“It wasn’t!” cried Sam. “You threw the bottle at us! I saw you!”
“It slipped from my pocket,” declared the youth, and he described how the accident occurred. “I’ll help you clean your car, Andy,” he added.
“I don’t want your help! If you come near me I’ll—I’ll punch your nose!” cried Andy, now almost beside himself with rage.
“All right, if you don’t want my help I don’t care,” answered Tom, glad enough not to have to soil his hands and clothes. He felt that it was partly his fault, and he would have done all he could to remedy matters, but his good offers being declined, he felt that it was useless to insist further.
He remounted his motor-cycle, and rode off, the last view he had of the trio being one where they were at the edge of the brook, trying to remove the worst traces of the black fluid. As Tom turned around for a final glimpse, Andy shook his fist at him, and called out something.
“I guess Andy’ll have it in for me,” mused Tom. “Well, I can’t help it. I owed him something on account, but I didn’t figure on paying it in just this way,” and he thought of the time the bully had locked him in the ballast tanks of the submarine, thereby nearly smothering him to death.
That night Andy Foger told his father what had happened, for Mr. Foger inquired the reason for the black stains on his son’s face and hands. But Andy did not give the true version. He said Tom had purposely thrown the bottle of blacking at him.
“So that’s the kind of a lad Tom Swift is, eh?” remarked Andy’s father. “Well, Andy, I think you will soon have a chance to get even with him.”
“How, pop?”
“I can’t tell you now, but I have a plan for making Tom sorry he ever did anything to you, and I will also pay back some old scores to Mr. Swift and Mr. Damon. I’ll ruin their bank for them, that’s what I’ll do.”
“Ruin their bank, pop? How?”
“You wait and see. The Swift crowd will get off their high horse soon, or I’m mistaken. My plans are nearly completed, but I can’t tell you about them. I’ll ruin Mr. Swift, though, that’s what I’ll do,” and Mr. Foger shook his head determinedly.
Tom was soon at his home, and Mrs. Baggert, hearing the noise of his machine, as it entered the front yard, came to the side door.
“Where’s my blacking?” she asked, as our hero dismounted and untied the bundle of steel tubes he had purchased.
“I—I used it,” he answered, laughing.
“Tom Swift! You don’t mean to say you took my stove polish to use in your battery, do you?”
“No, I used it to polish off Andy Foger and some of his cronies,” and the young inventor told, with much gusto, what had happened. Mrs. Baggert could not help joining in the laugh, and when Tom offered to ride back and purchase some more of the polish for her, she said it did not matter, as she could wait until the next day.
The lad was soon busy in his machine shop, making several larger cells for the new storage battery. He wanted to give it a more severe test. He worked for several days on this, and when he had one unit of cells complete, he attached the motor for an efficiency trial.
“We’ll see how many miles that will make,” he remarked to his father.
“Have you thought anything of the type of car you are going to build?” asked the aged inventor of his son.
“Yes, somewhat. It will be almost of the regulation style, but with two removable seats at the rear, with curtains for protection, and a place in front for two persons. This can also be protected with curtains when desired.”
“But what about the motors and the battery?”
“They will be located under the middle of the car. There will be one set of batteries there, together with the motor, and another set of batteries will be placed under the removable seats in what I call the tonneau, though, of course, it isn’t really that. A smaller set will also be placed forward, and there will be ample room for carrying tools and such things.”
“About how far do you expect your car will go with one charging of the battery?”
“Well, if I can make it do three hundred miles I’ll be satisfied, but I’m going to try for four hundred.”
“What will you do when your battery runs out?”
“Recharge it.”
“Suppose you’re not near a charging station?”
“Well, Dad, of course those are some of the details I’ve got to work out. I’m planning a register gauge now, that will give warning about fifty miles before the battery is run down. That will leave me a margin to work on. And I’m going to have it fixed so I can take current from any trolley line, as well as from a regular charging station. My battery will be capable of being recharged very quickly, or, in case of need, I can take out the old cells and put in new ones.
