Mr. Damon presented a very different appearance. He had on a most
ragged suit, there was a scrubby beard on his face, and he walked with
a curious shuffle, caused by a pair of big, heavy shoes which he had
donned, first having taken the precaution to make holes in them and get
them muddy.
"Now I'm all ready," he said to Tom one day, when his disguise was
complete. "I'm going over and try my luck."
He left the house by a side door, so that no one would see him, and
started down the walk. As he did so a voice shouted:
"Hi, there! Git right out oh heah! Mistah Swift doan't allow no tramps
heah, an' we ain't got no wuk fo' yo', an' there ain't no cold
victuals. I does all de wuk, me an' mah mule Boomerang, an' we takes
all de cold victuals, too! Git right along, now!"
"It's Eradicate. He doesn't know you," said Tom, with a chuckle.
"So much the better," whispered Mr. Damon. But the disguise proved
almost too much of a success, for seeing the supposed tramp lingering
near the house, Eradicate caught up a stout stick and rushed forward.
He was about to strike the ragged man, when Tom called out:
"That's Mr. Damon, Rad!"
"Wh--what!" gasped the colored man; and when the situation had been
explained to him, and the necessity for silence impressed upon him, he
turned away, too surprised to utter a word. He sought consolation in
the stable with his mule.
Just what methods Mr. Damon used he never disclosed, but one thing is
certain: That night there came a cautious knock on the door of the
Swift home, and Tom, answering it, beheld his odd friend.
"Well," he asked eagerly, "what luck?"
"Put on a suit of old clothes, and come with me," said Mr. Damon.
"We'll look like two tramps, and then, if we're discovered, they won't
know it was you."
"Have you found out anything?" asked Tom eagerly.
"Not yet; but I've got a key to one of the side doors of the shed, and
we can get in as soon as it's late enough so that everybody there will
be in bed."
"A key? How did you get it?" inquired the youth.
"Never mind," was the answer, with a chuckle. "That was because of my
disguise; and I haven't blessed anything to-day. I'm going to, soon,
though. I can feel it coming on. But hurry, Tom, or we may be too late."
"And you haven't had a look inside the shed?" asked the young inventor.
"You don't know what's there?"
"No; but we soon will."
Eagerly Tom put on some of the oldest and most ragged garments he could
find, and then he and the odd gentleman set off toward the Foger home.
They waited some time after getting in sight of it, because they saw a
light in one of the windows. Then, when the house was dark, they stole
cautiously forward toward the big, gloomy shed.
"On this side," directed Mr. Damon in a whisper. "The key I have opens
this door."
"But we can't see when we get inside," objected Tom. "I should have
brought a dark lantern."
"I have one of those pocket electric flashlights," said Mr. Damon.
"Bless my candlestick! but I thought of that." And he chuckled
gleefully.
Cautiously they advanced in the darkness. Mr. Damon fumbled at the lock
of the door. The key grated as he turned it. The portal swung back, and
Tom and his friend found themselves inside the shed which, of late, had
been such an object of worry and conjecture to the young inventor. What
would he find there?
"Flash the light," he called to Mr. Damon in a hoarse whisper.
The eccentric man drew it from his packet. He pressed the spring switch,
and in an instant a brilliant shaft of radiance shot out, cutting the
intense blackness like a knife. Mr. Damon flashed it on all sides.
But to the amazement of Tom and his companion, it did not illuminate
the broad white wings and stretches of canvas of an aeroplane. It only
shone on the bare walls of the shed, and on some piles of rubbish in
the corners. Up and down, to right and left, shot the pencil of light.
"There's--there's nothing here!" gasped Tom.
"I--I guess you're right!" agreed Mr. Damon "The shed is empty!"
"Then where is Andy Foger building his aeroplane?" asked Tom in a
whisper; but Mr. Damon could not answer him.
Chapter Nine
A Trial Flight
For a few moments after their exclamations of surprise Tom and Mr.
Damon did not know what else to say. They stared about in amazement,
hardly able to believe that the shed could be empty. They had expected
to see some form of aeroplane in it, and Tom was almost sure his eyes
would meet a reproduction of his Humming-Bird, made from the stolen
plans.
"Can it be possible there's nothing here?" went on Tom, after a long
pause. He could not seem to believe it.
"Evidently not," answered Mr. Damon, as he advanced toward the center
of the big building and flashed the light on all sides. "You can see
for yourself."
"Or, rather, you can't see," spoke the youth. "It isn't here, that's
sure. You can't stick an aeroplane, even as small a one as my Humming
Bird, in a corner. No; it isn't here."
