he's badly hurt."
They hastened to the unconscious lad. On one side of his head was a bad
cut, which was bleeding freely.
"Oh! he's daid! I know he's daid!" wailed Eradicate.
"Not a bit of it. He isn't dead, but he may die, if we don't get him
into the house, and have a doctor here soon," said Mr. Jackson sternly.
"Catch hold of him, Rad, and, mind, don't carry on, and get excited,
and scare Mr. Swift. Just pretend it isn't very bad, or we'll have two
patients on our hands instead of only Tom."
They managed to get the youth into the house, and, contrary to their
fears, Mr. Swift was not nearly so nervous as they had expected. Calmly
he took charge of matters, and even telephoned for Dr. Gladby himself,
while Mr. Jackson and Eradicate undressed Tom and got him to bed. Mrs.
Baggert busied herself heating water and getting things in readiness
for the doctor, who had promised to come at once.
Tom was just regaining consciousness when the physician came in, having
driven over at top speed.
"What--what happened? Did the Humming-Bird fall?" asked Tom in a
whisper, putting his hand to his head.
"No, something fell on you, I guess," said the doctor, who had been
hurriedly told of the circumstances. "But don't worry, Tom. You'll be
all right in a few days. You got a bad cut on the head, but the skull
isn't fractured, I'm glad to say. Here, now, just drink this," and he
gave Tom some medicine he had mixed in a glass.
The cut was soon dressed, and Tom felt much better, though weak and a
trifle dizzy.
"Did he hit me with the hatchet?" he asked Mr. Jackson.
"I couldn't tell," was the engineer's reply, "it all happened so
quickly. In another instant I'd have bowled him over, instead of him
landing on you, but I just missed him. He either used the hatchet, or
some blunt instrument."
"Well, don't talk about it now," urged the doctor. "I want Tom to get
quiet and go to sleep. He'll be much better in the morning, but I must
forbid any aeroplane flights." And he shook his finger at Tom in
warning. "You'll have to lie quiet for several days," he added.
"All right," agreed the young inventor weakly, and then he dozed off,
for the physician had given him a quieting medicine.
"Haven't you any idea who it was?" asked Dr. Gladby of Mr. Jackson, as
he prepared to leave.
"Not the slightest. It was no one Tom or I had ever seen before. But
whoever it was, he intended to destroy the Humming-Bird, that was
evident!"
"The scoundrel! I'm glad you foiled him in time; but it's too bad about
Tom. However, we'll soon have him all right again."
"I knows who done it!" broke in Eradicate, who was a sort of privileged
character about the Swift home.
"Who?" asked Mr. Jackson.
"It were dat Andy Foger. Leastways, he send dat man heah t' make
mincemeat oh de Hummin'-Bird. I's positib 'bout dat, so I am!" And
Eradicate grinned triumphantly.
"Well, perhaps Andy did have a hand in it," admitted Mr. Swift, "but we
have no proof of it, I can't see what his object would be in wanting to
destroy Tom's new craft."
"Pure meanness. Afraid that Tom will beat him in the race," suggested
Mr. Jackson.
"It's too big a risk to take," went on the aged inventor. "I'm inclined
to think it might be one of the gang of men who made the diamonds in
the cave in the mountains. They might have sent a spy on East, and he
might try to damage the aeroplane to be revenged for what Tom and Mr.
Jenks did to them."
"It's possible," agreed the engineer. "Well, we'll wait until Tom can
talk, and we'll go over it with him."
"Not until he is stronger, though," stipulated the physician as he went
away. "Don't excite Tom for a few days."
The young inventor was much better the following day, and when Dr.
Gladby called he said Tom could sit up for a little while. Two days
later Tom was well enough to be talked to, and his father and Mr.
Jackson went over all the details of the matter. Mr. Damon, who had
returned home, came to see his friend as soon as he heard of his
plight, and was also a member of the consulting party.
"Bless my dictionary!" exclaimed the eccentric man. "I wish I had been
here to take a hand in it. But, Tom, do you believe it was one of the
diamond-making gang?"
"I hardly think so," was the reply. "They would take some other means
of revenge than by destroying my new aeroplane. I'm inclined to think
it was some one who is in with Andy Foger."
"Then we'll hire detectives, and locate him and them," declared Mr.
Damon, blessing several things in succession.
Tom, however, did not like that plan, and it was decided to do nothing
right away. In another few days Tom was able to be up, though he was
still a semi-invalid, not venturing out of the house.
It was one afternoon, when, rather tired of his confinement, he was
wishing he could resume work on his air craft, that Mrs. Baggert came
in, and said:
"Some one to see you, Tom."
