Produced by Anthony Matonac.
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
or
The Quickest Flight on Record
By
VICTOR APPLETON
CONTENTS
I The Prize Offer
II Mr. Swift Is Ill
III The Plans Disappear
IV Anxious Days
V Building the Sky Racer
VI Andy Foger Will Contest
VII Seeking a Clue
VIII The Empty Shed
IX A Trial Flight
X A Midnight Intruder
XI Tom Is Hurt
XII Miss Nestor Calls
XIII A Clash with Andy
XIV The Great Test
XV A Noise in the Night
XVI A Mysterious Fire
XVII Mr. Swift Is Worse
XVIII The Broken Bridge
XIX A Nervy Specialist
XX Just in Time
XXI "Will He Live?"
XXII Off to the Meet
XXIII The Great Race
XXIV Won by a Length
XXV Home Again--Conclusion
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
Chapter One
The Prize Offer
"Is this Tom Swift, the inventor of several airships?"
The man who had rung the bell glanced at the youth who answered his
summons.
"Yes, I'm Tom Swift," was the reply. "Did you wish to see me?"
"I do. I'm Mr. James Gunmore, secretary of the Eagle Park Aviation
Association. I had some correspondence with you about a prize contest
we are going to hold. I believe--"
"Oh, yes, I remember now," and the young inventor smiled pleasantly as
he opened wider the door of his home. "Won't you come in? My father
will be glad to see you. He is as much interested in airships as I am."
And Tom led the way to the library, where the secretary of the aviation
society was soon seated in a big, comfortable leather chair.
"I thought we could do better, and perhaps come to some decision more
quickly, if I came to see you, than if we corresponded," went on Mr.
Gunmore. "I hope I haven't disturbed you at any of your inventions,"
and the secretary smiled at the youth.
"No. I'm through for to-day," replied Tom. "I'm glad to see you. I
thought at first it was my chum, Ned Newton. He generally runs over in
the evening."
"Our society, as I wrote you, Mr. Swift, is planning to hold a very
large and important aviation meet at Eagle Park, which is a suburb of
Westville, New York State. We expect to have all the prominent
'bird-men' there, to compete for prizes, and your name was mentioned. I
wrote to you, as you doubtless recall, asking if you did not care to
enter."
"And I think I wrote you that my big aeroplane-dirigible, the Red
Cloud, was destroyed in Alaska, during a recent trip we made to the
caves of ice there, after gold," replied Tom.
"Yes, you did," admitted Mr. Gunmore, "and while our committee was very
sorry to hear that, we hoped you might have some other air craft that
you could enter at our meet. We want to make it as complete as
possible, and we all feel that it would not be so unless we had a Swift
aeroplane there."
"It's very kind of you to say so," remarked Tom, "but since my big
craft was destroyed I really have nothing I could enter."
"Haven't you an aeroplane of any kind? I made this trip especially to
get you to enter. Haven't you anything in which you could compete for
the prizes? There are several to be offered, some for distance flights,
some for altitude, and the largest, ten thousand dollars, for the
speediest craft. Ten thousand dollars is the grand prize, to be awarded
for the quickest flight on record."
"I surely would like to try for that," said Tom, "but the only craft I
have is a small monoplane, the Butterfly, I call it, and while it is
very speedy, there have been such advances made in aeroplane
construction since I made mine that I fear I would be distanced if I
raced in her. And I wouldn't like that."
"No," agreed Mr. Gunmore. "I suppose not. Still, I do wish we could
induce you to enter. I don't mind telling you that we consider you a
drawing-card. Can't we induce you, some way?"
"I'm afraid not. I haven't any machine which--"
"Look here!" exclaimed the secretary eagerly. "Why can't you build a
special aeroplane to enter in the next meet? You'll have plenty of
time, as it doesn't come off for three months yet. We are only making
the preliminary arrangements. It is now June, and the meet is scheduled
for early in September. Couldn't you build a new and speedy aeroplane
in that time?"
Eagerly Mr. Gunmore waited for the answer. Tom Swift seemed to be
considering it. There was an increased brightness to his eyes, and one
could tell that he was thinking deeply. The secretary sought to clinch
his argument.
"I believe, from what I have heard of your work in the past, that you
could build an aeroplane which would win the ten-thousand-dollar
prize," he went on. "I would be very glad if you did win it, and, so I
think, would be the gentlemen associated with me in this enterprise. It
would be fine to have a New York State youth win the grand prize. Come,
Tom Swift, build a special craft, and enter the contest!"
As he paused for an answer footsteps were heard coming along the hall,
and a moment later an aged gentleman opened the door of the library.
"Oh! Excuse me, Tom," he said, "I didn't know you had company." And he
was about to withdraw.
"Don't go, father," said Tom. "You will be as much interested in this
as I am. This is Mr. Gunmore, of the Eagle Park Aviation Association.
This is my father, Mr. Gunmore."
"I've heard of you," spoke the secretary as he shook hands with the
aged inventor. "You and your son have made, in aeronautics, a name to
be proud of."
"And he wants us to go still farther, dad," broke in the youth. "He
wants me to build a specially speedy aeroplane, and race for ten
thousand dollars."
"Hum!" mused Mr. Swift. "Well, are you going to do it, Tom? Seems to me
you ought to take a rest. You haven't been back from your gold-hunting
trip to Alaska long enough to more than catch your breath, and now--"
"Oh, he doesn't have to go in this right away," eagerly explained Mr.
Gunmore. "There is plenty of time to make a new craft."
"Well, Tom can do as he likes about it," said his father. "Do you think
you could build anything speedier than your Butterfly, son?"