“That’s a very good idea. Well, I hope you succeed.”
A few evenings after this, when Tom was busy in his machine shop, he heard some one enter. He looked up from the gauge of the motor, which he was studying, and, for a moment, he could make out nothing in the dark interior of the shop, for he was working in a brilliant light.
“Who’s there?” he called sharply, for, more than once unscrupulous men had endeavored to sneak into the Swift shops to steal ideas of inventions; if not the actual apparatus itself.
“It’s me—Ned Newton,” was the cheerful reply.
“Oh, hello, Ned! I was wondering what had become of you,” responded Tom. “Where have you been lately?”
“Oh, working overtime.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“We’re trying out a new system to increase the bank business.”
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you folks getting business enough, after the big deposits we made of the bullion from the wreck?”
“Oh, it’s not that. But haven’t you heard the news? There is talk of starting a rival bank in Shopton, and that may make us hustle to hold what business we have, to say nothing of getting new customers.”
“A new bank, eh? Who’s going to start it?”
“Andy Foger’s father, I hear. You know he was a director in our bank, but he got out last week.”
“What for?”
“Well, he had some difficulty with Mr. Pendergast, the president. I fancy you had something to do with it, too.”
“I?” Tom was plainly surprised.
“Yes, you know you and Mr. Damon and Mr. Sharp captured the bank robbers, and got back most of the money.”
“I guess I do remember it! I wish you could have seen the gang when we raided them from the clouds, in our airship!”
“Well, you know Andy Foger hoped to collect the five thousand dollars reward for telling the police that you were the thief, and of course he got fooled, for you got the reward. Mr. Foger expected his son would collect the money, and when Andy got left, it made him sore. He’s had a grudge against Mr. Pendergast, and all the other bank officials ever since, and now he’s going to start a rival bank. So that’s why I said it was partly due to you.”
“Oh, I see. I thought at first you meant that it was on account of something that happened the other day.”
“What was that?”
“Andy, Sam and Pete got the contents of a bottle of stove blacking,” and Tom related the occurrence, at which Ned laughed heartily.
“I wouldn’t be surprised though,” added Ned, “to learn that Mr. Foger started the new bank more for revenge than anything else.”
“So that’s the reason you’ve been working late, eh?” went on Tom. “Getting ready for competition. Do you think a new bank will hurt the one you’re with?”
“Well, it might,” admitted Ned. “It’s bound to make a change, anyhow, and now that I have a good position I don’t want to lose it. I take more of an interest in the institution now that I’m assistant cashier, than I did when I was a clerk. So, naturally, I’m a little worried.”
“Say, don’t let it worry you,” begged Tom, earnestly.
“Why not?”
“Beca
use I know my father and Mr. Damon will stick to the old bank. They won’t have anything to do with the one Andy Foger’s father starts. Don’t you worry.”
“Well, that will help some,” declared Ned. “They are both heavy depositors, and if they stick to the old bank we can stand it even if some of our smaller customers desert us.”
“That’s the way to talk,” went on the young inventor. “Let Foger start his bank. It won’t hurt yours.”
“What are you making now?” asked Ned, a little later, looking with interest at the machinery over which Tom was bending, and to which he was making adjustments.
“New electric automobile. I want to beat Andy Foger’s car worse than I did on my motor-cycle, and I also want to win a prize,” and the lad proceeded to relate the incidents leading up to his construction of the storage battery.
Tom and Ned were in the shop until long past midnight, and then the bank employee, with a look at his watch, exclaimed:
“Great Scott! I ought to be home.”
“I’ll run you over in Mr. Damon’s car,” proposed Tom. “He left it here the other day, while he and his wife went off on a trip, and he said I could use it whenever I wanted to.”
“Good!” cried Ned.
The two lads came from Tom’s particular workshop. As the young inventor closed the door he started suddenly, as he snapped shut the lock.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ned quickly.
“I thought I heard a noise,” replied Tom.
