The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “Bless my very existence, but what a thing it is to have a head for mechanics!” exclaimed the odd man gratefully. “Now it would bother me to adjust a nutmeg grater if it got out of order, but I dare say you could fix it in no time.”

  “Yes,” answered Tom, “I could and so could you, for there’s nothing about it to fix. But you can go ahead now if you wish.”

  “Thank you. It just shows how ignorant I am of machinery. I presume something will go wrong in another mile or two. But may I ask what you are doing here? I presume you are in your motor-boat, sailing about for pleasure. And didn’t I understand you to say you were after those chaps again? Bless my watch charm, but I was so interested in my machine that I didn’t think to ask you.”

  “Yes, I am after those thieves again.”

  “In your motor-boat, I presume. Well, I hope you catch them. What have they stolen now?”

  “My motor-boat. That’s why I’m after them, but I had to borrow a craft to chase them with.”

  “Bless my soul! You don’t tell me! How did it happen?”

  Thereupon the lad related as much of the story as was necessary to put Mr. Damon in possession of the facts and he ended up with:

  “I don’t suppose you have seen anything of the men in my boat, have you?”

  Mr. Damon seemed strangely excited. He had entered his auto, but as the lad’s story progressed the odd gentleman had descended. When Tom finished he exclaimed:

  “Don’t say a word now—not a word. I want to think, and that is a process, which, for me, requires a little time. Don’t speak a word now. Bless my left hand, but I think I can help you!”

  He frowned, stamped first one foot, then the other, looked up at the sky, as if seeking inspiration there, and then down at the ground, as if that would help him to think. Then he clapped his hands smartly together and cried out:

  “Bless my shoe buttons!”

  “Have you seen them?” asked Tom eagerly.

  “Was your boat one with a red arrow painted on the bow?” asked Mr. Damon in turn.

  “It was!” and the lad was now almost as excited as was his friend.

  “Then I’ve seen it and, what’s more, this morning! Bless my spark plug, I’ve seen it!”

  “Tell me about it!” pleaded the young inventor, and Mr. Damon, calming himself after an effort, resumed:

  “I was out for an early spin in my auto,” he said, “and was traveling along a road that bordered the lake, about fifteen miles above here. I heard a motor-boat puffing along near shore, and, looking through the trees, I saw one containing three men. It had a red arrow on the bow, and that’s why I noticed it, because I recalled that your boat was named the DART.”

  “Arrow,” corrected Tom.

  “The Arrow. Oh, yes, I knew it was something like that. Well of course at the time I didn’t think that it was your boat, but I associated it in my mind with yours. Do you catch my meaning?”

  Tom did and said so, wishing Mr. Damon would hurry and get to the point. But the eccentric character had to do things in his own way.

  “Exactly,” he resumed. “Well, I didn’t think that was your boat, but, at the same time, I watched the men out of curiosity, and I was struck with their behavior. They seemed to be quarreling, and, from what I could hear, two of them seemed to be remonstrating with the third one for having taken some sort of a piece of wood from the forward compartment. I believe that is the proper term.”

  “Yes!” Tom almost shouted. “But where did they go? What became of them? What was the man doing to the forward compartment—where the gasoline tank is?”

  “Exactly. I was trying to think what was kept there. That’s it, the gasoline tank. Well, the boat kept on up the lake, and I don’t know what became of the men. But about that piece of wood. It seems that one of the men removed a block, from under the tank and the others objected. That’s why they were quarreling.”

  “That’s very strange,” exclaimed the lad. “There must be some mystery about my boat that I don’t understand. But that will keep until I get the boat itself. Good-by, Mr. Damon. I must be off.”

  “Where to?”

  “Up the lake after those thieves. I must lose no time,” and Tom started to go back to where he had left the Red Streak.

  “Hold on!” cried Mr. Damon. “I have something to propose, Tom. Two heads are better than one, even if one doesn’t know how to adjust a nutmeg grate. Suppose I come along with you? I can point out the direction the men took, at any rate.”