"I think so, father. That is, if you'd help me. I have a plan partly
thought out, but it will take some time to finish it. Still, I might
get it done in time."
"I hope you'll try!" exclaimed the secretary. "May I ask whether it
would be a monoplane or a biplane?"
"A monoplane, I think," answered Tom. "They are much more speedy than
the double-deckers, and if I'm going to try for the ten thousand
dollars I need the fastest machine I can build."
"We have the promise of one or two very fast monoplanes for the meet,"
went on Mr. Gunmore. "Would yours be of a new type?"
"I think it would," was the reply of the young inventor. "In fact, I am
thinking of making a smaller monoplane than any that have yet been
constructed, and yet one that will carry two persons. The hardest work
will be to make the engine light enough and still have it sufficiently
powerful to make over a hundred miles an hour, if necessary.
"A hundred miles an hour in a small monoplane! It isn't possible!"
cried the secretary.
"I'll make better time than that," said Tom quietly, and with not a
trace of boasting in his tones.
"Then you'll enter the meet?" asked Mr. Gunmore eagerly.
"Well, I'll think about it," promised Tom. "I'll let you know in a few
days. Meanwhile, I'll be thinking out the details for my new craft. I
have been going to build one ever since I got back, after having seen
my Red Cloud crushed in the ice cave. Now I think I had better begin
active work."
"I hope you will soon let me know," resumed the secretary. "I'm going
to put you down as a possible contestant for the ten-thousand-dollar
prize. That can do no harm, and I hope you win it. I trust--"
He paused suddenly, and listened. So did Tom Swift and his father, for
they all distinctly heard stealthy footsteps under the open windows of
the library.
"Some one is out there, listening," said Tom in low tones.
"Perhaps it's Eradicate Sampson," suggested Mr. Swift, referring to the
eccentric colored man who was employed by the inventor and his son to
help around the place. "Very likely it was Eradicate, Tom."
"I don't think so," was the lad's answer. "He went to the village a
while ago, and said he wouldn't be back until late to-night. He had to
get some medicine for his mule, Boomerang, who is sick. No, it wasn't
Eradicate; but some one was under that window, trying to hear what we
said."
As he spoke in guarded tones, Tom went softly to the casement and
looked out. He could observe nothing, as the night was dark, and the
new moon, which had been shining, was now dimmed by clouds.
"See anything?" asked Mr. Gunmore as he advanced to Tom's side.
"No," was the low answer. "I can't hear anything now, either."
"I'll go speak to Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper," volunteered Mr.
Swift. "Perhaps it was she, or she may know something about it."
He started from the room, and as he went Tom noticed, with something of
a start, that his father appeared older that night than he had ever
looked before. There was a trace of pain on the face of the aged
inventor, and his step was lagging.
"I guess dad needs a rest and doctoring up," thought the young inventor
as he turned the electric chandelier off by a button on the wall, in
order to darken the room, so that he might peer out to better
advantage. "I think he's been working too hard on his wireless motor.
I must get Dr. Gladby to come over and see dad. But now I want to find
out who that was under this window."
Once more Tom looked out. The moon had emerged from behind a thin bank
of clouds, and gave a little light.
"See anything?" asked Mr. Gunmore cautiously.
"No," whispered the youth, for it being a warm might, the windows were
open top and bottom, a screen on the outside keeping out mosquitoes and
other insects. "I can't see a thing," went on Tom, "but I'm sure--"
He paused suddenly. As he spoke there sounded a rustling in the
shrubbery a little distance from the window.
"There's something!" exclaimed Mr. Gunmore.
"I see!" answered the young inventor.
Without another word he softly opened the screen, and then, stooping
down to get under the lower sash (for the windows in the library ran
all the way to the floor), Tom dropped out of the casement upon the
thick grass.
As he did so he was aware of a further movement in the bushes. They
were violently agitated, and a second later a dark object sprang from
them and sprinted along the path.
"Here! Who are you? Hold on!" cried the young inventor.
But the figure never halted. Tom sprang forward, determined to see who
it was, and, if possible, capture him.
"Hold on!" he cried again. There was no answer.
Tom was a good runner, and in a few seconds he had gained on the
fugitive, who could just be seen in the dim light from the crescent
moon.
"I've got you!" cried Tom.
But he was mistaken, for at that instant his foot caught on the
outcropping root of a tree, and the young inventor went flat on his
face.
"Just my luck!" he cried.
He was quickly on his feet again, and took after the fugitive. The
latter glanced back, and, as it happened, Tom had a good look at his
face. He almost came to a stop, so startled was he.
"Andy Foger!" he exclaimed as he recognized the bully who had always
proved himself such an enemy of our hero. "Andy Foger sneaking under my
windows to hear what I had to say about my new aeroplane! I wonder what
his game can be? I'll soon find out!"
Tom was about to resume the chase, when he lost sight of the figure. A
moment later he heard the puffing of an automobile, as some one cranked
it up.
"It's too late!" exclaimed Tom. "There he goes in his car!" And knowing
it would be useless to keep up the chase, the youth turned back toward
his house.
Chapter Two
Mr. Swift is Ill
"Who was it?" asked Mr. Gunmore as Tom again entered the library. "A
friend of yours?"
"Hardly a friend," replied Tom grimly. "It was a young fellow who has
made lots of trouble for me in the past, and who, lately, with his
father, tried to get ahead of me and some friends of mine in locating a
gold claim in Alaska. I don't know what he's up to now, but certainly
it wasn't any good. He's got nerve, sneaking up under our windows!"
