The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  In a short time the auto and the motor-cycle had carried the respective riders to the road through the woods. There the machines were left, and the party proceeded on foot. Tom had a revolver with him, and one member of Mr. Damon’s party also had a small one, more to scare dogs than for any other purpose. Tom gave his weapon to one of the men, and cut a stout stick for himself, an example followed by those who had no firearms.

  “A club for mine!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “The less I have to do with machinery the better I like it. Now, Tom Swift is just the other way around,” he explained to his friends.

  Cautiously they approached the house, and when within seeing distance of it they paused for a consultation. There seemed to be no one stirring about the old mansion, and Tom was fearful lest the men had left. But this could not be determined until they came closer. Two of Mr. Damon’s friends elected to go down to the shore of the lake and prevent any escape in that direction, while the others, including Tom, were to approach from the wood side. When the two who were to form the water attacking party were ready, one of them was to fire his revolver as a signal. Then Tom, Mr. Damon and the others would rush in.

  The young inventor, Mr. Damon, and his friend, whom he addressed as Mr. Benson, went as close to the house as they considered prudent. Then, screening themselves in the bushes, they waited. They conversed in whispers, Tom giving more details of his experience with the patent thieves.

  Suddenly the silence of the woods was broken by some one advancing through the underbrush.

  “Bless my gaiters, some one is coming!” exclaimed Mr. Damon in a hoarse whisper. “Can that be Munson or Dwight coming back?” He referred to his two friends who had gone to the lake.

  “Or perhaps the fellows are escaping,” suggested Mr. Benson. “Suppose we take a look.”

  At that moment the person approaching, whoever he was, began to sing. Tom started.

  “I’ll wager that’s Happy Harry, the tramp!” he exclaimed. “I know his voice.”

  Cautiously Tom peered over the screen of bushes.

  “Who is it?” asked Mr. Damon.

  “It’s Happy Harry!” said Tom. “We’ll get them all, now. He’s going up to the house.”

  They watched the tramp. All unconscious of the eyes of the men and boy in the bushes, he kept on. Presently the door of the house opened, and a man came out. Tom recognized him as Anson Morse—the person who had dropped the telegram.

  “Say, Burke,” called the man at the door, “have you taken the motor-boat?”

  “Motor-boat? No,” answered the tramp. “I just came here. I’ve had a hard time—nearly got caught in Swift’s house the other night by that cub of a boy. Is the boat gone?”

  “Yes. Appleson came back in it last night and saw some one looking in the window, but we thought it was only a farmer and chased him away. This morning the boat’s gone. I thought maybe you had taken it for a joke.”

  “Not a bit of it! Something’s wrong!” exclaimed Happy Harry. “We’d better light out. I think the police are after us. That young Swift is too sharp for my liking. We’d better skip. I don’t believe that was a farmer who looked in the window. Tell the others, get the stuff, and we’d leave this locality.”

  “They’re here still,” whispered Tom. “That’s good!”

  “I wonder if Munson and Dwight are at the lake yet?” asked Mr. Damon. “They ought to be—”

  At that instant a pistol shot rang out. The tramp, after a hasty glance around, started on the run for the house. The man in the doorway sprang out. Soon two others joined him.

  “Who fired that shot?” cried Morse.

  “Come on, Tom!” cried Mr. Damon, grabbing up his club and springing from the bushes. “Our friends have arrived!” The young inventor and Mr. Benson followed him.

  No sooner had they come into the open space in front of the house than they were seen. At the same instant, from the rear, in the direction of the lake, came Mr. Munson and Mr. Dwight.

  “We’re caught!” cried Happy Harry.

  He made a dash far the house, just as a man, carrying a box, rushed out.

  “There it is! The model and papers are in that box!” cried Tom. “Don’t let them get away with it!”

  The criminals were taken by surprise. With leveled weapons the attacking party closed in on them. Mr. Damon raised his club threateningly.

  “Surrender! Surrender!” he cried. “We have you! Bless my stars, but you’re captured! Surrender!”

  “It certainly looks so,” admitted Anson Morse. “I guess they have us, boys.”