  “I’ll be very glad to have you,” answered the lad, who felt that he might need help if there were three of the thieves in his craft. “But what will you do with your automobile?”

  “I’ll just run it down the road a way to where a friend of mine has a stable. I’ll leave it in there and join you. Will you let me come? Bless my eye glasses, but I’d like to help catch those scoundrels!”

  “I’ll be very glad to have you. Go ahead, put the auto in the barn and I’ll wait for you.”

  “I have a better plan than that,” replied Mr. Damon. “Run your boat down to that point,” and he indicated one about a mile up the lake. “I’ll be there waiting for you, and we’ll lose no time. I can cover the ground faster in my auto than you can in your boat.”

  Tom saw the advantage of this and was soon under way, while he heard on shore the puffing of his friend’s car. On the trip to the point Tom puzzled over the strange actions of the man in taking one of the braces from under the gasoline tank.

  “I’ll wager he did it before,” thought the lad. “It must be the same person who was tampering with the lock of the forward compartment the day I bought the boat. But why—that’s the question—why?”

  He could find no answer to this, puzzle over it as he did, and he gave it up. His whole desire now was to get on the trail of the thieves, and he had strong hopes, after the clue Mr. Damon had given him. The latter was waiting for him on the point, and so nimble was the owner of the auto, in spite of his size, that Tom was not delayed more than the fraction of a minute ere he was under way again, speeding up the lake.

  “Now keep well in toward shore,” advised Mr. Damon. “Those fellows don’t want to be observed any more than they can help, and they’ll sneak along the bank, They were headed in that direction,” and he pointed it out. “Now I hope you won’t think I’m in the way. Besides, you know, if you get your boat back, you’ll want some one to help steer it, while you run this one. I can do that, at all events, bless my very existence!”

  “I am very glad of your help,” replied the lad, but he did not take his eyes from the water before him, and he was looking for a sight of his boat with the men in it.

  For three hours or more Tom and Mr. Damon cruised in and out along the shore of the lake, going farther and farther up the body of water. Tom was beginning to think that he would reach Sandport without catching sight of the thieves, and he was wondering if, after all, he might not better stop off and see his father when, above the puffing of the motor in the Red Streak, he heard the put-put of another boat.

  “Listen!” cried Mr. Damon, who had heard it at the same time.

  Tom nodded.

  “They’re just ahead of us,” whispered his companion.

  “If it’s them,” was the lad’s reply.

  “Speed up and we’ll soon see,” suggested Mr. Damon, and Tom shoved the timer over. The Red Streak forged ahead. The sound of the other boat came more plainly now. It was beyond a little point of land. The young inventor steered out to get around it and leaned eagerly forward to catch the first glimpse of the unseen craft. Would it prove to be the Arrow?

  The put-put became louder now. Mr. Damon was standing up, as if that would, in some mysterious way, help. Then suddenly the other boat came into view. Tom saw it in an instant and knew it for the Arrow.

  “There she is!” he cried.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE PURSUIT

  For an instant after Tom’s exultant cry the men in the boat ahead
were not aware that they were being pursued. Then, as the explosions from the motor of the Red Streak sounded over the water, they turned to see who was coming up behind them. There was no mistaking the attitude of the young inventor and his companion. They were leaning eagerly forward, as if they could reach out and grasp the criminals who were fleeing before them.

  “Put on all the speed you can, Tom!” begged Mr. Damon. “We’ll catch the scoundrels now. Speed up the motor! Oh, if I only had my automobile now. Bless my crank shaft, but one can go so much faster on land than on water.”

  The lad did not reply, but thought, with grim humor, that running an automobile over Lake Carlopa would be no small feat. Mr. Damon, however, knew what he was saying.

  “We’ll catch them! We’ll nab ’em!” he cried. “Speed her up, Tom.”