They both listened. There was a slight rustling in some bushes near the shop.
“It’s a dog or a cat,” declared Ned.
Tom took several cautious steps forward. Then he gave a spring, and made a grab for some one or something.
“Here! You let me be!” yelled a protesting voice.
“I will when I find out what you mean by sneaking around here,” retorted Tom, as he came back toward Ned, dragging with him a lad. “It wasn’t a dog or a cat, Ned,” spoke the young inventor. “It’s Sam Snedecker,” and so it proved.
“You let me alone!” demanded Andy Foger’s crony. “I ain’t done nothin’ to you,” he whined.
“Here, Ned, you hold him a minute, while I make an investigation,” called Tom, handing his prisoner over to his chum. “Maybe Pete or Andy are around.”
“No, they ain’t. I came alone,” said Sam quickly, but Tom, not heeding, opened the shop, and, after turning on the electric lights, procured a lantern. He began a search of the shrubbery around the shop, while Ned held to the struggling Sam.
CHAPTER V
A MIDNIGHT ENCOUNTER
The moment Tom disappeared behind his machine shop, Sam Snedecker began a desperate struggle to escape from Ned Newton. Now Ned was a muscular lad, but his work in the bank was confining, and he did not have the chance to get out doors and exercise, as Sam had. Consequently Ned had his hands full in holding to the squirming crony of Andy Foger.
“You let me go!” demanded Sam, as he tried to twist loose.
“Not if I know it!” panted Ned.
Sam gave a sudden twist. Ned’s foot slipped in the grass, and in a moment he went down, with Sam on top of him. Still he did not let go, and, finding he was still a prisoner Sam adopted new tactics.
Using his fists Sam began to pound Ned, but the bank employee, though suffering, would not call for help, to summon back Tom, who was, by this time, at the rear of the shop, looking about. Silently in the dark the two fought, and Ned found that Sam was getting away. Then Ned’s hand came in contact with Sam’s ear. It was the misfortune of the bully to have rather a large hearing apparatus, and once Ned got his fingers on an ear there was room enough to afford a good grip. He closed his hold tightly, and began to twist. This was too much for Sam. He set up a lusty howl.
“Wow! Ouch! Let go!” he pleaded, and he ceased to pound Ned, and no longer tried to escape. Tom came back on the run.
“What’s the matter?” he cried. Then his light flashed on the two prostrate lads, and he understood without asking any further questions.
“Get up!” he cried, seizing Sam by the back of his neck, and yanking him to his feet. Ned arose, and secured a better grip on the sneaking lad.
“What’s up?” demanded Tom, and Ned explained, following it by the question:
“See any more of ’em?”
“No, I guess he was here all alone,” replied the young inventor. “What do you mean by sneaking around here this time of night?” he demanded of the captive.
“Don’t you wish you knew?” was Sam’s answer, with a leer. He realized that he had a certain advantage.
“You’d better tell before I turn you over to the police!” said Tom, sternly.
“You—you wouldn’t do that; would you?” and Sam’s voice that had been bold, became shaky.
“You were trespassing on our property, and that’s against the law,” declared Tom. “We have signs posted, warning people to keep off.”
“I didn’t mean any harm,” whined Sam.
“Then what were you doing here, at this hour?”
“I was just taking a short cut home. I was out riding with Andy in his auto, and it broke down. I had to walk home, and I came this way. I didn’t know you didn’t allow people to cross your back lot. I wasn’t doin’ anything.”
Tom hesitated. Sam might be telling the truth, but it was doubtful.
“What happened to Andy’s auto?” the young inventor asked.
“He broke a wheel, going over a big stone on Berk’s hill. He went to tell some one in the repair shop to go after the car, and I came on home. You’ve got no right to arrest me.”
“I ought to, on general principles,” commented Tom. “Well, skip out, and don’t you come around here again. I’m going to get a savage bull dog, and the first one who comes sneaking around here after dark will be sorry. Move along now!”