"Is it Mr. Damon?"
"No, it's a lady. She--"
"Oh, Tom! How are you?" cried a girlish voice, and Mary Nestor walked
into the room, holding out both hands to the young inventor. Tom, with
a blush, arose hastily.
"No! no! Sit still!" commanded the girl. "Oh! I'm so sorry to hear
about your accident! In fact, I only heard this morning. We've been
away, mamma and I, and we just got back. Tell me all about it, that is,
if you feel able. But don't exert yourself. Oh! I wish I had hold of
that man!"
And Miss Nestor clenched her two pretty little hands and set her white,
even teeth grimly together, as though she would do most desperate
things indeed.
"I wish you did, too!" exclaimed Tom. "That is, so you could hold him
until I had a chance at him. But I'm all right now. It was very good of
you to call. How are you, and how are your folks?"
"Very well. But I came to hear about you. Tell me," and she looked
anxiously at Tom, while Mrs. Baggert discreetly withdrew to the
adjoining room, and made a great noise, rattling papers and moving
chairs about.
Thereupon Tom told what had happened, while Mary Nestor listened
interestedly and with expressions of fear at times.
"But if Andy had anything to do with it," concluded Tom, "I can't
understand what his object is. Andy is acting very strangely lately. We
can't locate him, nor find out where he is building his airship. That's
what I want to know; but Mr. Damon and I, after a lot of trouble, only
found his aeroplane shed empty."
"And you want to find out where Andy Foger is building his aeroplane
which he has entered in the big race?" asked Miss Nestor.
"That's what I'd like to know," declared Tom earnestly. "Only we can't
seem to do it. No one knows."
"Why don't you write to Mr. Sharp, or some one of the aviation meet
committee?" asked the girl simply. "They would know, for you say Andy
made his formal entry with them, and the rules require him to tell from
what city and State he will enter his craft. Write to the committee,
Tom."
For a moment the young inventor stared at her. Then he banged his fist
down on the arm of his chair.
"By Jove, Mary! That's the very thing!" he cried. "I wonder why I never
thought of that, instead of fiddling around in disguises, and things
like that? I wonder why I never thought of that plan?"
"Perhaps because it was so simple," she answered, with a pretty blush.
"I guess that's it," agreed Tom. "It takes a woman to jump across a
bridge to a conclusion every time. I'll write to Mr. Sharp at once."
Chapter Thirteen
A Clash with Andy
Tom lost no time in writing to Mr. Sharp. He wondered more and more at
his own neglect in not before having asked the balloonist, when the
latter was in Shopton, where Andy was building his aeroplane. But, as
it developed later, Mr. Sharp did not know at that time.
While waiting for a reply to his letter, Tom busied himself about his
own craft, making several changes he had decided on. He also began to
paint and decorate it, for he wanted to have the Humming-Bird present a
neat appearance when she was officially entered in the great race.
Miss Nestor called on Tom again, and Mr. Damon was a frequent visitor.
He agreed to accompany Tom to the aviation park when it was time for
the race, and also to be a passenger in the ten-thousand-dollar contest.
"It must be perfectly wonderful to fly through the air," said Miss
Nestor one day, when Tom and Mr. Damon had the Humming-Bird out on the
testing ground, trying the engine, which had been keyed up to a higher
pitch of speed. "I consider it perfectly marvelous, and I can't imagine
how it must seem to skim along that way."
"Come and try it," urged Tom suddenly. "There's not a bit of danger.
Really there isn't."
"Oh! I'd never dare do it!" replied the girl, with a gasp. "That
machine is too swift by name and swift by nature for me."
"Why don't you take Miss Nestor on a grass-cutting flight, Tom?"
suggested Mr. Damon. "Bless my lawn mower! but she wouldn't be
frightened at that."
"Grass cutting?" repeated the girl. "What in the world does that mean?"
"It means skimming along a few feet up in the air," answered the young
inventor, who had now fully recovered from the effects of the blow
given him by the midnight intruder. In spite of many inquiries, no
clues to his identity had been obtained.
"How high do you go when you 'cut grass,' as you call it?" asked Miss
Nestor, and Tom thought he detected a note of eager curiosity in her
voice.
"Not high at all," he said. "In fact, sometimes I do cut off the tops
of tall daisies. Come, Mary! Won't you try that? I know you'll like it,
and when you've been over the lawn a few times you'll be ready for a
high flight. Come! there's no danger."
"I--I almost believe I will," she said hesitatingly. "Will you take me
down when I want to come?"