  The youth was doing his best with the motor of the Red Streak. He was not as well acquainted with it as he was with the one in his boat, but he knew, even better than Andy Foger, how to make it do efficient work. It was a foregone conclusion that the Red Streak, if rightly handled, could beat the Arrow, but there were several points in favor of the thieves. The motor of Tom’s boat was in perfect order, and even an amateur, with some knowledge of a boat, could make it do nearly its best. On the other hand, the Red Streak’s machinery needed “nursing.” Again, the thieves had a good start, and that counted for much. But Tom counted on two other points. One was that Happy Harry and his gang would probably know little about the fine points of a motor. They had shown this in letting the motor of the boat they had first stolen get out of order, and Tom knew the ins and outs of a gasoline engine to perfection. So the chase was not so hopeless as it seemed.

  “Do you think you can catch them?” asked Mr. Damon anxiously.

  “I’m going to make a big try,” answered his companion.

  “They’re heading out into the middle of the lake!” cried the eccentric man.

  “If they do, I can cut them off!” murmured Tom as he put the wheel over.

  But whoever was steering the Arrow knew better than to send it on a course that would enable the pursuing boat to cut across and shorten the distance to it. After sending the stolen craft far enough out from shore to clear points of land that jutted out into the lake, the leading boat was sent straight ahead.

  “A stern chase and a long chase!” murmured Mr. Damon. “Bless my rudder, but those fellows are not going to give up easily.”

  “I guess not,” murmured Tom. “Will you steer for a while, Mr. Damon?”

  “Of course I will. If I could get out and pull the boat after me, to make it go faster, I would. But as I always lose my breath when I run, perhaps it’s just as well that I stay in here.” Tom thought so too, but his attention was soon given to the engine. He adjusted the timer to get if possible a little more speed out of the boat he had borrowed from Andy, and he paid particular attention to the oiling system.

  “We’re going a bit faster!” called Mr. Damon’ encouragingly, “or else they’re slacking up.”

  Tom peered ahead to see if this was so. It was hard to judge whether he was overhauling the Arrow, as it was a stern chase, and that is always difficult to judge. But a glimpse along shore showed him that they were slipping through the water at a faster speed.

  “They’re up to something!” suddenly exclaimed Mr. Damon a moment later. “I believe they’re going to fire on us, Tom. They are pointing something this way.”

  The lad stood up and gazed earnestly at his boat, which seemed to be slipping away from him so fast. One of the occupants was in the stern, aiming some glittering object at those in the Red Streak. For a moment Tom thought it might be a gun. Then, as the man turned, he saw what it was.

  “A pair of marine glasses,” cried the lad. “They’re trying to make out who we are.”

  “I guess they know well enough,” rejoined Mr. Damon. “Can’t you go any faster, Tom?”

  “I’m afraid not. But we’ll land them, sooner or later. They can’t go very far in this direction without running ashore and we’ll have them. They’re cutting across the lake now.”

  “They may escape us if it gets dark. Probably that’s what they’re working for. They want to keep ahead of us until nightfall.”

  The young inventor thought of this too, but there was little he could do. The motor was running at top speed. It could be made to go faster, Tom knew, with another ignition system, but that was out of the question now.

  The man with the glasses had resumed his seat, and the efforts of the trio seemed concentrated on the motor of the Arrow. They, too, wished to go faster. But they had not skill enough to accomplish it, and in about ten minutes, when Tom took another long and careful look to ascertain if possible whether or not he was overhauling the thieves, he was delighted to see that the distance between the boats had lessened.

  “We’re catching them! We’re creeping up on them!” cried Mr. Damon. “Keep it up, Tom.” There was nothing to do, however, save wait. The boat ahead had shifted her course somewhat and was now turning in toward the shore, for the lake was narrow at this point, and abandoning their evident intention of keeping straight up the lake, the thieves seemed now bent on something else.

  “I believe they’re going to run ashore and get out!” cried Mr. Damon.

  “If they do, it’s just what I want,” declared the lad. “I don’t care for the men. I want my boat back!”

