THE MIDNIGHT PROWLER
TOM AND Ned looked up, a little startled, and saw their eccentric
friend, Mr. Wakefield Damon.
“Bless my gum shoes!” exclaimed Mr. Damon, wiping his glasses and
settling into the chair that Tom pulled over for him. “I came in on you
like a thief in the night, and by a coincidence I hear you talking about
thieves.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to put it as strongly as that,” said Tom, with a
laugh. “But all the same the actions of that oil crowd don’t seem to be
those of responsible business men. We’ve been having no end of trouble
with them, one way and another.”
“I’m afraid perhaps I made a mistake in introducing them to you,” said
Mr. Damon, with a slightly worried look. “Thompson was the only one of
them I knew, and even with him my acquaintance was slight. By the way,
did you get that second payment? Ned, here, was telling me that they
seemed to be trying to sidestep it.”
“It came in to-day,” replied Tom. “But we had a heap of trouble in
getting it. Here it is,” and he handed it over for his friend’s
inspection.
Mr. Damon scrutinized it carefully and heaved a sigh of relief.
“Well, that puts you on easy street, anyway,” he said. “They’ll have to
come across with the rest now to save what they’ve already invested. But
I’m afraid somebody else is in for a trimming.”
“What do you mean by that?” inquired Tom, with quickened interest.
“I heard something when I was on my last trip to New York that set me
thinking,” replied Mr. Damon. “I dropped into one of the clubs as the
guest of a friend of mine who is a member, and among the people to whom
I was introduced was a large Texas oil producer. Of course, that
interested me at once, apart from the fact that he was a most
entertaining talker. He told me a lot about his own experiences there,
and in the course of the conversation got going about the many
“wild-catters” that infest the oil fields.
“You know the wild-catter is to the legitimate oil man very much what
the bucket-shop keeper is to the solid Wall Street broker. He hates him
as he does ivy poison. The shady tricks in which the wild-catter
indulges cast a stigma on the whole oil-producing business.
“Well, this man, in giving me some illustrations of wildcat methods,
happened to mention the name of Thompson. Said he was one of the most
suave and polished individuals that roamed over the oil fields.
“I didn’t let on that I knew any one of that name, but from the
description he gave me of his personal appearance and manners, I feel
sure that it’s this fellow you’re making this material for. I led him on
to tell me what he knew of him, and if what he said is true, this
Thompson ought to have his picture in the rogues’ gallery. Not that he
ever will probably. He’s too shrewd for that. Always manages somehow or
other to keep just within the law.
“Among other things, this new acquaintance of mine said that he’d heard
that Thompson and his partners were trying to put something over on an
old blind man who owns a likely property at Goby, I think it was, close
to one of the big gushers that has come in recently. The old man didn’t
want to sell or lease, and the Thompson crowd were determined to make
him. Just how they were going to bamboozle him or coerce him, my
informant didn’t know, but he had heard enough before he left to be sure
that some shenanigan was on foot. Said he’d bet a hundred dollars to a
plugged nickel that before many moons had passed the gang would have the
property and the blind man would find himself buncoed.”
“So that’s the kind of fellows they are!” exclaimed Tom hotly. “If I
weren’t held by my contract I wouldn’t do another jot of work for them.”
“Oh, well, it isn’t a dead certainty that that Thompson and our Thompson
are the same man,” said Mr. Damon. “It’s a common enough name, as far as
that goes.”
“Still, I think they’re identical,” insisted Tom.
“At any rate, you’ll be through with the job soon and then you’ll be rid
of them for good and all. By the way, how’s the work coming on?”
“All right,” replied Tom. “Unless something unforeseen happens we’ll be
through on schedule time.”
“What’s that thing on the grounds that looks like a derrick?” asked Mr.
Damon. “It wasn’t there when I went away. Seems to have gone up almost
over night, like Jonah’s gourd.”
“Oh, it’s a contrivance that I had built to test an idea of mine,”
answered Tom.
At once Mr. Damon was after the hint like a terrier after a rat.
“Invented something new?” he asked eagerly.
“Not quite yet,” replied Tom, with a smile. “But I’ve hit on an idea
that may amount to something when I’ve worked it out more thoroughly.”
“Good for you!” cried Mr. Damon enthusiastically. “I knew you wouldn’t
be at this thing long before you struck something that would make
anything that had gone before look like thirty cents. More power to you,
my boy. What does your father think of it?”
“It hits him hard,” replied Tom. “I’ve gone into the thing pretty
thoroughly with him and I’ve benefited a lot by his suggestions. He
thinks it will mean an immense saving in time, expense and man power. So
far, we haven’t run up against any obstacle that seems insurmountable.
Still, you never can tell till it actually gets to working. It may turn
out to be a flivver after all.”
“Bless my modesty!” snorted Mr. Damon unbelievingly. “Hear Tom Swift
talk about flivvering! That’s one thing he’s never done yet.”
“There’s got to be a first time for everything,” bantered Tom.
“It’ll be a long time coming,” retorted Mr. Damon. “One thing I’m
certain of,” he went on; “and that is you’ll have a mighty fine market
for your invention when you get it perfected. You’ll have all the big
companies bidding against each other to get hold of it. I tell you, my
boy, there’ll be a fortune in it.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Tom. “But the pot of gold is still at the foot of
the rainbow and it may be a long tramp until I reach it.”
Although Tom expressed himself in this cautious way, he felt quite
certain in his own heart that he had hit upon a great invention. This
concerned itself with the drill with its sharp cutting edge, or bit. Up
to that time dependence had been placed upon having a hard tempered edge
that cut into and splintered the rock by its sharpness, its weight and
the distance from which it fell.
This was much. But Tom’s theory was that where there was much there
could always be added more. Suppose a circular motion could be given to
the bit at the moment of contact and the bit itself so shaped that in
addition to the crushing power given by the weight and fall there would
be a grinding, scooping movement that would eat into the very heart of
the soil or rock, making each stroke vastly more efficient. If he could
double its effectiveness, he would wipe out at once half the time
required, half the wear and tear on the machinery, half the man power
required, and vastly reduce the overhead expense. It would mean an
incalculable saving to the oil industry, and to Tom himself it would
mean a fortune.
His father agreed with him that he had hit upon an idea that went to the
core of the matter. Then followed long days and nights of experimenting,
until at last just as the dawn was lighting up the sky on one memorable
morning Tom leaped from his seat in wild exultation and fairly shouted:
“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!”
After the first few minutes of jubilation, he went over his figures and
diagrams again. Yes, if there was anything in mathematics, he had proved
that the new drill and bit would do what was expected of them.
But the invention had first to be demonstrated in actual working, and he
pushed forward energetically the work in his experimental plant.
About a week later he was working alone in the office, when, shortly
after midnight, there was a knock at the door and Koku, whose night it
was for self-imposed duty, entered. His eyes were rolling in agitation,
and he had his fingers on his lips as though to impose silence.
“What is it, Koku?” asked Tom, somewhat startled by the air of mystery.
“S-sh,” warned Koku. “Man down at fence. Saw light.”
Instantly Tom was outside. He looked down toward the stockade that
enclosed the experimental plant, but could see nothing.
“Guess you must have been dreaming, Koku,” he whispered.
“No,” said Koku. “Light come. Light go. There is now.”
Tom, too, saw a sudden gleam, as suddenly extinguished, that evidently
came from a flashlight.
“Come, Koku,” he commanded, and moved down stealthily toward the fence.