  The man with the box made a sudden dash toward the woods, but Tom was watching him. In an instant he sprang at him, and landed on the fellow’s back. The two went down in a heap, and when Tom arose he had possession of the precious box.

  “I have it! I have it!” he cried. “I’ve got dad’s model back!”

  The man who had had possession of the box quickly arose, and, before any one could stop him, darted into the bushes.

  “After him! Catch him! Bless my hat-band, stop him!” shouted Mr. Damon.

  Instinctively his friends turned to pursue the fugitive, forgetting, for the instant, the other criminals. The men were quick to take advantage of this, and in a moment had disappeared in the dense woods. Nor could any trace be found of the one with whom Tom had struggled.

  “Pshaw! They got away from us!” cried Mr. Damon regretfully. “Let’s see if we can’t catch them. Come on, we’ll organize a posse and run them down.” He was eager for the chase, but his companions dissuaded him. Tom had what he wanted, and he knew that his father would prefer not to prosecute the men. The lad opened the box, and saw that the model and papers were safe.

  “Let those fellows go,” advised the young inventor, and Mr. Damon reluctantly agreed to this. “I guess we’ve seen the last of them,” added the youth, but he and Mr. Swift had not, for the criminals made further trouble, which will be told of in the second volume of this series, to be called “Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat; or, The Rivals of Lake Carlopa.” In that our hero will be met in adventures even more thrilling than those already related, and Andy Foger, who so nearly ran Tom down in the automobile, will have a part in them.

  “Now,” said Mr. Damon, after it had been ascertained that no one was injured, and that the box contained all of value that had been stolen, “I suppose you are anxious to get back home, Tom, aren’t you? Will you let me take you in my car? Bless my spark plug, but I’d like to have you along in case of another accident!”

  The lad politely declined, however, and, with the valuable model and papers safe on his motor-cycle, he started for Shopton. Arriving at the first village after leaving the woods, Tom telephoned the good news to his father, and that afternoon was safely at home, to the delight of Mr. Swift and Mrs. Baggert.

  The inventor lost no time in fully protecting his invention by patents. As for the unprincipled men who made an effort to secure it, they had so covered up their tracks that there was no way of prosecuting them, nor could any action be held against Smeak & Katch, the unscrupulous lawyers.

  “Well,” remarked Mr. Swift to Tom, a few nights after the recovery of the model, “your motor-cycle certainly did us good service. Had it not been for it I might never have gotten back my invention.”

  “Yes, it did come in handy,” agreed the young inventor. “There’s that motor-boat, too. I wish I had it. I don’t believe those fellows will ever come back for it. I turned it over to the county authorities, and they take charge of it for a while. I certainly had some queer adventures since I got this machine from Mr. Damon,” concluded Tom. I think my readers will agree with him.

  TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-BOAT

  CHAPTER I

  A MOTOR-BOAT AUCTION

  “Where are you going, Tom?” asked Mr. Barton Swift of his son as the young man was slowly pushing his motor-cycle out of the yard toward the country road. “You look as though you had some object in view.”

  “So I have, dad. I’
m going over to Lanton.”

  “To Lanton? What for?”

  “I want to have a look at that motor-boat.”

  “Which boat is that, Tom? I don’t recall your speaking about a boat over at Lanton. What do you want to look at it for?”

  “It’s the motor-boat those fellows had who tried to get away with your turbine model invention, dad. The one they used at the old General Harkness mansion, in the woods near the lake, and the same boat that fellow used when he got away from me the day I was chasing him here.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember now. But what is the boat doing over at Lanton?”

  “That’s where it belongs. It’s the property of Mr. Bently Hastings. The thieves stole it from him, and when they ran away from the old mansion, the time Mr. Damon and I raided the place, they left the boat on the lake. I turned it over to the county authorities, and they found out it belonged to Mr. Hastings. He has it back now, but I understand it’s somewhat damaged, and he wants to get rid of it. He’s going to sell it at auction today, and I thought I’d go over and take a look at it. You see—”

  “Yes, I see, Tom,” exclaimed Mr. Swift with a laugh. “I see what you’re aiming at. You want a motor-boat, and you’re going all around Robin Hood’s barn to get at it.”