  The occupants of the Arrow were looking to the rear again, and one—Happy Harry, Tom thought—shook his fist.

  “Ah, wait until I get hold of you!” cried Mr. Damon, following his example. “I’ll make you wish you’d behaved yourselves, you scoundrels! Bless my overcoat! Catch them if you can, Tom.”

  There was now no doubt of the intention of the fleeing ones. The shore was looming up ahead and straight for it was headed the Arrow. Tom sent Andy’s boat in the same direction. He was rapidly overhauling the escaping ones now, for they had slowed down the motor. Three minutes later the foremost boat grated on the beach of the lake. The men leaped out, one of them pausing an instant in the bow.

  “Here, don’t you damage my boat!” cried Tom involuntarily, for the man seemed to be hammering something.

  The fellow leaped over the side, holding something in his hand.

  “There they go! Catch them!” yelled Mr. Damon.

  “Let them go!” answered the lad as the men ran toward the wood. “I want my boat. I’m afraid they’ve damaged her. One of them tore something from the bow.”

  At the same instant the two companions of the fellow who had paused in the forward part of the Arrow saw that he had something in his hand. With yells of rage they dashed at him, but he, shaking his fist at them, plunged into the bushes and could be heard breaking his way through, while his companions were in pursuit.

  “They’ve quarreled among themselves,” commented Mr. Damon as high and angry voices could be heard from the woods. “There’s some mystery here, Tom.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but my first concern is for my boat. I want to see if they have damaged her.”

  Tom had run so closely in shore with the Red Streak that he had to reverse to avoid damaging the craft against the bank. In a mass of foam he stopped her in time, and then springing ashore, he hurried to his motor-boat.

  CHAPTER XIX

  A QUIET CRUISE

  “Have they done any damage?” asked Mr. Damon as he stood in the bow of the Red Streak.

  Tom did not answer for a moment. His trained eye was looking over the engine.

  “They yanked out the high tension wire instead of stopping the motor with the switch,” he answered at length, and then, when he had taken a look into the compartment where the gasoline tank was, he added: “And they’ve ripped out two more of the braces I put in. Why in the world they did that I can’t imagine.”

  “That’s evidently what one man had that the others wanted,” was Mr. Damon’s opinion.

  “Probably,” agreed Tom. “But what could he or they want wi
th wooden braces?”

  That was a puzzler for Mr. Damon, but he answered:

  “Perhaps they wanted to damage your boat and those two men were mad because the other got ahead of them.”

  “Taking out the braces wouldn’t do much damage. I can easily put others in. All it would do would be to cause the tank to sag down and maybe cause a leak in the pipe. But that would be a queer thing to do. No, I think there’s some mystery that I haven’t gotten to the bottom of yet. But I’m going to.”

  “Good!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “I’ll help you. But can you run your boat back home?”

  “Not without fixing it a bit. I must brace up that tank and put in a new high-tension wire from the spark coil. I can do it here, but I’d rather take it to the shop. Besides, with two boats to run back, for I must return Andy’s to him, I don’t see how I can do it very well unless you operate one, Mr. Damon.”

  “Excuse me, but I can’t do it. Bless my slippers, but I would be sure to run on a rock! The best plan will be for you to tow your boat and I’ll ride in it and steer. I can do that much, anyhow. You can ride in the Red Streak.”

  Tom agreed that this would be a good plan. So, after temporarily bracing up the tank in the Arrow, it was shoved out into the lake and attached to Andy’s craft.

  “But aren’t you going to make a search for those men?” asked Mr. Damon when Tom was ready to start back.

  “No, I think it would be useless. They are well away by this time, and I don’t fancy chasing them through the woods, especially as night is coming on. Besides, I won’t leave these boats.”

  “No doubt you are right, but I would like to see them punished, and I am curious enough to wish to know what object that scoundrel could have in ripping out the blocks that served as a brace for the tank.”