bushes.
"I guess Happy Harry--dat's me--has spoiled your ride t' Albany!"the tramp cried. "Maybe next time youse won't run down poor fellerson de road," and with that, the ragged man, shaking his fist at Tom,was lost to sight in the underbrush.
"Well, if that isn't a queer end up," mused Tom. "He must be crazy.I hope I don't meet you again, Happy Harry, or whatever your nameis. Guess I'll get out of this neighborhood."
Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle; Or, Fun and Adventures on the Road Page 11