It was decided to give the airship a few more trials around Shopton before setting out, to see how it behaved with the car heavier loaded than usual. With this in view a trip was made to Rocksmond, with Mr. Swift, Mr. Damon and Ned, in addition to Mr. Sharp and Tom, on board. Then, at Tom’s somewhat blushing request, a stop was made near the Seminary, and, when the pupils came trooping out, the young inventor asked Miss Nestor if she didn’t want to take a little flight. She consented, and with two pretty companions climbed rather hesitatingly into the car. No great height was attained, but the girls were fully satisfied and, after their first alarm really enjoyed the spin in the air, with Tom proudly presiding at the steering wheel, which Mr. Sharp relinquished to the lad, for he understood Tom’s feelings.
Three days later all was in readiness for the trip to Atlanta. Mr. Swift was earnestly invited to undertake it, both Tom and Mr. Sharp urging him, but the veteran inventor said he must stay at home, and work on his submarine plans.
The evening before the start, when the aeronaut and Tom were giving a final inspection to the craft in the big shed, Mr. Sharp exclaimed “I declare Tom, I believe you’ll have to take a run into town.”
“What for?”
“Why to get that kit of special tools I ordered, which we might need to make repairs. There are some long-handled wrenches, some spare levers, and a couple of braces and bits. Harrison, the hardware dealer, ordered them for me from New York, and they were to be ready this afternoon, but I forgot them. Take an empty valise with you, and you can carry them on your motorcycle. I’m sorry to have forgotten it, but—”
“That’s all right, Mr. Sharp, I’d just as soon go as not. It will make the time pass more quickly. I’ll start right off.”
An hour later, having received the tools, which made quite a bundle, the lad put them in the valise, and started back toward home. As he swung around the corner on which the bank was located—the same bank in which Ned Newton worked—one of the valves on the motor-cycle began to leak. Tom dismounted to adjust it, and had completed the work, being about to ride on, when down the street came Andy Foger and Sam Snedecker. They started at the sight of our hero.
“There he is now!” exclaimed Sam, as if he and the red-haired bully had been speaking of the young inventor.
“Let’s lick him!” proposed Andy. “Now’s our chance to get even for throwing that paint and soot on us.”
Tom heard their words. He was not afraid of both the lads, for, though each one matched him in size and strength, Tom knew they were cowards.
“If you’re looking for anything I guess I can accommodate you,” he said, coolly.
“Come on, Andy,” urged Sam. But, somehow Andy hung back. Perhaps he didn’t like the way Tom squared off. The young inventor had let down the rear brace of his motor-cycle, and was not obliged to hold it, so he had both hands free.
“We ought to lick him good and proper,” growled the squint-eyed lad.
“Well, why don’t you?” invited Tom.
He moved to one side, so as not to be hampered by his wheel. As he did so he knocked from the handle bars the valise of tools. They fell with a clatter and a thud to the pavement, and the satchel came open. It was under a gas lamp, and the glitter of the long-handled wrenches and other implements caught the eyes of Andy and his crony.
“Huh! If we fought you, maybe you’d use some of them on us,” sneered Andy, glad of an excuse not to fight.
Tom quickly picked up his valise, shutting it, but he was aware of the close scrutiny of the two vindictive lads.
“I don’t fight with such things,” he said, somewhat annoyed, and he hung the tools back on the handle bars.
“What you doing around the bank at this hour?” asked Sam, as if to change the subject. “First thing you know the watchman will order you to move on. He might think you were a suspicious character.”
“The same to you,” retorted Tom, “but I’m going to ride on now, unless you want to have a further argument with me.”
“You’d better be careful how you hang around a bank,” added Andy. “The police are on the lookout here. There’s been some mysterious men seen about.”
Tom did not care to go into that, and, seeing that the two bullies had lost all desire to attack him, he put up the brace and mounted his wheel.
“Good-by,” he called to Andy and Sam, as he rode off, the tools rattling and jingling in the valise, but it was a sarcastic farewell, and the two cronies did not reply.
“I hope I didn’t damage any of the tools when I let them fall that time,” mused the young inventor. “My, the way Sam and Andy stared at them it would make it seem as if I had a lot of weapons in the bag! They certainly took good note of them.”