Tom and Ned released their holds of Sam, and the latter lost no time in obeying the injunction to make himself scarce. He was soon lost to sight in the darkness.
“Think he was up to some mischief?” asked Ned.
“I’m almost sure of it,” replied Tom, “but I can’t see anything wrong. I guess we were too quick for him. I believe he, Andy and Pete Bailey tried to put up some job on me.”
“Maybe they wanted to damage your new battery or car,” suggested Ned.
“Hardly that. The car hasn’t been started yet, and as for the battery, no one knows of it outside of you and my friends here. I’m keeping it secret. Well, if I’m going to take you home I’d better get a move on. Wait here and I’ll run out Mr. Damon’s car.”
In a short time Tom was guiding the machine over the road to Shopton, Ned on the seat beside him. The young assistant cashier lived about a mile the other side of the village, and the two chums were soon at his house. Asking his friend to come and see him when he had a chance. Ned bid his chum good night, and the young inventor started back home.
He was driving slowly along, thinking more of his new invention than anything else, even more than of the mysterious visit of Sam Snedecker, when the lights on Mr. Damon’s car flashed upon something big, black and bulky on the road just ahead of him. Tom, brought suddenly out of his fit of musing, jammed on the brakes, and steered to one side. Then he saw that the object was a stalled auto. He had only time to note this when a voice hailed him:
“Have you a tire pump you could lend us? Ours doesn’t work, and we have had a blowout.”
There was something about the voice that was strangely familiar, and Tom was wondering where he had heard it before, when into the glare of the lamps on his machine stepped Mr. Foger—Andy’s father!
“Why, Mr. Foger!” exclaimed Tom. “I didn’t know it was you.”
“Oh, it’s Tom Swift,” remarked the man, and he did not seem especially pleased.
“Hey! What’s that?” cried another voice, which Tom had no difficulty in recognizing as belonging to Andy. “What’s the matter, Dad?”
“Why it ha
ppens to be your—ahem! It’s Tom Swift in this other auto,” went on Mr. Foger. “I didn’t know you had a car,” he added.
“I haven’t,” answered the lad. “This belongs to Mr. Damon. But can you see to fix your tire in the dark?” for Mr. Foger and his son had no lamps lighted.
“Oh, we have it all fixed,” declared the man, “and, just as we were going to pump it up out lamps went out. Then we found that our pump wouldn’t work. If you have one I would be obliged for the use of it,” and he spoke somewhat stiffly.
“Certainly,” agreed Tom, cheerfully, for he had no special grudge against Mr. Foger, though had he known Andy’s father’s plans, perhaps our hero would not have so readily aided him. The young inventor got down, removed one of his oil lamps in order that there might be some light on the operation, and then brought over his pump.
“I heard you had an accident,” said Tom, a chain of thoughts being rapidly forged in his mind, as he thought of what Sam had told him.
“You heard of it?” repeated Mr. Foger, while Andy was busy pumping up the tire.
“Yes, a friend who was out riding with you said you had broken a wheel on Berk’s hill. But I see he was slightly wrong. You’re a good way from Berk’s hill, and it’s a tire that is broken, not a wheel.”
“But I don’t understand,” said Mr. Foger. “No friend has been out riding with us. My son and I were out on a business trip, and—”
“Come on, pop. I’ve got it all pumped up. Jump in. There’s your pump, Tom Swift. Much obliged,” muttered Andy hastily. It was very evident that he wanted to prevent any further conversation between his parent and Tom.
“But I don’t understand,” went on the banker, clearly puzzled. “What friend gave you such information, Mr.—er—Tom Swift?”
“Sam Snedecker,” replied the lad quickly. “I caught him sneaking around my machine shop about an hour ago, and when I asked him what he was doing he said he’d been out riding with Andy, and that they broke a wheel. I’m glad it was only a blown-out tire,” and Tom’s voice had a curious note in it.
“But there must be some mistake,” insisted Mr. Foger. “Sam Snedecker was not riding with us this evening. We have been over to Waterfield—my son and I, and—”
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 54