IN A DITCH
Through the streets of Shopton went Tom Swift and his friends. News of the big contest the young inventor was about to take part in, had circulated around town, and there were not wanting many to wish him good luck. The lad responded smilingly to the farewells he received. As they passed the bank, Ned Newton came out on the steps.
“Wish I was going along,” he called.
“So do I,” replied Tom. “How’s everything? Is the bank all right since the run?” for he had not had time to pay much attention to the institution since his memorable race against time, to get the money.
“Stronger and better than ever,” was Ned’s answer, as he came to the curb, where Tom slowed up. “I hear,” he added in a whisper, “that the other fellows are going out of business—Foger and his crowd you know. They loaned money on unsecured notes to make a good showing, and now they can’t get it back But we’re all right. Hope you win the race.”
“So do I.”
“What will a certain person do while you’re away?” went on Ned, with a wink.
“I don’t know what you mean,” replied Tom, trying not to blush. “Do you mean my dad or Mrs. Baggert?”
“Neither, you old hypocrite you! I meant Miss Mary Nestor.”
“Oh, hadn’t you heard?” inquired Tom innocently. “She is going to Long Island to visit some friends, and she’ll be at the race.”
“You lucky dog,” murmured Ned with a laugh, as he went into the bank.
Once more the electric auto started off, and was soon on the quiet country road, where Tom speeded it up moderately. He hoped to be able to make the entire distance to the shore cottage on the single charge of current he had put into the battery at home, and, as there was no special need for haste, he wanted to save his power. The machine was running smoothly, and seemed able to make a long race against time.
The travelers ate lunch that day at Pendleton, a town some distance from Shopton. They had covered a substantial part of their trip. After a brief rest they started on again. Tom had planned to spend two days and one night on the road, hoping to be able to reach the shore cottage on the evening of the second day. There, after recharging the battery, he would spend a night, or two, and proceed to the track, ready for the race.
They found the roads fairly good, with bad stretches here and there, which made it necessary for them to slow down. This delayed them, and they found the shadows lengthening, and darkness approaching, when they were still several miles from Burgfield, where they intended to sleep.
“Will it be all right to travel at night?” asked Mr. Damon, a bit nervously.
“Why, are you thinking of hold-up men?” inquired Mr. Sharp.
“No, but I was wondering about the condition of the roads,” replied the eccentric man. “We don’t want to run into a rock, or collide with something.”
“I guess this will light up the road far enough in advance, so that we can see where we are going,” suggested Tom, as he switched on the powerful electric search-light. Though it was not dark enough to illuminate the highway to the best advantage, the powerful gleam shone dazzlingly in front of the swiftly moving auto.
“I guess that will show up every pebble in the road,” commented the balloonist. “It’s very powerful.”
Tom turned off the light, as, until it was darker, he could see to better advantage unaided by it. He slowed down the speed somewhat, but was still going at a good rate.
“There’s a bridge somewhere about here,” remarked the lad, when they had gone on a mile further. “I remember seeing it on my road map. It’s not very strong, and we’ll have to run slow over it.”
“Bless my gizzard, I hope we don’t go through it!” cried Mr. Damon. “Is your car very heavy, Tom?”
“Not heavy enough to break the bridge. Ah, there it is. Guess I’ll turn on the light so we can see what we’re doing.”
Just ahead of them loomed up the super-structure of a bridge, and Tom turned the searchlight switch. At the instant he did so, whether he did not keep a steady hand on the steering wheel, or whether the auto went into a rut from which it could not be turned, did not immediately develop, but the car suddenly shot from the straight road, and swerved to one side. There was a lurch, and the front wheels sank down.
“Look out! We’re going into the river!” yelled Mr. Damon.
Tom jammed on the brakes and shut off the current. The auto came to a sudden stop. The young inventor turned the searchlight downward, to illuminate the ground directly in front of the car.
“Are we in the river?” asked Mr. Sharp.
“No,” replied Tom in great chagrin. “We’re in a muddy ditch. One at the side of the road. Wheels in over the hubs! There should have been a guard rail here. We’re stuck for fair!”
CHAPTER XXIII
THE POWER GONE
“Bless my overshoes!” cried Mr. Damon. “Stuck in the mud, eh?”
“Hard and fast,” added Tom, in disgust.
“What’s to be done?” inquired Mr. Sharp.
“I should say we’ll have to stay here until daylight, and wait for some other auto to come along and pull us out,” was Mr. Damon’s opinion. “It’s might unpleasant, too, for there doesn’t seem to be any place around here where we can spend the night in any kind of comfort. If we had the submarine or the airship, now, it wouldn’t so much matter.”
“No, and this won’t matter a great deal,” remarked the young inventor quickly. “We’ll soon be out of this, but it will be hard work.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Sharp.
“I mean that we’ve got to pull ourselves out of this mud hole,” explained the lad, as he prepared to descend. “I was afraid something like this would happen, so I came prepared for it. I’ve got ropes and pulleys with me, in the car. We’ll fasten the rope to the machine, attach one pulley to the bridge, another to the car, and I guess we can get out of the mud. We’ll try, anyhow.”