"Of course," said Tom. "Get in, and we'll start."
The Humming-Bird was all ready for a trial flight, and Tom was glad of
the chance to test it, especially with such a pretty passenger as was
Miss Nestor.
"Bless my shoelaces!" cried Mr. Damon. "I can see where I am going to
be cut out, Tom Swift. I'll not get many more rides with you now that
Miss Nestor is taking to aeroplaning, you young rascal!" And he
playfully shook his finger at Tom.
"Oh, I don't expect to get enthusiastic over it," said Miss Nestor,
who, now that she had taken her place in one of the small seats under
the engine, appeared as if she would be glad of the chance to change
her mind. But she did not.
"Now, if you take me more than five feet up in the air, I'll never
speak to you again, Tom Swift!" she exclaimed.
"Five feet it shall be, unless you yourself ask to go higher," was the
youth's reply, as he winked at Mr. Damon. Well he knew the fascination
of aeroplaning, and he was almost sure of what would happen. "You can
take a tape measure along, and see for yourself," he added to his fair
passenger. "The barograph will hardly register such a little height."
"Well, it's as high as I want to go," said the girl. "Oh!" with a
scream, as Tom started the propeller. "Are we going?"
"In a moment," was his reply. He took his seat beside the girl. The
motor was speeded up until it sounded like the roar of the ocean surf
in a storm.
"Let her go!" cried Tom to Mr. Damon and Mr. Jackson, who were holding
back the Humming-Bird. They gave her a slight shove to over-come the
inertia, and the trim little craft darted across the ground at every
increasing speed.
Miss Nestor caught her breath with a gasp, glanced at Tom, and noted
how cool he was, and then her frantic grip of the uprights slightly
relaxed.
"We'll go up a little way in a minute!" shouted Tom in her ear as they
were speeding over the level ground.
He pulled a lever slightly, and the Humming-Bird rose a little in the
air, but only for a short distance, not more than five feet, and Tom
held her there, though he had to run the engine at a greater speed than
would have been the case had he been in the sustaining upper currents.
It was as if the Humming-Bird resented being held so closely to the
earth.
Around in a big circle, back and forth went the craft, at no time being
more than seven feet from the ground. Tom glanced at Miss Nestor. Her
cheeks were unusually red, and there was a bright sparkle in her eyes.
"It's glorious!" she cried. "Do you--do you think there's any danger in
going higher? I believe I'd like to go up a bit."
"I knew it!" cried Tom. "Up we go!" And he pulled the wind-bending
plane lever toward him. Upward shot the craft, as if alive.
"Oh!" gasped Mary.
"Sit still! It's all right!" commanded Tom.
"It's glorious; glorious!" she cried. "I'm not a bit afraid now!"
"I knew you wouldn't be," declared the young inventor, who had
calculated on the fascination which the motion through the air,
untrammeled and free, always produces. "Shall we go higher?"
"Yes!" cried Miss Nestor, and she gazed fearlessly down at the earth,
which was falling away from beneath their feet. She was in the grip of
the air, and it was a new and wonderful sensation.
Tom went up to a considerable distance, for, once a person loses his
first fright, one hundred feet or one thousand feet elevation makes
little difference to him. It was this way with Miss Nestor.
Now, indeed, could Tom demonstrate to her some of the fine points of
navigation in the upper currents, and though he did no risky "stunts,"
he showed the girl what it means to do an ascending spiral, how to cut
corners, how to twist around in the figure eight, and do other things.
Tom did not try for the great speed of which he knew his craft was
capable, for he knew there was some risk with Miss Nestor aboard. But
he did nearly everything else, and when he sent the Humming-Bird down
he had made another convert and devotee to the royal sport of
aeroplaning.
"Oh! I never would have dared believe I could do it!" exclaimed the girl,
as with flushed cheeks and dancing eyes she dismounted from the seat.
"Mamma and papa will never believe I did it!"
"Bring them over, and I'll take them for a flight," said Tom, with a
laugh, as Mary departed.
Tom received an answer to his letter to Mr. Sharp that night.
"Andy Foger's entry blank states," wrote the balloonist, "that he is
constructing his aeroplane in the village of Hampton, which is about
fifty miles from your place. If there is anything further I can do for
you, Tom, let me know. I will see you at the meet. Hope you win the
prize."
"In Hampton, eh?" mused Tom. "So that's where Andy has been keeping
himself all this while. His uncle lives there, and that's the reason
for it. He wanted to keep it a secret from me, so he could use my
stolen plans for his craft. But he shan't do it! I'll go to Hampton!"