  “No, dad, I only—”

  “Oh, I know you, Tom, my lad!” interrupted the inventor, shaking his finger at his son, who seemed somewhat confused. “You have a nice rowing skiff and a sailboat, yet you are hankering for a motor-boat. Come now, own up. Aren’t you?”

  “Well, dad, a motor-boat certainly would go fine on Lake Carlopa. There’s plenty of room to speed her, and I wonder there aren’t more of them. I was going to see what Mr. Hastings’ boat would sell for, but I didn’t exactly think of buying it’ Still—”

  “But you wouldn’t buy a damaged boat, would you?”

  “It isn’t much damaged,” and in his eagerness the young inventor (for Tom Swift had taken out several patents) stood his motor-cycle up against the fence and came closer to his father. “It’s only slightly damaged,” he went on. “I can easily fix it. I looked it all over before I gave it in charge of the authorities, and it’s certainly a fine boat. It’s worth nine hundred dollars—or it was when it was new.”

  “That’s a good deal of money for a boat,” and Mr. Swift looked serious, for though he was well off, he was inclined to be conservative.

  “Oh, I shouldn’t think of paying that much. In fact, dad, I really had no idea of bidding at the auction. I only thought I’d go over and get an idea of what the boat might sell for. Perhaps some day—”

  Tom paused. Since his father had begun to question him some new plans had come into the lad’s head. He looked at his parent and saw a smile beginning to work around the corners of Mr. Swift’s lips. There was also a humorous look in the eyes of the older inventor. He understood boys fairly well, even if he only had one, and he knew Tom perfectly.

  “Would you really like to make a bid on that boat Tom?” he asked.

  “Would I, dad? Well—” The youth did not finish, but his father knew what he meant.

  “I suppose a motor-boat would be a nice thing to have on Lake Carlopa,” went on Mr. Swift musingly. “You and I could take frequent trips in it. It isn’t like a motor-cycle, only useful for one. What do you suppose the boat will go for, Tom?”

  “I hardly know. Not a high price, I believe, for motor-boats are so new on our lake that few persons will take a chance on them. But if Mr. Hastings is getting another, he will not be so particular about insisting on a high price for the old one. Then, too, the fact that it is damaged will help to keep the price down, though I know I can easily put it in good shape. I would like to make a bid, if you think it’s all right.”

  Well, I guess you may, Tom, if you really want it. You have money of your own and a motor-boat is not a bad investment. What do you think ought to be the limit?”

  “Would you consider a hundred and fifty dollars too high?”

  Mr. Swift looked at Tom critically. He was plainly going over several matters in his mind, and not the least of them was the pluck his son had shown in getting back some valuable papers and a model from a gang of thieves. The lad certainly was entitled to some reward, and to allow him to get a boat might properly be part of it.

  “I think you could safely go as high as two hundred dollars, Tom,” said Mr. Swift at length. “That would be my limit on a damaged boat for it might be better to pay a little more and get a new one. However, use your own judgment, but don’t go over two hundred. So the thieves who made so much trouble for me stole that boat from Mr. Hastings, eh?”

  “Yes, and they didn’t take much care of it either. They damaged the engine, but the hull is in good shape. I’m ever so glad you’ll let me bid on it. I’ll start right off. The auction is at ten o’clock and I haven’t more than time to get there.”

  “Now be careful how you bid. Don’t raise your own figures, as I’ve sometimes seen women, and men too, do in their excitement. Somebody may go over your head; and if he does, let them. If you get the boat I’ll be very glad on your account. But don’t bring any of Anson Morse’s gang back in it with you. I’ve seen enough of them.”

  “I’ll not dad!” cried Tom as he trundled his motor-cycle out of the gate and into the country road that led to the village of Shopton, where he lived, and to Lanton, where the auction was to be held. The young inventor had not gone far before he turned back, leaving his machine standing on the side path.

  “What’s the matter?” asked his father, who had started toward one of several machine shops on the premises—shops where Mr. Swift and his son did inventive work.

  “Guess I’d better get a blank check and some money,” replied Tom as he entered the house. “I’ll need to pay a deposit if I secure the boat.”