"What do you think was his object?"
"It would be hard to say."
"Can't you find him to-morrow, and ask him?"
"There's not much satisfaction in that. The less I have to do with Andy
Foger the better I'm satisfied. Well, perhaps it's just as well I fell,
and couldn't catch him. There would have been a fight, and I don't want
to worry dad any more than I can help. He hasn't been very well of
late."
"No, he doesn't look very strong," agreed the secretary. "But I hope he
doesn't get sick, and I hope no bad consequences result from the
eavesdropping of this Foger fellow."
Tom started for the hall, to get a brush with which to remove some of
the dust gathered in his chase after Andy. As he opened the library
door to go out Mr. Swift came in again.
"I saw Mrs. Baggert, Tom," he said. "She wasn't out under the window,
and, as you said, Eradicate isn't about. His mule is in the barn, so it
couldn't have been the animal straying around."
"No, dad. It was Andy Foger."
"Andy Foger!"
"Yes. I couldn't catch him. But you'd better go lie down, father. It's
getting late, and you look tired."
"I am tired, Tom, and I think I'll go to bed. Have you finished your
arrangements with Mr. Gunmore?"
"Well, I guess we've gone as far as we can until I invent the new
aeroplane," replied Tom, with a smile.
"Then you'll really enter the meet?" asked the secretary eagerly.
"I think I will," decided Tom. "The prize of ten thousand dollars is
worth trying for, and besides that, I'll be glad to get to work again
on a speedy craft. Yes, I'll enter the meet."
"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Gunmore, shaking hands with the young inventor.
"I didn't have my trip for nothing, then. I'll go back in the morning
and report to the committee that I've been successful. I am greatly
obliged to you."
He left the Swift home, after refusing Tom's invitation to remain all
night, and went to his hotel. Tom then insisted that his father retire.
As for the young inventor, he was not satisfied with the result of his
attempt to catch Andy Foger. He had no idea why the bully was hiding
under the library window, but Tom surmised that some mischief might be
afoot.
"Sam Snedecker or Pete Bailey, the two cronies of Andy, may still be
around here, trying to play some trick on me," mused Tom. "I think I'll
take a look outside." And taking a stout cane from the umbrella rack,
the youth sallied forth into the yard and extensive grounds surrounding
his house.
While he is thus looking for possible intruders we will tell you a
little more about him than has been possible since the call of the
aviation secretary.
Tom Swift lived with his father, Barton Swift, in the town of Shopton,
New York State. The young man had followed in the footsteps of his
parent, and was already an inventor of note.
Their home was presided over by Mrs. Baggert, as housekeeper, since
Mrs. Swift had been dead several years. In addition, there was Garret
Jackson, an engineer, who aided Tom and his father, and Eradicate
Sampson, an odd colored man, who, with his mule, Boomerang, worked
about the place.
In the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and his
Motor-Cycle," here was related how he came to possess that machine. A
certain Mr. Wakefield Damon, an eccentric gentleman, who was always
blessing himself, or something about him, owned the cycle, but he came
to grief on it, and sold it to Tom very cheaply.
Tom had a number of adventures on the wheel, and, after having used the
motor to save a valuable patent model from a gang of unscrupulous men,
the lad acquired possession of a power boat, in which he made several
trips, and took part in many exciting happenings.
Some time later, in company with John Sharp, an aeronaut, whom Tom had
rescued from Lake Carlopa, after the airman had nearly lost his life in
a burning balloon, the young inventor made a big airship, called the
Red Cloud. With Mr. Damon, Tom made several trips in this craft, as set
forth in the book, "Tom Swift and His Airship."
It was after this that Tom and his father built a submarine boat, and
went under the ocean for sunken treasure, and, following that trip Tom
built a speedy electric runabout, and by a remarkable run in that, with
Mr. Damon, saved a bank from ruin, bringing gold in time to stave off a
panic.
"Tom Swift and His Wireless Message" told of the young inventor's plan
to save the castaways of Earthquake Island, and how he accomplished it
by constructing a wireless plant from the remains of the wrecked
airship Whizzer. After Tom got back from Earthquake Island he went with
Mr. Barcoe Jenks, whom he met on the ill-fated bit of land, to discover
the secret of the diamond makers. They found the mysterious men, but
the trip was not entirely successful, for the mountain containing the
cave where the diamonds were made was destroyed by a lightning shock,
just as Mr. Parker, a celebrated scientist, who accompanied the party,
said it would be.
But his adventure in seeking to discover the secret of making precious
stones did not satisfy Tom Swift, and when he and his friends got back
from the mountains they prepared to go to Alaska to search for gold in
the caves of ice. They were almost defeated in their purpose by the
actions of Andy Foger and his father, who in an under-hand manner, got
possession of a valuable map, showing the location of the gold, and
made a copy of the drawing.
Then, when Tom and his friends set off in the Red Cloud, as related in
"Tom Swift in the Caves of Ice," the Fogers, in another airship, did
likewise. But Tom and his party were first on the scene, and
accomplished their purpose, though they had to fight the savage
Indians. The airship was wrecked in a cave of ice, that collapsed on
it, and the survivors had desperate work getting away from the frozen
North.
Tom had been home all the following winter and spring, and he had done
little more than work on some small inventions, when a new turn was
given his thoughts and energies by a visit from Mr. Gunmore, as
narrated in the first chapter of the present volume.
"Well, I guess no one is here," remarked the young inventor as he
completed the circuit of the grounds and walked slowly back toward the
house. "I think I scared Andy so that he won't come back right away. He
had the laugh on me, though, when I stumbled and fell."