"Well, we'll have to look further," went on Mr. Damon. "I think--"
But a sudden noise near the big main doors of the shed interrupted him.
"Come on!" exclaimed Tom in a whisper. "Some one's coming! They may see
us! Let's get out!"
Mr. Damon released the pressure on the spring switch, and the light
went out. After waiting a moment to let their eyes become accustomed to
the darkness, he and Tom stole to the door by which they had entered.
As they swung it cautiously open they again heard the noise near the
main portals by which Andy had formerly taken in and out the Anthony,
as he had named the aeroplane in which he and his father went to
Alaska, where, like Tom's craft, it was wrecked.
"Some one is coming in!" whispered Tom.
Hardly had he spoken when a light shone in the direction of the sound.
The illumination came from a big lantern of the ordinary kind, carried
by some one who had just entered the shed.
"Can you see who it is?" whispered Mr. Damon, peering eagerly forward;
too eagerly, for his foot struck against the wooden side wall with a
loud bang.
"Who's there?" suddenly demanded the person carrying the lantern.
He raised it high above his head, in order to cast the gleams into all
the distant corners. As he did so a ray of light fell upon his face.
"Andy Foger!" gasped Tom in a hoarse whisper.
Andy must have heard, for he ran forward just as Tom and Mr. Damon
slipped out.
"Hold on! Who are you?" came in the unmistakable tones of the
red-haired bully.
"I don't think we're going to tell," chuckled Tom softly, as he and his
friend sped off into the darkness. They were not followed, and as they
looked back they could see a light bobbing about in the shed.
"He's looking for us!" exclaimed Mr. Damon with an inward laugh. "Bless
my watch chain! But it's a good thing we got in ahead of him. Are you
sure it was Andy himself?"
"Sure! I'd know his face anywhere. But I can't understand it. Where has
he been? What is he doing? Where is he building his aeroplane? I
thought he was out of town."
"He may have come back to-night," said Mr. Damon. "That's the only one
of your questions I can answer. We'll have to wait about the rest, I'm
sure he wasn't around the house to-day, though, for I was working at
weeding the flower beds, in my disguise as a tramp, and if he was home
I'd have seen him. He must have just come back, and he went out to his
shed to get something. Well, we did the best we could."
"Indeed we did," agreed Tom, "and I'm ever so much obliged to you, Mr.
Damon."
"And we'll try again, when we get more clues. Bless my shoelaces! but
it's a relief to be able to talk as you like."
And forthwith the eccentric man began to call down so many blessings on
himself and on his belongings, no less than on his friends, that Tom
laughingly warned him that he had better save some for another time.
The two reached home safely, removed their "disguises," and told Mr.
Swift of the result of their trip. He agreed with them that there was a
mystery about Andy's aeroplane which was yet to be solved.
But Tom was glad to find that, at any rate, the craft was not being
made in Shopton, and during the next two weeks he devoted all his time
to finishing his own machine. Mr. Jackson was a valuable assistant, and
Mr. Damon gave what aid he could.
"Well, I think I'll be ready for a trial flight in another week," said
Tom one day, as he stepped back to get a view of the almost completed
Humming-Bird.
"Shall you want a passenger?" asked Mr. Damon.
"Yes, I wish you would take a chance with me. I could use a bag of
sand, not that I mean you are to be compared to that," added Tom
quickly, "but I'd rather have a real person, in order to test the
balancing apparatus. Yes, we'll make a trial trip together."
In the following few days Tom went carefully over the aeroplane, making
some slight changes, strengthening it here and there, and testing the
motor thoroughly. It seemed to work perfectly.
At length the day of the trial came, and the Humming-Bird was wheeled
out of the shed. In spite of the fact that it was practically finished,
there yet remained much to do on it. It was not painted or decorated,
and looked rather crude. But what Tom wanted to know was how it would
fly, what control he had over it, what speed it could make, and how it
balanced. For it was, at best, very frail, and the least change in
equilibrium might be fatal.
Before taking his place in the operator's seat Tom started the motor,
and by means of a spring balance tested the thrust of the propellers.
It was satisfactory, though he knew that when the engine had been run
for some time, and had warmed up, it would do much better.
"All ready, I guess, Mr. Damon!" he called, and the odd gentleman took
his place. Tom got up into his own seat, in front of several wheels and
levers by which he operated the craft.
"Start the propeller!" he requested of Mr. Jackson, and soon the motor
was spitting fire, while the big, fan-like blades were whirring around
like wings of light. The engineer and Eradicate were holding back the
Humming-Bird.