  “That’s so. Well, good luck,” and with his mind busy on a plan for a new kind of storage battery, the inventor went on to his workroom. Tom got some cash and his checkbook from a small safe he owned and was soon speeding over the road to Lanton, his motor-cycle making quite a cloud of dust. While he is thus hurrying along to the auction I will tell you something about him.

  Tom Swift, son of Barton Swift, lived with his father and a motherly housekeeper, Mrs. Baggert, in a large house on the outskirts of the town of Shopton, in New York State. Mr. Swift had acquired considerable wealth from his many inventions and patents, but he did not give up working out his ideas simply because he had plenty of money. Tom followed in the footsteps of his parent and had already taken out several patents.

  Shortly before this story opens the youth had become possessed of a motor-cycle in a peculiar fashion. As told in the first volume of this series, entitled “Tom Swift and His Motor-cycle,” Tom was riding to the town of Mansburg on an errand for his father one day when he was nearly run down by a motorcyclist. A little later the same motorcyclist, who was a Mr. Wakefield Damon, of Waterfield, collided with a tree near Tom’s home and was severely cut and bruised, the machine being broken. Tom and his father cared for the injured rider, and Mr. Damon, who was an eccentric individual, was so disheartened by his attempts to ride the motor-cycle that he sold it to Tom for fifty dollars, though it had cost much more.

  About the same time that Tom bought the motor-cycle a firm of rascally lawyers, Smeak & Katch by name, had, in conjunction with several men, made an attempt to get control of an invention of a turbine motor perfected by Mr. Swift. The men, who were Ferguson Appleson, Anson Morse, Wilson Featherton, alias Simpson, and Jake Burke, alias Happy Harry, who sometimes disguised himself as a tramp, tried several times to steal the model.

  Their anxiety to get it was due to the fact that they had invested a large sum in a turbine motor invented by another man, but their motor would not work and they sought to steal Mr. Swift’s. Tom was sent to Albany on his motor-cycle to deliver the model and some valuable papers to Mr. Crawford, of the law firm of Reid & Crawford, of Washington, attorneys for Mr. Swift. Mr. Crawford had an
errand in Albany and had agreed to meet Tom there with the model.

  But, on the way, Tom was attacked by the gang of unscrupulous men and the model was stolen. He was assaulted and carried far away in an automobile. In an attempt to capture the gang in a deserted mansion, in the woods on the shore of Lake Carlopa, Tom was aided by Mr. Damon, of whom he had purchased the motor-cycle. The men escaped, however, and nothing could be done to punish them.

  Tom was thinking of the exciting scenes he had passed through about a month previous as he spun along the road leading to Lanton.

  “I hope I don’t meet Happy Harry or any of his gang today,” mused the lad as he turned on a little more power to enable his machine to mount a hill. “I don’t believe they’ll attend the auction, though. It would be too risky for them.”

  As Tom swung along at a rapid pace he heard, behind him, the puffing of an automobile, with the muffler cut out. He turned and cast a hasty glance behind.

  “I hope that ain’t Andy Foger or any of his cronies,” he said to himself. “He might try to run me down just for spite. He generally rushes along with the muffler open so as to attract attention and make folks think he has a racing car.”

  It was not Andy, however, as Tom saw a little later, as a man passed him in a big touring car. Andy Foger, as my readers will recollect, was a red-haired, squinty-eyed lad with plenty of money and not much else. He and his cronies, including Sam Snedecker, nearly ran Tom down one day, when the latter was on his bicycle, as told in the first volume of this series. Andy had been off on a tour with his chums during the time when Tom was having such strenuous adventures and had recently returned.

  “If I can only get that boat,” mused Tom as he swung back into the middle of the road after the auto had passed him, “I certainly will have lots of fun. I’ll make a week’s tour of Lake Carlopa and take dad and Ned Newton with me.” Ned was Tom’s most particular chum, but as young Newton was employed in the Shopton bank, the lad did not have much time for pleasure. Lake Carlopa was a large body of water, and it would take a moderately powered boat several days to make a complete circuit of the shore, so cut up into bays and inlets was it.