As Tom proceeded he heard some one approaching, around the path at the
side of the house.
"Who's there?" he called quickly, taking a firmer grasp of his stick.
"It's me, Massa Swift," was the response. "I jest come back from town.
I got some peppermint fo' mah mule, Boomerang, dat's what I got."
"Oh! It's you, is it, Rad?" asked the youth in easier tones.
"Dat's who it am. Did yo' t'ink it were some un else?"
"I did," replied Tom. "Andy Foger has been sneaking around. Keep your
eyes open the rest of the night, Rad."
"I will, Massa Tom."
The youth went into the house, having left word with the engineer, Mr.
Jackson, to be on the alert for anything suspicious.
"And now I guess I'll go to bed, and make an early start to-morrow
morning, planning my new aeroplane," mused Tom. "I'm going to make the
speediest craft of the air ever seen!"
As he started toward his room Tom Swift heard the voice of the
housekeeper calling to him:
"Tom! Oh, Tom! Come here, quickly!"
"What's the matter?" he asked, in vague alarm.
"Something has happened to your father!" was the startling reply. "He's
fallen down, and is unconscious! Come quickly! Send for the doctor!"
Tom fairly ran toward his father's room.
Chapter Three
The Plans Disappear
Mr. Swift was lying on the floor, where he had fallen, in front of his
bed, as he was preparing to retire. There was no mark of injury upon
him, and at first, as he knelt down at his father's side, Tom was at a
loss to account for what had taken place.
"How did it happen? When was it?" he asked of Mrs. Baggert, as he held
up his father's head, and noted that the aged man was breathing
slightly.
"I don't know what happened, Tom," answered the housekeeper, "but I
heard him fall, and ran upstairs, only to find him lying there, just
like that. Then I called you. Hadn't you better have a doctor?"
"Yes; we'll need one at once. Send Eradicate. Tell him to run--not to
wait for his mule--Boomerang is too slow. Oh, no! The telephone, of
course! Why didn't I think of that at first? Please telephone for Dr.
Gladby, Mrs. Baggert. Ask him to come as soon as possible, and then
tell Garret Jackson to step here. I'll have him help me get father into
bed."
The housekeeper hastened to the instrument, and was soon in
communication with the physician, who promised to call at once. The
engineer was summoned from another part of the house, and then
Eradicate was aroused.
Mrs. Baggert had the colored man help her get some kettles of hot water
in readiness for possible use by the doctor. Mr. Jackson aided Tom to
lift Mr. Swift up on the bed, and they got off some of his clothes.
"I'll try to see if I can revive him with a little aromatic spirits of
ammonia," decided Tom, as he noticed that his father was still
unconscious. He hastened to prepare the strong spirits, while he was
conscious of a feeling of fear and alarm, mingled with sadness.
Suppose his father should die? Tom could not bear to think of that. He
would be left all alone, and how much he would miss the companionship
and comradeship of his father none but himself knew.
"Oh! but I mustn't think he's going to die!" exclaimed the youth, as he
mixed the medicine.
Mr. Swift feebly opened his eyes after Tom and Mr. Jackson had
succeeded in forcing some of the ammonia between his lips.
"Where am I? What happened?" asked the aged inventor faintly.
"We don't know, exactly," spoke Tom softly. "You are ill, father. I've
sent for the doctor. He'll fix you up. He'll be here soon."
"Yes, I'm--I'm ill," murmured the aged man. "Something hurts me--here,"
and he put his hand over his heart.
Tom felt a nameless sense of fear. He wished now that he had insisted
on his parent consulting a physician some time before, when Mr. Swift
first complained of a minor ailment. Perhaps now it was too late.
"Oh! when will that doctor come?" murmured Tom impatiently.
Mrs. Baggert, who was nervously going in and out of the room, again
went to the telephone.
"He's on his way," the housekeeper reported. "His wife said he just
started out in his auto."
Dr. Gladby hurried into the room a little later, and cast a quick look
at Mr. Swift, who had again lapsed into unconsciousness.
"Do you think he--think he's going to die?" faltered Tom. He was no
longer the self-reliant young inventor. He could meet danger bravely
when it threatened himself alone, but when his father was stricken he
seemed to lose all courage.
"Die? Nonsense!" exclaimed the doctor heartily. "He's not dead yet, at
all events, and while there's life there's hope. I'll soon have him out
of this spell."
It was some little time, however, before Mr. Swift again opened his
eyes, but he seemed to gain strength from the remedies which Dr. Gladby
administered, and in about an hour the inventor could sit up.
"But you must be careful," cautioned the physician. "Don't overdo
yourself. I'll be in again in the morning, and now I'll leave you some
medicine, to be taken every two hours."
"Oh, I feel much better," said Mr. Swift, and his voice certainly
seemed stronger. "I can't imagine what happened. I came upstairs, after
Tom had received a visit from the minister, and that's all I remember."
"The minister, father!" exclaimed Tom, in great amazement. "The
minister wasn't here this evening! That was Mr. Gunmore, the aviation
secretary. Don't you remember?"
"I don't remember any gentleman like that calling here to-night," Mr.
Swift said blankly. "It was the minister, I'm sure, Tom."
"The minister was here last night, Mr. Swift," said the housekeeper.
"Was he? Why, it seems like to-night. And I came upstairs after talking
to him, and then it all got black, and--and--"
"There, now; don't try to think," advised the doctor. "You'll be all
right in the morning."
"But I can't remember anything about that aviation man," protested Mr.
Swift. "I never used to be that way--forgetting things. I don't like
it!"