The time was to come, and very shortly, when Andy’s and Sam’s observation of the tools was to prove disastrous for our hero. As Tom turned the corner he looked back, and saw, still standing in front of the bank, the two cronies.
CHAPTER 11
THE “RED CLOUD” DEPARTS
“Well, dad, I wish you were going along with us,” said Tom to his father next morning. “You don’t know what you’re going to miss. A fine trip of several hundred miles through the air, seeing strange sights, and experiencing new sensations.”
“Yes, I wish you would reconsider your determination, and accompany us,” added Mr. Damon. “I would enjoy your company.”
“There’s plenty of room. We can carry six persons with ease,” said Mr. Sharp.
Mr. Swift shook his head, and smiled.
“I have too much work to do here at home,” he replied. “Perhaps I may astonish you with something when you come back. I have nearly perfected my latest invention.”
There was no combating such a resolution as this, and Tom and the others considered the decision of the aged inventor as final. The airship was ready for the start, and every one had arisen earlier than usual on this account. The bag of tools, for which Tom had gone to town, were put in their proper place, the last of the supplies were taken abroad, final tests were made of the various apparatus, the motor had been given a trial spin, disconnected from the propellers, and then the balloonist announced
“Well, Tom and Mr. Damon, you had better begin to think of starting. We’ve had breakfast here, but there’s no telling where we will eat dinner.”
“Bless my soul! Don’t you talk that way!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “You make me exceedingly nervous. Why shouldn’t we know where we are going to eat dinner?”
“Oh, I meant we couldn’t tell over just what part of the United States we would be when dinner time came,” explained the aeronaut.
“Oh, that’s different. Bless my pocket knife, but I thought you meant we might be dashed to pieces, and incapable of eating any dinner.”
“Hardly,” remarked Mr. Sharp. “The Red Cloud is not that kind of an airship, I hope. But get aboard, if you please.”
Tom and Mr. Damon entered the car. It was resting on the ground, on the small wheels used to start the airship when the gas inflation method was not used. In this case, however, it had been decided to rise in the air by means of the powerful vapor, and not to use the wings and planes until another time. Consequently the ship was swaying slightly, and tugging at the restraining cables.
As Tom and Mr. Damon entered the cabin there drove into the Swift yard a dilapidated wagon, drawn by a bony mule, and it did not need the addition of a colored man’s voice, calling: “Whoa, dar, Boomerang!” to tell Tom that his friend Eradicate Sampson was on hand. As for Eradicate, as soon as he saw the great airship, which he had never before beheld fully rigged, all ready for a flight, his eyes became big with wonder.
“Is dat yo’ flyin’ machine, Mistah Swift?” he asked.
“That’s it, Rad,” answered Tom. “Don’t you want to come and take a ride with us?”
“Me? Good land a’ massy! No indeedy, Mistah Swift,” and the whitewasher, who had descended from his wagon, edged away, as if the airship might suddenly put out a pair of han
ds and grab him. “No indeedy I doant! I come t’ do a little whitewashin’ an’ when I do dat I’se gwine on mah way. But dat’s a pow’ful fine ship; it suah am!”
“Better come and try a flight, Rad,” added Mr. Damon. “I’ll look after you.”
“No, sag, an’ I doan’t take it kind ob yo’ all t’ tempt me dat way, nuther,” spoke Eradicate. But, when he saw that the craft was stationary, he ventured to approach closer. Gingerly he put out one hand and touched the framework of the wheels, just forward of the cabin. The negro grasped the timber, and lifted it slightly. To his astonishment the whole front of the airship tilted up, for it was about ready to fly, and a child might have lifted it, so buoyant was it. But Eradicate did not know this. Wonderingly he looked at the great bulk of the ship, looming above him, then he glanced at his arm. Once more, noting that the attention of his friends was elsewhere, he lifted the craft. Then he cried “Look yeah, Mistah Swift! Look yeah! No wonder day calls me Sampson. I done lifted dis monstrousness airship wif one hand, See, I kin do it! I kin do it!”