"And I'll go with you!" declared Mr. Damon, who was with Tom when he
got the note from the balloonist. "We'll get to the bottom of this
mystery after a while, Tom."
Delaying a few days, to make the final changes in his aeroplane, Tom
and Mr. Damon departed for Hampton one morning. They thought first of
going in the Butterfly, but as they wanted to keep their mission as
secret as possible, they decided to go by train, and arrive in the town
quietly and unostentatiously. They got to Hampton late that afternoon.
"What's the first thing to be done?" asked Mr. Damon as they walked up
from the station, where they were almost the only persons who alighted
from the train.
"Go to the hotel," decided Tom. "There's only one, I was told, so
there's not much choice."
Hampton was a quiet little country town of about five thousand
inhabitants, and Tom soon learned the address of Mr. Bentley, Andy's
uncle, from the hotel clerk.
"What business is Mr. Bentley in?" asked Tom, for he wanted to learn
all he could without inquiring of persons who might question his
motives.
"Oh, he's retired," said the clerk. "He lives on the interest of his
money. But of late he's been erecting some sort of a building on his
back lot, like a big shed, and folks are sort of wondering what he's
doing in it. Keeps mighty secret about it. He's got a young fellow
helping him."
"Has he got red hair?" asked Tom, while his heart beat strangely fast.
"Who? Mr. Bentley? No. His hair's black."
"I mean the young fellow."
"Oh! his? Yes, his is red. He's a nephew, or some relation to Mr.
Bentley. I did hear his name, but I've forgotten it. Sandy, or Andy, or
some such name as that."
This was near enough for Tom and Mr. Damon, and they did not want to
risk asking any more questions. They turned away to go to their rooms,
as the clerk was busy answering inquiries from some other guests. A
little later, supper was served, and Tom, having finished, whispered to
Mr. Damon to join him upstairs as soon as he was through.
"What are you going to do?" asked the eccentric man.
"We're going out and have a look at this new shed by moonlight,"
decided Tom. "I want to see what it's like, and, if possible, I want to
get a peep inside. I'll soon be able to tell whether or not Andy is
using my stolen plans."
"All right. I'm with you. Bless my bill of fare! But we seem to be
doing a lot of mysterious work of late."
"Yes," agreed Tom. "But if you have to bless anything to-night, Mr.
Damon, please whisper it. Andy, or some of his friends, may be about
the shed, and as soon as they hear one of your blessings they'll know
who's coming."
"Oh, I'll be careful," promised Mr. Damon.
"Andy will find out, sooner or later, that we are in town," went on
Tom, "but we may be able to learn to-night what we want to know, and
then we can tell how to act."
A little later, as if they were merely strolling about, Mr. Damon and
Tom headed for Mr. Bentley's place, which was on the outskirts of the
town. There was a full moon, and the night was just right for the kind
of observation Tom wanted to make. There were few persons abroad, and
the young inventor thought he would have no one spying on him.
They located the big house of Andy's uncle without trouble. Going down
a side street, they had a glimpse of a shed, built of new boards,
standing in the middle of a large lot. About the structure was a new,
high wooden fence, but as Tom and his friend passed along it they saw
that a gate in it was open.
"I'm going in!" whispered Tom.
"Will it be safe?" asked Mr. Damon.
"I don't care whether it will be or not. I've got to know what Andy is
doing. Come on! We'll take a chance!"
Cautiously they entered the enclosure. The big shed was dark, and stood
out conspicuously in the moonlight.
"There doesn't seem to be any one here," whispered Tom. "I wonder if we
could get a look in the window?"
"It's worth trying, anyhow," agreed Mr. Damon. "I'm with you, Tom."
They drew nearer to the shed. Suddenly Tom stepped on a stick, which
broke with a sharp report.
"Bless my spectacles!" cried Mr. Damon, half aloud.
There was silence for a moment, and then a voice cried out:
"Who's there? Hold on! Don't come any farther! It's dangerous!"
Tom and Mr. Damon stood still, and from behind the shed stepped Andy
Foger and a man.
"Oh! it's you, is it, Tom Swift?" exclaimed the red-haired bully. "I
thought you'd come sneaking around. Come on, Jake! We'll make them wish
they'd stayed home!" And Andy made a rush for Tom.
Chapter Fourteen
The Great Test
"Bless my gizzard!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, who hardly knew what to do.
"We'd better be getting out of here, Tom!"
"Not much!" exclaimed the young inventor. "I never ran from Andy Foger
yet, and I'm not going to begin now."