"Oh, it's just because you're tired," declared the physician. "It will
all come back to you in the morning. I'll stop in and see you then. Now
try to go to sleep." And he left the room.
Tom followed him, Mrs. Baggert and Mr. Jackson remaining with the sick
man.
"What is the matter with my father, Dr. Gladby?" asked Tom earnestly,
as the doctor prepared to take his departure. "Is it anything serious?"
"Well," began the medical man, "I would not be doing my duty, Tom, if I
did not tell you what it is. That is, it is comparatively serious, but
it is curable, and I think we can bring him around. He has an affection
of the heart, that, while it is common enough, is sometimes fatal.
"But I do not think it will be so in your father's case. He has a fine
constitution, and this would never have happened had he not been run
down from overwork. That is the principal trouble. What he needs is
rest; and then, with the proper remedies, he will be as well as before."
"But that strange lapse of memory, doctor?"
"Oh, that is nothing. It is due to the fact that he has been using his
brain too much. The brain protests, and refuses to work until rested.
Your father has been working rather hard of late hasn't he?"
"Yes; on a new wireless motor."
"I thought so. Well, a good rest is what he needs, and then his mind
and body will be in tune again. I'll be around in the morning."
Tom was somewhat relieved by the doctor's words, but not very much so,
and he spent an anxious night, getting up every two hours to administer
the medicine. Toward morning Mr. Swift fell into a heavy sleep, and did
not awaken for some time.
"Oh, you're much better!" declared Dr. Gladby when he saw his patient
that day.
"Yes, I feel better," admitted Mr. Swift.
"And can't you remember about Mr. Gunmore calling?" asked Tom.
The aged inventor shook his head, with a puzzled air.
"I can't remember it at all," he said. "The minister is the last person
I remember calling here."
Tom looked worried, but the physician said it was a common feature of
the disease from which Mr. Swift suffered, and would doubtless pass
away.
"And you don't remember how we talked about me building a speedy
aeroplane and trying for the ten-thousand-dollar prize?" asked Tom.
"I can't remember a thing about it," said the inventor, with a puzzled
shake of his head, "and I'm not going to try, at least not right away.
But, Tom, if you're going to build a new aeroplane, I want to help you.
I'll give you the benefit of my advice. I think my new form of motor
can be used in it."
"Now! now! No inventions--at least not just yet!" objected the
physician. "You must have a good rest first, Mr. Swift, and get strong.
Then you and Tom can build as many airships as you like."
Mr. Swift felt so much better about three days later that he wanted to
get right to work planning the airship that was to win the big prize,
but the doctor would not hear of it. Tom, however, began to make rough
sketches of what he had in mind changing them from time to time. He
also worked on a type of motor, very light, and modeled after one his
father had recently patented.
Then a new idea came to Tom in regard to the shape of his aeroplane,
and he worked several days drawing the plans for it. It was a new idea
in construction, and he believed it would give him the great speed he
desired.
"But I'd like dad to see it," he said. "As soon as he's well enough
I'll go over it with him."
That time came a week later, and with a complete set of the plans,
embodying his latest ideas, Tom went into the library where his father
was seated in an easy-chair. Dr. Gladby had said it would not now harm
the aged inventor to do a little work. Tom spread the drawings out in
front of his father, and began to explain them in detail.
"I really think you have something great there, Tom!" exclaimed Mr.
Swift, at length. "It is a very small monoplane, to be sure, but I
think with the new principle you have introduced it will work; but, if
I were you, I'd shape those wing tips a little differently."
"No, they're better that way," said Tom pleasantly, for he did not
often disagree with his father. "I'll show you from a little model I
have made. I'll get it right away."
Anxious to demonstrate that he was right in his theory, Tom hurried
from the library to get the model of which he had spoken. He left the
roll of plans lying on a small table near where his father was seated.
"There, you see, dad," said the young inventor as he re-entered the
library a few minutes later, "when you warp the wing tips in making a
spiral ascent it throws your tail wings out of plumb, and so--"
Tom paused in some amazement, for Mr. Swift was lying back in his
chair, with his eyes closed. The lad started in alarm, laid aside his
model, and sprang to his father's side.
"He's had another of those heart attacks!" gasped Tom. He was just
going to call Mrs. Baggert, when Mr. Swift opened his eyes. He looked
at Tom, and the lad could see that they were bright, and did not show
any signs of illness.
"Well, I declare!" exclaimed the inventor. "I must have dozed off, Tom,
while you were gone. That's what I did. I fell asleep!"
"Oh!" said Tom, much relieved. "I was afraid you were ill again. Now,
in this model, as you will see by the plans, it is necessary--"
He paused, and looked over at the table where he had left the drawings.
They were not there!
"The plans, father!" Tom exclaimed. "The plans I left on the table!
Where are they?"
"I haven't touched them," was the answer. "They were on that table,
where you put them, when I closed my eyes for a little nap. I forgot
all about them. Are you sure they're missing?"
"They're not here!" And Tom gazed wildly about the room. "Where can
they have gone?"
"I wasn't out of my chair," said Mr. Swift, "I ought not to have gone
to sleep, but--"
Tom fairly jumped toward the long library window, the same one from
which he had leaped to pursue Andy Foger. The casement was open, and
Tom noted that the screen was also unhooked. It had been closed when he
went to get the model, he was sure of that.
"Look, dad! See!" he exclaimed, as he picked up from the floor a small
piece of paper.
"What is it, Tom?"
"A sheet on which I did some figuring. It is no good, but it was in
with the plans. It must have dropped out."