Once more he raised the Red Cloud slightly, and a delighted grin, not unmixed with a look of awe, spread over his honest countenance.
“I suppose you’ll give up whitewashing and join a circus as a strong man, now,” observed Mr. Sharp, with a wink at his companions.
“Days what I will!” announced Eradicate proudly. “I neber knowed I was dat strong, but ob course I allers knowed I had some muscle. Golly, I must hab growed strong ober night! Now, Boomerang, yo’ suah has got t’ look out fo’ yo’ sef. No mo’ ob yo’ cuttin’ up capers, or I’ll jest lift you up, an’ sot yo’ down on yo’ back, I suah will,” and the negro feeling of his biceps walked over to where the mule stood, with its eyes closed.
“I guess you can cast off, Tom,” called Mr. Sharp, as he entered .the car, having seen that everything was all right. “We’ll not go up very far at first, until Mr. Damon gets used to the thin air.”
“Bless my soul, I believe I’m getting nervous,” announced the eccentric man. “Bless my liver, but I hope nothing happens.”
“Nothing will happen,” Mr. Sharp assured him. “Just keep calm, when it feels as if the bottom was dropping out of everything and you’ll soon get over it. Are you casting off those ropes, Tom? Is all clear?”
“All but the bow and stern lines.”
“You attend to the bow line, and I’ll go to the stern,” and, going over to the gas generator, Mr. Sharp started it so as to force more vapor into the red aluminum container. This had the effect of rendering the airship more bouyant, and it tugged and strained harder than ever at the ropes.
“Good-by, Tom,” called Mr. Swift, reaching up to shake hands with his son. “Drop me a line when you get a chance.”
“Oh, Tom, do be careful,” implored Mrs. Baggert, her kind face showing her anxiety. “May I kiss you good-by?”
“Of course,” answered the young inventor, though the motherly housekeeper had not done this since he was a little chap. She had to stand on a soap box, which Eradicate brought in order to reach Tom’s face, and, when she had kissed him she said:
“Oh, I’m so worried! I just know you’ll be killed, risking your lives in that terrible airship!”
“Ha! Not a very cheerful view to take, madam,” observed Mr. Damon. “Don’t hold that view, I beg of you. Bless my eyelashes, but you’ll see us coming home, covered with glory and star dust.”
“I’m sure I hope so,” answered Mrs. Baggert, laughing a little in spite of herself.
The last ropes were cast off. Good-bys were shouted as the airship shot into the air, and Mr. Sharp started the motor, to warm it up before the propellers were thrown into gear. The twenty cylinders began exploding with a terrific racket, as the muffler was open, and Tom, looking down, saw Boomerang awaken with a jump. The mule was so frightened that he started off on a dead run, swinging the rickety, old wagon along behind him.
Eradicate Sampson, who had been feeling his muscle since he discovered what he thought was his marvelous strength, saw what was happening.
“Whoa, dar, Boomerang!” he shouted. Then, as the tailboard of the wagon swung past him, he reached out and grabbed it. Perhaps he thought he could bring the runaway mule up standing, but, if he did, he was grievously disappointed. Boomerang pulled his master along the gravel walk, and kept running in spite of Eradicate’s command to “whoa, dar!”
It might have gone hard with him, had not Garret Jackson, the engineer, running in front of Boomerang, caught the animal. Eradicate picked himself up, and gazed sadly at his arms. The navigators of the air could not hear what he said, but what he thought was evident to them.
Then, as Mr. Sharp deadened the explosions of the powerful motor. Tom, looking at a gauge, noted that their height was seven hundred feet. “High enough!” called Mr. Sharp, and it was time, for Mr. Damon, in spite of his resolution, was getting pale.
The gas was shut off, the propellers thrown into gear, and, with a rush the Red Cloud shot toward the south, passing over the Swift homestead, and high above the heads of the crowd that had gathered to witness the start. The eventful voyage of the air had begun.
CHAPTER 12
SOME STARTLING NEWS
“Well, there they go,” remarked Mrs. Baggert to Mr. Swift, as she strained her eyes toward the sky, against the blue of which the airship was now only a large, black ball.
“Yes, and a fine start they made,” replied the inventor. “I almost wish I had accompanied them, but I must not stop work on my submarine invention.”