“Well, I must say you looked pretty far ahead,” complimented Mr. Damon.
From a box under the tonneau Tom took out a thin but strong rope and two compound pulleys, which would enable considerable force to be applied. Mr. Sharp detached one of the powerful oil lamps, and the three travelers took a look at the auto. It was indeed deep in the mud and it seemed like a hopeless task to try to get it out unaided. But Tom insisted that they could do it, and the rope was soon attached, the hook of one pulley being slipped around one of the braces of the bridge.
“Now, all together!” cried the lad, as he and his friends grasped the long rope. They gave a great heave. At first it seemed like pulling on a stone wall. The rope strained and the pulleys creaked.
“I—guess—we—will—pull—the—bridge—over!” gasped Mr. Sharp.
“Something’s got to give way!” puffed Tom. “Now, once more! All together!”
Suddenly they felt the rope moving. The pulleys creaked still more and, by the light of the lamp, they could see that the auto was slowly being pulled backward, out of the mud, and onto the hard road. In a few minutes it was ready to proceed again.
The rope and pulleys were put away, and, after Tom had made an examination of the car to see that it had sustained no damage, they were off again, making good time to the hotel in Burgfield, where they spent the night. They had an early breakfast, and, as Tom went out to the barn to look at his car, he saw it surrounded by a curious throng of men and boys. One of the boys was turning some of the handles and levers.
“Here! Quit that!” yelled Tom, and the meddlesome lad leaped down in fright. “Do you want to start the car and have it smash into something?” demanded the young inventor.
“Aw, nothin’ happened,” retorted the lad. “I pulled every handle on it, an’ it didn’t move.”
“Good reason,” murmured Tom, for he had taken the precaution to remove a connecting plug, without which the machine could not be started.
The three were soon under way again, and covered many miles over the fine country road
s, the weather conditions being delightful. On inquiry they found that by taking an infrequently used highway, they could save several miles. It was over an unoccupied part of country, rather wild and desolate, but they did not mind that.
They were whizzing along, talking of Tom’s chances for winning the race when, after climbing a slight grade, the auto came to a sudden stop on the summit.
“What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Sharp. “Why are you stopping here, Tom?”
“I didn’t stop,” was the surprising answer, and the lad shoved the starting lever back and forth.
But there was no response. There was no hum from the motor. The machine was “dead.”
“That’s queer,” murmured the young inventor
“Maybe a fuse blew out,” suggested Mr. Damon, that seeming to be his favorite form of trouble.
“If it had you’d have known it,” remarked Mr. Sharp.
“There’s plenty of current in the battery, according to the registering gauge,” murmured the lad. “I can’t understand it.” He reversed the current, thinking the wires might have become crossed, but the machine would move neither backward nor forward, yet the dial indicated that there was enough power stored away to send it a hundred miles or more.
“Perhaps the dial hand has become caught,” suggested Mr. Sharp. “That sometimes happens on a steam gauge, and indicates a high pressure when there isn’t any. Hit it slightly, and see if the hand swings back.”
Tom did so. At once the hand fell to zero, indicating that there was not an ampere of current left. The battery was exhausted, but this fact had not been indicated on the gauge.
“I see now!” cried Tom. “It was those fellows at the hotel barn! They monkeyed with the mechanism, short circuited the battery, and jammed the gauge so I couldn’t tell when my power was gone. If I had known there wasn’t enough to carry us I could have recharged the battery at the hotel. But I figured that I had enough current for the entire trip, and so there would have been, if it hadn’t leaked away. Now we’re in a pretty pickle.”
“Bless my hat band!” cried Mr. Damon. “Does that mean we can’t move?”
“Guess that’s about it,” answered Mr. Sharp, and Tom nodded.
“Well, why can’t we go on to some place where they sell electricity, and get enough to take us where we want to go?” asked the odd character, whose ideas of machinery were somewhat hazy.
“The only trouble is we can’t carry the heavy car with us,” replied Tom. “It’s too big to pick up and take to a charging station.”
“Then we’ve got to wait until some one comes along with a team of horses, and tows us in,” commented Mr. Sharp. “And that will be some time, on this lonely road.”
Tom shook his head despondently. He went all over the car again, but was forced to the first conclusion, that the reserve current had leaked away, in consequence of the meddling prank of the youth at the hotel. The situation was far from pleasant, and the delay would seriously interfere with their plans.
Suddenly, as Tom was pacing up and down the road, he heard from afar, a peculiar humming sound. He paused to listen.
“Trolley car,” observed Mr. Sharp. “Maybe one of us could go somewhere on the trolley and get help. There it is,” and he pointed to the electric vehicle, moving along about half a mile away, at the foot of a gentle slope.
At the sight of the car Tom uttered a cry. “I have it!” he exclaimed. “None of us need go for help! It’s right at hand!” His companions looked curiously, as the young inventor pointed triumphantly to the fast disappearing electric.
CHAPTER XXIV
ON THE TRACK
“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Damon. “Will the electric trolley pull us to a charging station?”