"Do you mean that some one has been in here and taken the plans of your
new aeroplane, Tom?" gasped his father.
"That's just what I mean! They sneaked in here while you were dozing,
took the plans, and jumped out of the window with them. On the way this
paper fell out. It's the only clue we have. Stay here, dad. I'm going
to have a look." And Tom jumped from the library window and ran down
the path after the unknown thief.
Chapter Four
Anxious Days
Peering on all sides as he dashed along the gravel walk, hoping to
catch a glimpse of the unknown intruder in the garden or shrubbery, Tom
sprinted on at top speed. Now and then he paused to listen, but no
sound came to him to tell of some one in retreat before him. There was
only Silence.
"Mighty queer," mused the youth. "Whoever it was, he couldn't have had
more than a minute start of me--no, not even half a minute--and yet
they've disappeared as completely as though the ground had opened and
let them down; and the worst of it is, that they've taken my plans with
them!"
He turned about and retraced his steps, making a careful search. He saw
no one, until, turning a corner, a little later, he met Eradicate
Sampson.
"You haven't seen any strangers around here just now, have you, Rad?"
asked Tom anxiously.
"No, indeedy, I hasn't, Massa Tom. What fo' kind ob a stranger was him?"
"That's just what I don't know. Rad. But some one sneaked into the
library just now and took some of my plans while my father dozed off. I
jumped out after him as soon as I could, but he has disappeared."
"Maybe it were th' man who done stowed hisself away on yo' airship, de
time yo' all went after de diamonds," suggested the colored man.
"No, it couldn't have been him. If it was anybody, it was Andy Foger,
or some of his crowd. You didn't see Andy, did you, Rad?"
"No, indeedy; but if I do, I suah will turn mah mule, Boomerang, loose
on him, an' he won't take any mo' plans--not right off, Massa Tom."
"No, I guess not. Well, I must get back to dad, or he'll worry. Keep
your eyes open, Rad, and if you see Andy Foger, or any one else, around
here, let me know. Just sing out for all you're worth."
"Shall I call out, Massa Tom, ef I sees dat blessin' man?"
"You mean Mr. Damon?"
"Dat's de one. De gen'man what's allers a-blessin' ob hisself or his
shoelaces, or suffin laik dat. Shall I sing out ef I sees him?"
"Well, no; not exactly, Rad. Just show Mr. Damon up to the house. I'd
be glad to see him again, though I don't fancy he'll call. He's off on
a little trip, and won't be back for a week. But watch out, Rad." And
with that Tom turned toward the house, shaking his head over the puzzle
of the missing plans.
"Did you find any one?" asked his father eagerly as the young inventor
entered the library.
"No," was the gloomy answer. "There wasn't a sign of any one."
Tom went over to the window and looked about for clues. There was none
that he could see, and a further examination of the ground under the
window disclosed nothing. There was gravel beneath the casement, and
this was not the best medium for retaining footprints. Nor were the
gravel walks any better.
"Not a sign of any one," murmured Tom. "Are you sure you didn't hear
any noise, dad, when you dozed off?"
"Not a sound, Tom. In fact, it's rather unusual for me to go to sleep
like that, but I suppose it's because of my illness. But I couldn't
have been asleep long--not more than two minutes."
"That's what I think. Yet in that time someone, who must have been on
the watch, managed to get in here and take my plans for the new sky
racer. I don't see how they got the wire screen open from the outside,
though. It fastens with a strong hook."
"And was the screen open?" asked Mr. Swift
"Yes, it was unhooked. Either they pushed a wire in through the mesh,
caught it under the hook, and pulled it up from the outside, or else
the screen was opened from the inside."
"I don't believe they could get inside to open the screen without some
of us seeing them," spoke the older inventor. "More likely, Tom, it
wasn't hooked, and they found it an easy matter to simply pull it open."
"That's possible. I'll ask Mrs. Baggert if the screen was unhooked."
But the housekeeper could not be certain on that point, and so that
part of the investigation amounted to nothing.
"It's too bad!" exclaimed Mr. Swift. "It's my fault, for dozing off
that way."
"No, indeed, it isn't!" declared Tom stoutly.
"Is the loss a serious one?" asked his father. "Have you no copy of the
plans?"
"Yes, I have a rough draft from which I made the completed drawings,
and I can easily make another set. But that isn't what worries me--the
mere loss of the plans."
"What is it, then, Tom?"
"The fact that whoever took them must know that they are the plans for
a sky racer that is to take part in the big meet. I have worked it out
on a new principle, and it is not yet patented. Whoever stole my plans
can make the same kind of a sky racer that I intended to construct, and
so stand as good a chance to win the prize of ten thousand dollars as I
will."
"That certainly is too bad, Tom. I never thought of that. Do you
suspect any one?"
"No one, unless it's Andy Foger. He's mean enough to do a thing like
that, but I didn't think he'd have the nerve. However, I'll see if I
can learn anything about him. He may have been sneaking around, and if
he has my plans he'd ask nothing better than to make a sky racer and
beat me."
"Oh, Tom, I'm so sorry!" exclaimed Mr. Swift "I--I feel very bad about
it!"
"There, never mind!" spoke the lad, seeing that his father was looking
ill again. "Don't think any more about it, dad. I'll get back those
plans. Come, now. It's time for your medicine, and then you must lie
down." For the aged inventor was looking tired and weak.
Wearily he let Tom lead him to his room, and after seeing that the
invalid was comfortable Tom called up Dr. Gladby, to have him come and
see Mr. Swift. The doctor said his patient had been overdoing himself a
little, and must rest more if he was to completely recover.