"Let her go!" cried Tom as he turned on more gasoline and further
advanced the spark of the motor. The roar increased, the propeller
looked like a solid circle of wood, and the trim little monoplane moved
slowly across the rising ground, increasing its speed every second,
until, like some graceful bird, it suddenly rose in the air as Tom
tilted the wing tips, and soared splendidly aloft!
Chapter Ten
A Midnight Intruder
Tom Swift sent his wonderful little craft upward on a gentle slant.
Higher and higher it rose above the ground. Now it topped the trees;
now it was well over them.
On the earth below stood Mr. Swift, Mr. Jackson, Eradicate and Mrs.
Baggert. They were the only witnesses of the trial flight, and as the
aged inventor saw his son's latest design in aeroplanes circling in the
air he gave a cheer of delight. It was too feeble for Tom to hear, but
the lad, glancing down, saw his father waving his hand to him.
"Dear old dad!" thought Tom, waving in return. "I hope he's well enough
to see me win the big prize."
Tom and Mr. Damon went skimming easily through the air, at no great
speed, to be sure, for the young inventor did not want to put too
sudden a strain on his motor.
"This is glorious!" cried the odd gentleman. "I never shall have enough
of aeroplaning, Tom!"
"Nor I, either," added his companion. "But how do you like it? Don't
you think it's an improvement on my Butterfly, Mr. Damon?"
"It certainly is. You're a wonder, Tom! Look out! What are you up to?"
for the machine had suddenly swerved in a startling manner.
"Oh, that's just a new kind of spiral dip I was trying," answered Tom.
"I couldn't do that with my other machine, for I couldn't turn sharp
enough."
"Well, don't do it right away again," begged Mr. Damon, who had turned
a little white, and whose breath was coming in gasps, even though he
was used to hair-raising stunts in the frail craft of the air.
Tom did not take his machine far away, for he did not want to exhibit
it to the public yet, and he preferred to remain in the vicinity of his
home, in case of any accident. So he circled around, did figures of
eight, went up and down on long slants, took sharp turns, and gave the
craft a good tryout.
"Does it satisfy you?" asked Mr. Damon, when Tom had once more made the
spiral dip, but not at high speed.
"In a way, yes," was the answer. "I see a chance for several changes
and improvements. Of course, I know nothing about the speed yet, and
that's something that I'm anxious about, for I built this with the idea
of breaking all records, and nothing else. I know, now, that I can
construct a craft that will successfully navigate the air; in fact,
there are any number of people who can do that; but to construct a
monoplane that will beat anything ever before made is a different
thing. I don't yet know that I have done it."
"When will you?"
"Oh, when I make some changes, get the motor tuned up better, and let
her out for all she's worth. I want to do a hundred miles an hour, at
least. I'll arrange for a speedy flight in about two weeks more."
"Then I think I will stay home," said Mr. Damon.
"No; I'll need you," insisted Tom, laughing. "Now watch. I'm going to
let her out just a little."
He did, with the result that they skimmed through the air so fast that
Mr. Damon's breath became a mere series of gasps.
"We'll have to wear goggles and mouth protectors when we really go
fast!" yelled Tom above the noise of the motor, as he slowed down and
turned about for home.
"Go fast! Wasn't that fast?" asked Mr. Damon.
Tom shook his head.
"You wait, and you'll see," he announced.
They made a good landing, and Mr. Swift hastened up to congratulate his
son.
"I knew you could do it, Tom!" he cried.
"I couldn't, though, if it hadn't been for that wonderful engine of
yours, dad! How do you feel?"
"Pretty good. Oh! but that's a fine machine, Tom!"
"It certainly is," agreed Mr. Jackson.
"It will be when I have it in better trim," admitted the young inventor
modestly.
"By golly!" cried Eradicate, who was grinning almost from ear to ear,
"I's proud oh yo', Massa Tom, an' so will mah mule Boomerang be, when I
tells him. Yes, sah, dat's what he will be--proud ob yo', Massa Tom!"
"Thanks, Rad."
"Well, some folks is satisfied with mighty little under 'em, when they
go up in the air, that's my opinion," said Mrs. Baggert.
"Why, wouldn't you ride in this?" asked Tom of the buxom housekeeper.
"Not if you was to give me ten thousand dollars!" she cried firmly.
"Oh, dear! I think the potatoes are burning!" And she rushed back into
the house.
The next day Tom started to work overhauling the Humming-Bird, and
making some changes. He altered the wing tips slightly, and adjusted
the motor, until in a thrust test it developed nearly half again as
much power as formerly.
"And I'll need it all," declared Tom as he thought of the number of
contestants that had entered the great race.