“I do hope nothing will happen to them,” went on the housekeeper. “I declare, though, I feel just as if something was going to happen.”
“Nervousness, pure nervousness,” commented Mr. Swift. “Better take a little—er—I suppose catnip tea would be good.”
“Catnip tea! The very idea!” exclaimed Mrs. Baggert. “That shows how much you know about nervousness, Mr. Swift,” and she seemed a little indignant.
“Ha! Hum I Well, maybe catnip tea wouldn’t be just the thing. But don’t worry about Tom. I’m sure he can look after himself. As for Mr. Sharp he has made too many ascensions to run into any unnecessary danger.”
“Nervous!” went on the housekeeper, who seemed to resent this state being applied to her. “I’m sure I’m not half as nervous as that Mr. Damon. He gives me the fidgets.”
“Of course. Well, I must get back to my work,” said the inventor. “Ah, are you hurt, Eradicate?” he went on, as the colored man came back, driving Boomerang, who had been stopped just before reaching the road.
“No, Mistah Swift, I ain’t exactly damaged, but mah feelin’s am suah hurted.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, I thought I had growed strong in de night, when I lifted dat airship, but when I went to stop mah mule I couldn’t do it. He won’t hab no respect fo’ me now.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t let that worry me,” commented Mr. Swift, and he explained to Eradicate how it was that he had so easily lifted the end of the bouyant ship, which weighed very little when filled with gas.
The colored man proceeded with his work of whitewashing, the inventor was in his library, puzzling over tables of intricate figures, and Mrs. Baggert was in the kitchen, sighing occasionally as she thought of Tom, whom she loved almost as a son, high in the air, when two men came up the walk, from the street, and knocked at the side door. Mrs. Baggert, who answered the summons, was somewhat surprised to see Chief of Police Simonson and Constable Higby.
“They probably came to see the airship start,” she thought, “but they’re too late.”
“Ah, good morning, Mrs. Baggert,” greeted the chief. “Is Mr. Swift and his son about this morning?”
“Mr. Swift is in his library, but Tom is gone.”
“He’ll be back though, won’t he?” asked Constable Higby quickly—anxiously, Mrs. Baggert thought.
“Oh, yes,” she replied. “He and—”
“Just take us to see Mr. Swift,” inte
rrupted the chief, with a look of caution at his aide. “We’ll explain matters to him.”
Wondering what could be the mission of the two officers, Mrs. Baggert led them to the library.
“It’s queer,” she thought, “that they don’t ask something about the airship. I suppose that was what they came for. But maybe it’s about the mysterious men who robbed Mr. Swift.”
“Ah, gentlemen, what can I do for you?” asked the inventor, as he rose to greet the officials.
“Ahem, Mr. Swift. Ahem—er—that is—well, the fact is, Mr. Swift,” stammered the chief, “we have come upon a very painful errand.”
“What’s that?” cried Tom’s father. “I haven’t been robbed again, have I?”
“There has been a robbery committed,” spoke the constable quickly.
“But you are not the victim,” interposed the chief.
“I’m glad of that,” said Mr. Swift.
“Where is your son, Tom?” asked the head of the Shopton police force, sharply.
“What do you want with him?” inquired the inventor, struck by some strange tone in the other’s voice.
“Mr. Swift,” went on the chief, solemnly, “I said we came upon a very painful errand. It is painful, as I have known Tom since he was a little lad. But I must do my duty, no matter how painful it is. I have a warrant for the arrest of your son, Thomas Swift, and I have come to serve it. I need not tell you that it is your duty to give him up to us—the representatives of the law. I call upon you to produce your son.”
Mr. Swift staggered to his feet.
“My son! You have come to arrest my son?” he stammered.
The chief nodded grimly.
“Upon what charge?” faltered the father.
“On a charge of breaking into the Shopton National Bank last night, and stealing from the vault seventy-five thousand dollars in currency!”
“Seventy-five thousand dollars! Tom accused of robbing the bank!” faltered Mr. Swift.
“That is the charge, and we’ve come to arrest him,” broke in Constable Higby.
“Where is he?” added the chief.
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 32