Learning that his father was no worse, Tom set off to find Andy Foger.
"I can't rest until I know whether or not he has my plans," he said to
himself. "I don't want to make a speedy aeroplane, and find out at the
last minute that Andy, or some of his cronies, have duplicated it."
But Tom got little satisfaction from Andy Foger. When that bully was
accused of having been around Tom's house he denied it, and though the
young inventor did not actually accuse him of taking the plans, he
hinted at it. Andy muttered many indignant negatives, and called on
some of his cronies to witness that at the time the plans were taken he
and they were some distance from the Swift home.
So Tom was baffled; and though he did not believe the red-haired lad's
denial, there was no way in which he could prove to the contrary.
"If he didn't take the plans, who did?" mused Tom.
As the young inventor turned away after cross-questioning Andy, the
bully called out:
"You'll never win that ten thousand dollars!"
"What do you know about that?" demanded Tom quickly.
"Oh, I know," sneered Andy. "There'll be bigger and better aeroplanes
in that meet than you can make, and you'll never win the prize."
"I suppose you heard about the affair by sneaking around under our
windows, and listening," said Tom.
"Never mind how I know it, but I do," retorted the bully.
"Well, I'll tell you one thing," said Tom calmly. "If you come around
again it won't be healthy for you. Look out for live wires, if you try
to do the listening act any more, Andy!" And with that ominous warning
Tom turned away.
"What do you suppose he means, Andy?" asked Pete Bailey, one of Andy's
cronies.
"It means he's got electrical wires strung around his place," declared
Sam Snedecker, "and that we'll be shocked if we go up there. I'm not
going!"
"Me, either," added Pete, and Andy laughed uneasily.
Tom heard what they said, and in the next few days he made himself busy
by putting some heavy wires in and about the grounds where they would
show best. But the wires carried no current, and were only displayed to
impress a sense of fear on Andy and his cronies, which purpose they
served well.
But it was like locking the stable door after the horse had been
stolen, for with all the precautions he could take Tom could not get
back his plans, and he spent many anxious days seeking them. They
seemed to have completely disappeared, however, and the young inventor
decided there was nothing else to do but to draw new ones.
He set to work on them, and in the meanwhile tried to learn whether or
not Andy had the missing plans. He sought this information by stealth,
and was aided by his chum, Ned Newton. But all to no purpose. Not the
slightest trace or clue was discovered.
Chapter Five
Building the Sky Racer
"What will you do, if, after you have your little monoplane all
constructed, and get ready to race, you find that some one else has one
exactly like it at the meet?" asked Ned Newton one day, when he and Tom
were out in the big workshop, talking things over. "What will you do,
Tom?"
"I don't see that there is anything I can do. I'll go on to the meet,
of course, and trust to some improvements I have since brought out, and
to what I know about aeroplanes, to help me win the race. I'll know,
too, who stole my plans."
"But it will be too late, then."
"Yes, too late, perhaps, to stop them from using the drawings, but not
too late to punish them for the theft. It's a great mystery, and I'll
be on the anxious seat all the while. But it can't be helped."
"When are you going to start work on the sky racer?"
"Pretty soon, now. I've got another set of plans made, and I've fixed
them so that if they are stolen it won't do any one any good."
"How's that?"
"I've put in a whole lot of wrong figures and measurements, and scores
of lines and curves that mean nothing. I have marked the right figures
and lines by a secret mark, and when I work on them I'll use only the
proper ones. But any one else wouldn't know this. Oh, I'll fool 'em
this time!"
"I hope you do. Well, when you get the machine done I'd like to ride in
it. Will it carry two, as your Butterfly does?"
"Yes, only it will be much different; and, of course, it will go much
faster. I'll give you a ride, all right, Ned. Well, now I must get busy
and see what material I need for what I hope will prove to be the
speediest aeroplane in the world."
"That's going some! I must be leaving now. Don't forget your promise. I
saw Mary Nestor on my way over here. She was asking for you. She said
you must be very busy, for she hadn't seen you in some time."
"Um!" was all Tom answered, but by the blush that mounted to his face
it was evident that he was more interested in Mary Nestor than his mere
exclamation indicated.
When Ned had gone Tom got out pencil and paper, and was busily engaged
in making some intricate calculations. He drew odd little sketches on
the margin of the sheet, and then wrote out a list of the things he
would need to construct the new aeroplane.
This finished, he went to Mr. Jackson, the engineer, and asked him to
get the various things together, and to have them put in the special
shop where Tom did most of his work.
"I want to get the machine together as soon as I can," he remarked to
the engineer, "for it will need to be given a good tryout before I
enter in the race, and I may find that I'll have to make several
changes in it."
Mr. Jackson promised to attend to the matter right away, and then Tom
went in to talk to his father about the motor that was to whirl the
propeller of the new air craft.
Mr. Swift had improved very much in the past few days, and though Dr.
Gladby said he was far from being well, the physician declared there
was no reason why he should not do some inventive work.
He and Tom were deep in an argument of gasoline motors, discussing the
best manner of attaching the fins to the cylinders to make them
air-cooled, when a voice sounded outside, the voice of Eradicate:
"Heah! Whar yo' goin'?" demanded the colored man. "Whar yo' goin'?"
"Somebody's out in the garden!" exclaimed Tom, jumping up suddenly.
"Perhaps it's the same person who took the plans!" suggested Mr. Swift.
"Hold on, dere!" yelled Eradicate again.
Then a voice replied:
"Bless my insurance policy! What's the matter? Have there been burglars
around? Why all these precautions? Bless my steam heater! Don't you
know me?"