For the Eagle Park meet was to be a large and important one, and the
principal "bird-men" of the world were to have a part in it. Tom knew
that he must do his very best, and he spared no efforts to make his
monoplane come up to his ideal, which was a very exacting one.
"We'll have a real speed test to-morrow," Tom announced to Mr. Damon
one night. "I'll see what the Humming-Bird can really do. You'll come,
won't you?"
"Oh, I suppose so. Bless my insurance policy! I might as well take the
same chance you do. But if you're going to have such a nerve-racking
thing as that on the program, you'd better get to bed early and have
plenty of sleep."
"Oh, I'm not tired. I think I'll go out this evening."
"Where?"
"Oh, just around town, to see some of the fellows." But if Tom was only
going around town merely to see his male friends, why did he dress so
carefully, put on a new necktie, and take several looks in the glass
before he went out? We think you can guess, and also the girl's name.
The young inventor got in rather late, and after a visit to the
aeroplane shed, to see that all was right there, he went to bed, first
connecting up the burglar-alarm wires that guarded the doors and
windows of the aerodrome.
How long he had been asleep Tom did not know, but he was suddenly
awakened by hearing the buzzing of the alarm at the head of his bed. At
first he took it for the droning and humming of the aeroplane motor, as
he had a hazy notion, and a sort of dream, that he was in his craft.
Then, with a start, he realized what it was--the burglar alarm.
"Some one's in the shed!" he gasped.
Out of bed he leaped, drawing on his trousers and coat, and putting on
a pair of slippers, with speed worthy of a fireman. He grabbed up a
revolver and rushed from his room, pounding on the door of Mr.
Jackson's apartment in passing.
"Some one in the shed, after the Humming-Bird!" shouted Tom. "Get a
gun, and come down!"
Chapter Eleven
Tom Is Hurt
As Tom passed down the hall on his way to the side door, from which he
could more quickly reach the aeroplane shed, he saw his father coming
from his room.
"What's the matter? What is it?" asked Mr. Swift, and alarm showed on
his pale face.
"It's nothing much, dad," said the youth, as quietly as he could, for
he realized that to excite his father might have a bad effect on the
invalid.
"Then why are you in such a hurry? Why have you that revolver? I know
there is something wrong, Tom. I am going to help you!"
In his father's present weakened state Tom desired this least of all,
so he said:
"Now, never mind, dad. I thought I heard a noise out in the yard, and
I'm not going to take any chances. So I roused Mr. Jackson, and I'm
going down to see what it is. Perhaps it may only be Eradicate's mule,
Boomerang, kicking around, or it may be Rad himself, or some one after
his chickens. Don't worry. Mr. Jackson and I can attend to it. You go
back to bed, father."
Tom spoke with such assurance that Mr. Swift believed him, and retired
to his room, just as the engineer, partly dressed, came hurrying out in
response to Tom's summons. He had his rifle, and, had the invalid
inventor seen that, he surely would have worried more.
"Come on!" whispered Tom. "Don't make any noise. I don't want to excite
my father."
"What was it?" asked the engineer.
"I don't know. Burglar alarm went off, that's all I can say until we
get to the shed."
Together the two left the house softly, and soon were hurrying toward
the aeroplane shed.
"Look!" exclaimed Mr. Jackson. "Didn't you see a light just then, Tom?"
"Where?"
"By the side window of the shed?"
"No, I didn't notice it! Oh, yes! There it is! Some one is in there! If
it's Andy Foger, I'll have him arrested, sure!"
"Maybe we can't catch him."
"That's so. Andy is a pretty slippery customer. Say, Mr. Jackson, you
go around and get Eradicate, and have him bring a club. We can't trust
him with a gun. Tell him to get at the back door, and I'll wait for you
to join me, and we'll go in the front door. Then we'll have 'em between
two fires. They can't get away."
"How about the windows?"
"They're high up, and hard to open since I put the new catches on them.
Whoever got in must have forced the lock of the door. There goes the
light again!"
As Tom spoke there was seen the faint glimmer of a light. It moved
slowly about the interior of the shed, and with a peculiar bobbing
motion, which indicated that some one was carrying it.
"Go for Eradicate, and don't make any more noise than you can help in
waking him up," whispered Tom, for they were now close to the shed, and
might be heard.
Mr. Jackson slipped off in the darkness, and Tom drew nearer to the
building that housed his Humming-Bird. There was one window lower than
the others, and near it was a box, that Tom remembered having seen that
afternoon. He planned to get up on that and look in, before making a
raid to capture the intruder.
Tom raised himself up to the window. The light had been visible a
moment before he placed the box in position, but an instant later it
seemed to go out, and the place was in darkness.