He assumed an attitude of defense, and stood calmly awaiting the
onslaught of the bully; but Andy knew better than to come to a personal
argument with Tom, and so the red-haired lad halted some paces off. The
man, who had followed young Foger, also stopped.
"What do you want around here, Tom Swift?" demanded Andy.
"You know very well what I want," said the young inventor, calmly. "I
want to know what you did with the aeroplane plans you took from my
house."
"I never took any!" declared Andy vigorously.
"Well, there's no use discussing that," went on Tom. "What I came here
to find out, and I don't mind telling you, is whether or not you are
building a monoplane to compete against me, and building it on a model
invented by me; and what's more, Andy Foger, I intend to find this out,
too!"
Tom started toward the big shed, which loomed up in the moonlight.
"Stand back!" cried Andy, getting in Tom's way. "I can build any kind
of an aeroplane I like, and you can't stop me!"
"We'll see about that," declared the young inventor, as he kept on.
"I'm not going to allow my plans to be stolen, and a monoplane made
after them, and do nothing about it."
"You keep away!" snarled Andy, and he grabbed Tom by the shoulder and
struck him a blow in the chest. He must have been very much excited, or
otherwise he never would have come to hostilities this way with Tom,
whom he well knew could easily beat him.
The blow, together with the many things he had suffered at Andy's
hands, was too much for our hero. He drew back his fist, and a moment
later Andy Foger was stretched out on the grass. He lay there for a
moment, and then rose up slowly to his knees, his face distorted with
rage.
"You--you hit me!" he snarled.
"Not until you hit first," said Tom calmly.
"Bless my punching bag! That's so!" exclaimed Mr. Damon.
"You'll suffer for this!" whined Andy, getting to his feet, but taking
care to retreat from Tom, who stood ready for him. "I'll get square
with you for this! Jake, come on, and we'll get our guns!"
Andy turned and hurried back toward the shed, followed by the
evil-looking man, who had apparently been undecided whether to attack
Mr. Damon or Tom. Now the bully and his companion were in full retreat.
"We'll get our guns, and then we'll see whether they'll want to stay
where they're not wanted!" went on Andy, threateningly.
"Bless my powderhorn! What had we better do?" asked Mr. Damon.
"I guess we'd better go back," said Tom calmly. "Not that I'm afraid of
Andy. His talk about guns is all bluff; but I don't want to get into
any more of a row, and he is just ugly and reckless enough to make
trouble. I'm afraid we can't learn what we came to find out, though
I'm more convinced than ever that Andy is using my plans to make his
aeroplane."
"But what can you do?"
"I'll see Mr. Sharp, and send a protest to the aviation committee. I'll
refuse to enter if Andy flies in a model of my Humming-Bird, and I'll
try to prevent him from using it after he gets it on the ground. That
is all I can do, it seems, lacking positive information. Come on, Mr.
Damon. Let's get back to our hotel, and we'll start for home in the
morning."
"I have a plan," whispered the odd man.
"What is it?" asked Tom, narrowly watching for the reappearance of Andy
and the man.
"I'll stay here until they come, then I'll pretend to run away. They'll
chase after me, and get all excited, and you can go up and look in the
shed windows. Then you can join me later. How's that?"
"Too risky. They might fire at you by mistake. No. We'll both go. I've
found out more than enough to confirm my suspicions."
They turned out of the lot which contained the shed, and walked toward
the road, just as Andy and his crony came back.
"Huh! You'd better go!" taunted the bully.
Tom had a bitter feeling in his heart. It seemed as if he was defeated,
and he did not like to retreat before Andy.
"You'd better not come back here again, either," went on Andy.
Tom and Mr. Damon did not reply, but kept on in silence. They returned
to Shopton the next day.
"Well," remarked Tom, when he had gone out to look at his Humming-Bird,
"I know one thing. Andy Foger may build a machine something like this,
but I don't believe he can put in all the improvements I have, and
certainly he can't equal that engine; eh, dad?"
"I hope not, Tom," replied his father, who seemed to be much improved
in health.
"When are you going to try for speed?" asked Mr. Damon.
"To-morrow, if I can get it tuned up enough," replied Tom, "and I think
I can. Yes, we'll have the great test to-morrow, and then I'll know
whether I really have a chance for that ten thousand dollars."
Never before had Tom been so exacting in his requirements of his air
craft as when, the next day, the Humming-Bird was wheeled out to the
flight ground, and gotten ready for the test. The young inventor went
over every bolt, brace, stay, guy wire and upright. He examined every
square inch of the wings, the tips, planes and rudders. The levers, the
steering wheel, the automatic equilibrium attachments and the balancing
weights were looked at again and again.