"Mr. Damon!" cried Tom, a look of pleasure coming over his face. "Mr.
Damon is coming!"
"So I should judge," responded Mr. Swift, with a smile. "I wonder why
Eradicate didn't recognize him?"
They learned why a moment later, for on looking from the library
window, Tom saw the colored man coming up the walk behind a
well-dressed gentleman.
"Why, mah goodness! It's Mr. Damon!" exclaimed Eradicate. "I didn't
know yo', sah, wif dem whiskers on! I didn't, fo' a fac'!"
"Bless my razor! I suppose it does make a difference," said the
eccentric man. "Yes, my wife thought I'd look better, and more sedate,
with a beard, so I grew one to please her. But I don't like it. A beard
is too warm this kind of weather; eh, Tom?" And Mr. Damon waved his
hand to the young inventor and his father, who stood in the low windows
of the library. "Entirely too warm, bless my finger-nails, yes!"
"I agree with you!" exclaimed Tom. "Come in! We're glad to see you!"
"I called to see if you aren't going on another trip to the North Pole,
or somewhere in the Arctic regions," went on Mr. Damon.
"Why?" inquired Tom.
"Why, then this heavy beard of mine would come in handy. It would keep
my throat and chin warm." And Mr. Damon ran his hands through his
luxuriant whiskers.
"No more northern trips right away," said Tom. "I'm about to build a
speedy monoplane, to take part in the big meet at Eagle Park."
"Oh, yes, I heard about the meet," said Mr. Damon. "I'd like to be in
that."
"Well, I'm building a machine that will carry two," went on Tom, "and
if you think you can stand a speed of a hundred miles an hour, or
better, I'll let you come with me. There are some races where a
passenger is allowed."
"Have you got a razor?" asked Mr. Damon suddenly.
"What for?" inquired Mr. Swift, wondering what the eccentric man was
going to do.
"Why, bless my shaving soap! I'm going to cut off my beard. If I go in
a monoplane at a hundred miles an hour I don't want to make any more
resistance to the wind than possible, and my whiskers would certainly
hold back Tom's machine. Where's a razor? I'm going to shave at once.
My wife won't mind when I tell her what it's for. Lend me a razor,
please, Tom."
"Oh, there's plenty of time," explained the lad, with a laugh. "The
race doesn't take place for over two months. But when it does, I think
you would be better off without a beard."
"I know it," said Mr. Damon simply. "I'll shave before we enter the
contest, Tom. But now tell me all about it."
Tom did so, relating the story of the theft of the plans. Mr. Damon was
for having Andy arrested at once, but Mr. Swift and his son pointed out
that they had no evidence against him.
"All we can do," said the young inventor, "is to keep watch on him, and
see if he is building another aeroplane. He has all the facilities, and
he may attempt to get ahead of me. If he enters a sky craft at the meet
I'll be pretty sure that he has made it from my stolen plans."
"Bless my wing tips!" cried Mr. Damon. "But can't we do anything to
stop him?"
"I'm afraid not," answered Tom; and then he showed Mr. Damon his
re-drawn plans, and told in detail of how he intended to construct the
new aeroplane.
The eccentric man remained as the guest of the Swift family that night,
departing for his home the next day, and promising to be on hand as
soon as Tom was ready to test his new craft, which would be in about a
month.
As the days passed, Tom, with the help of his father, whose health was
slightly better, and with the aid of Mr. Jackson, began work on the
speedy little sky racer.
As you boys are all more or less familiar with aeroplanes, we will not
devote much space to the description of the new one Tom Swift made. We
can describe it in general terms, but there were some features of it
which Tom kept a secret from all save his father.
Suffice it to say that Tom had decided to build a small air craft of
the single-wing type, known as the monoplane. It was to be a cross
between the Bleriot and the Antoinette, with the general features of
both, but with many changes or improvements.
The wings were shaped somewhat like those of a humming-bird, which, as
is well known, can, at times, vibrate its wings with such velocity that
the most rapid camera lens cannot quite catch.
And when it is known that a bullet in flight has been successfully
photographed, the speed of the wings of the humming-bird can be better
appreciated.
The writer has seen a friend, with a very rapid camera, which was used
to snap automobiles in flight, attempt to take a picture of a
humming-bird. He got the picture, all right, but the plate was blurred,
showing that the wings had moved faster than the lens could throw them
on the sensitive plate.
Not that Tom intended the wings of his monoplane to vibrate, but he
adopted that style as being the best adapted to allow of rapid flight
through the air; and the young inventor had determined that he would
clip many minutes from the best record yet made.
The body of his craft, between the forward wings and the rear ones,
where the rudders were located, was shaped like a cigar, with side
wings somewhat like the fin keels of the ocean liner to prevent a
rolling motion. In addition, Tom had an ingenious device to
automatically adapt his monoplane to sudden currents of air that might
overturn it, and this device was one of the points which he kept secret.
The motor, which was air-cooled, was located forward, and was just
above the heads of the operator and the passenger who sat beside him.
The single propeller, which was ten feet in diameter, gave a minimum
thrust of one thousand pounds at two thousand revolutions per minute.
This was one feature wherein Tom's craft differed from others. The
usual aeroplane propeller is eight feet in diameter, and gives from
four to five hundred pounds thrust at about one thousand revolutions
per minute, so it can be readily seen wherein Tom had an advantage.
"But I'm building this for speed," he said to Mr. Jackson, "and I'm
going to get it! We'll make a hundred miles an hour without trouble."
"I believe you," replied the engineer. "The motor you and your father
have made is a wonder for lightness and power."