"I wonder if they've gone away?" thought Tom. "I can't hear any noise."
He listened intently. It was dark and silent in the shop. Suddenly the
light flashed up brighter than before, and the young inventor caught
sight of a man walking around the new aeroplane, examining it
carefully. He carried, as Tom could see, a large-sized electric
flash-lamp, with a brilliant tungsten filament, which gave a powerful
light.
As the youth watched, he saw the intruder place the light on a bench,
in such a position that the rays fell full upon the Humming-Bird. Then,
adjusting the spring switch so that the light would continue to glow,
the man stepped back and drew something from an inner pocket.
"I wonder what he's up to?" mused Tom. "I wish Eradicate and Mr.
Jackson would hurry back. Who can that fellow be, I wonder? I've never
seen him before, as far as I know. I thought sure it was going to turn
out to be Andy Foger!"
Tom turned around to look into the dark yard surrounding the shed. He
was anxious to hear the approach of his two allies, but there was no
sound of their footsteps.
As he turned back to watch the man he could not repress a cry of alarm,
for what the intruder had drawn from his pocket was a small hatchet,
and he was advancing with it toward the Humming-Bird!
"He's going to destroy my aeroplane!" gasped Tom, and he raised his
revolver to fire.
He did not intend to shoot at the man, but only to fire to scare him,
and thus hasten the coming of Mr. Jackson and the colored man. But
there was no need of this, for an instant later the two came running up
silently, Eradicate with a big club.
"Whar am he?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. "Let me git at him, Massa
Tom!"
"Hush!" exclaimed the young inventor. "We have no time to lose! He's in
there, getting ready to chop my aeroplane to bits! Go to the back door,
Rad, and if he tries to come out don't let him get away."
"I won't!" declared the colored man emphatically, and he shook his club
suggestively.
"Come on! We'll go in the front door," whispered Tom to the engineer.
"I have the key. We'll catch him red-handed, and hand him over to the
police."
Waiting a few seconds, to enable Eradicate to get to his place, Tom and
the engineer stole softly toward the big double doors. Every moment the
youth expected to hear the crash of the hatchet on his prize machine.
He shivered in anticipation, but the blows did not fall.
Tom pushed open the door and stepped inside, followed by Mr. Jackson.
As they did so they saw the man standing in front of the Humming-Bird.
He again raised the little hatchet, which was like an Indian tomahawk,
and poised it for an instant over the delicate framework and planes of
the air craft. Then his arm began to descend.
"Stop!" yelled Tom, and at the same time he fired in the air.
The man turned as suddenly as though a bullet had struck him, and for a
moment Tom was afraid lest he had hit him by accident; but an instant
later the intruder grabbed up his flashlight, and holding it before
him, so that its rays shone full on Tom and Mr. Jackson, while it left
him in the shadow, sprang toward them, the hatchet still in his hand.
"Look out, Tom!" cried Mr. Jackson.
"Out of my way!" shouted the man.
Bravely Tom stood his ground. He wished now that he had a club instead
of his revolver. The would-be vandal was almost upon him. Mr. Jackson
clubbed his rifle and swung it at the fellow. The latter dodged, and
came straight at Tom.
"Look out!" yelled the engineer again, but it was too late. There was
the sound of a blow, and Tom went down like a log. Then the place was
in darkness, and the sound of footsteps in rapid flight could be heard
outside the shed.
The intruder, after wounding the young inventor, had made his escape.
Chapter Twelve
Miss Nestor Calls
"What's de mattah? Shall I come in? Am anybody hurted?" yelled
Eradicate Sampson as he pounded on the rear door of the aeroplane shed.
"Let me in, Massa Tom!"
"All right! Wait a minute! I'm coming!" called Mr. Jackson. He tried to
peer through the darkness, to where a huddled heap indicated the
presence of Tom. Then he thought of the electric lights, which were run
by a storage battery when the dynamo was shut down, and a moment later
the engineer had switched on the incandescents, filling the big shed
with radiance.
"Tom, are you badly hurt?" gasped Mr. Jackson.
There was no answer, for Tom was unconscious.
"Let me in! Let me git at dat robber wif mah club!" cried the colored
man eagerly.
Knowing that he would need help in carrying Tom to the house, Mr.
Jackson hurried to the back door. He had a key to it, and it was
quicker to open it than to send Eradicate away around the shed to the
front portals.
"Whar am he?" gasped the faithful darky, as he took a firmer grasp of
his club and looked around the place. "Let me git mah hands on him!
I'll feed him t' Boomerang, when I gits froo wif him!"