“No, we’ll not need to go to a station,” answered the youth. “If we can get my car to the trolley tracks I can charge my battery from there. And I think we can push the auto near enough. It’s down hill, and I’ve got a long wire so we won’t have to go too close.”
“Good!” cried Mr. Sharp. “But attach the rope to the front of the car, Tom. Mr. Damon and I will pull it. You’ll have to ride in it to steer it.”
“We can take turns at riding,” was Tom’s answer, for he did not want his companions to do all the work.
“Nonsense! You ride,” said Mr. Damon. “You’re lighter than we are, and can steer better. It won’t be any trouble at all to pull this car down hill.”
It proved to be an easy task, and in a short time the “dead” auto was near enough to the electric line to permit Tom to run his charging wire over to it.
“Why bless my soul!” exclaimed Mr. Damon, looking up. “There’s no overhead trolley wire. The car must run on storage batteries.”
“Third rail, more likely,” was the opinion of Mr. Sharp and so it proved.
“I can charge from either the third rail or the trolley wire,” declared Tom, who was insulating his hands in rubber gloves, and getting his wires ready. In a short time he had the proper connections made, and the much-needed current was soon flowing into the depleted battery, or batteries, for there were several sets, though the whole source of motive power was usually referred to as a “storage battery.”
“How long will it take?” asked Mr. Damon.
“About two hours,” answered the lad. “We’ll probably have to disconnect our wires several times, whenever a trolley car comes past. By my system I can recharge the battery very quickly.
“Do you suppose the owners of the road will make any objection?” asked the balloonist.
“I’m going to pay for the current I use,” explained the young inventor. “I have a meter which tells how much I take.”
The hum of an approaching car was heard, and Tom took the wires from the third rail. The car came to a stop opposite the automobile, the passengers, as well as the crew, looking curiously at the queer racing machine. Tom explained to the conductor what was going on, and asked the fare-collector to notify those in charge of the power station that all current used would be paid for. The conductor said this would be satisfactory, he was sure, and the car proceeded, Tom resuming the charging of his battery.
Allowing plenty of reserve power to accumulate, and making sure that the gauge would not stick again, and deceive him, the owner of the speedy electric was soon ready to proceed again. They had been delayed a little over three hours, for they had to make several shifts, as the cars came past.
They reached their shore cottage late that night, and, after seeing that the runabout was safely locked in the big shed where the submarine had been built, they all went to bed, for they were very tired.
Tom sent word, the next day, to the managers of the race, that he would be on hand at the time stipulated, and announced that he had made part of the trip, as required, under the power of the auto itself.
The next day was spent in overhauling the machinery, tightening up some loose bearings, oiling different parts, and further charging the battery. Tires were looked to, and the ones on the spare wheels were gone over to prepare for any emergency that might arise when the race was started.
On the third day, Tom, Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon, leaving the cottage completed the trip to Havenford, Long Island, where the new track had been constructed.
They reached the place shortly before noon, and, if they had been unaware of the location they could not have missed it, for there were many autos speeding along the road toward the scene of the race, which would take place the following day.
Several electric cars passed Tom and his friends, whizzing swiftly by, but the young inventor was not going to show off his speed until the time came. Besides, he did not want to run any risks of an accident. But some of the contestants seemed anxious for impromptu “brushes,” and more than one called to our hero to “speed up and let’s see what she can do.” But Tom smiled, and shook his head.
There were many gasolene and some steam autos going out to the new track, which was considered a remarkable piece of engineering. It
was in the shape of an octagon, and the turns were considered very safe. It was a five mile track, and to complete the race it would be necessary to make a hundred circuits.
Through scores of autos Tom and his friends threaded their way, the young inventor keeping a watchful eye on the various types of machine with which he would soon have to compete.
There were many kinds. Some were larger and some smaller than his. Many obviously carried very large batteries, but whether they had the speed or not was another question. Some, in spurts, seemed to Tom, to be fully as fast as his own, and he began to have some doubts whether he would win the race.
“But I’m not going to give up until the five hundredth mile is finished,” he thought, grimly.
They were now in sight of the track, and noted many machines speeding around it.
“Go on in and try your car, Tom,” urged Mr. Sharp.
“Yes, do,” added Mr. Damon. “Let’s see how it travels.”
“I will, after I notify the proper officials that I have arrived,” decided the lad.
The formalities were soon complied with. Tom received his entry card, after paying the fee, made affidavit that he had completed the entire trip from home under his own power, save for the little stretch when the car was pulled, which did not count against him, and was soon ready to go on the track. Only electric cars were allowed there.
As the young inventor guided his latest effort in the machine line onto the big track there were murmurs of surprise from the throngs.
“That’s a queer machine,” said one.
“Yes, but it looks speedy,” was another’s opinion.
“There’s the car for my money,” added a third, pointing to a big red electric which was certainly whizzing around the track. Tom noted the red car. Behind it was a green one, also moving at a fast rate of speed.
“Those will be my nearest rivals,” thought the lad, as he guided his car onto the track. A moment later he was sending the auto ahead at moderate speed, while the other contestants looked at the new arrival, as if trying to discover whether in it they would have a dangerous competitor.
CHAPTER XXV
WINNING THE PRIZE
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 63