scrutinized each valve, wheel, cam and spur gear more carefully. Then
the gasoline tank was filled, the magneto was looked after, the oil
reservoirs were cleaned out and freshly filled, and finally the lad
remarked:
"Well, I guess I'm ready. Come along, Mr. Damon."
"Am I going with you in the test?"
"Surely. I've been counting on you. If you're to be with me in the
race, you want to get a sample of what we can do. Take your place. Mr.
Jackson, are you ready to time us?"
"All ready, Tom."
"And, dad, do you feel well enough to check back Mr. Jackson's results?
I don't want any errors."
"Oh, yes, Tom. I can do it."
"Very well, then. Now this is my plan. I'm going to mount upward on an
easy slant, and put her through a few stunts first, to warm up, and see
that everything is all right. Then, when I give the signal, by dropping
this small white ball, that means I'm ready for you to start to time
me. Then I'll begin to try for the record. I'll go about the course in
a big ellipse, and--well, we'll see what happens."
While Mr. Damon was in his seat the young inventor started the
propeller, and noted the thrust developed. It was satisfactory, as
measured on the scale, and then Tom took his place.
"Let her go!" he cried to Mr. Jackson and Eradicate, after he had
listened to the song of the motor for a moment. The Humming-Bird flew
across the course, and a moment later mounted into the air.
Tom quickly took her up to about two thousand feet, and there, finding
the conditions to his liking, he began a few evolutions designed to
severely test the craft's stability, and to learn whether the engine
was working properly.
"How about it?" asked Mr. Damon anxiously.
"All right!" shouted Tom in his ear, for the motor was making a great
racket. "I guess we'll make the trial next time we come around. Get
ready to drop the signal ball."
Tom slowly brought the aeroplane around in a graceful curve. He sighted
down, and saw the first tall white pole that marked the beginning of
the course.
"Drop!" he called to Mr. Damon.
The white rubber ball went to the earth like a shot. Mr. Jackson and
Mr. Swift saw it, and started their timing-watches. Tom opened the
throttle and advanced the spark. The great test was on!
The Humming-Bird trembled and throbbed with the awful speed of the
motor, like a thing alive. She seemed to rush forward as an eagle
dropping down from a dizzy height upon some hapless prey.
"Faster yet!" murmured Tom. "We must go faster yet!"
The motor was warming up. Streaks of fire came from it. The exhaust of
the explosions was a continuous roar. Faster and faster flew the frail
craft.
Around and around the air course she circled. The wind appeared to be
rushing beneath the planes and rudders with the velocity of a
hurricane. Had it not been for the face protectors they wore, Tom and
Mr. Damon could not have breathed. For ten minutes this fearful speed
was kept up. Then Tom, knowing he had run the motor to the limit,
slowed it down. Next he shut it off completely, and prepared to
volplane back to earth. The silence after the terrific racket was
almost startling. For a moment neither of the aviators spoke. Then Mr.
Damon said:
"Do you think you did it, Tom?"
"I don't know. We'll soon find out. They'll have the record." And he
motioned toward the earth, which they were rapidly nearing.
Chapter Fifteen
A Noise in the Night
"Well, did I make it? Make any kind of a record?" asked Tom eagerly, as
he brought the trim little craft to a stop, after it had rolled along
the ground on the bicycle wheels.
"What do you think you did?" asked Mr. Jackson, who had been busy
figuring on a slip of paper.
"Did I get her up to ninety miles an hour?" inquired Tom eagerly. "If I
did, I know when the motor wears down a bit smoother that I can make
her hit a hundred in the race, easily. Did I touch ninety, Mr. Jackson?"
"Better than that, Tom! Better than that!" cried his father.
"Yes," joined in Mr. Jackson. "Allowing for the difference in our
watches, Tom, your father and I figure that you did the course at the
rate of one hundred and twelve miles an hour!"
"One hundred and twelve!" gasped the young inventor, hardly able to
believe it.
"I made it a hundred and fifteen," said Mr. Swift, who was almost as
pleased as was his son, "and Mr. Jackson made it one hundred and
eleven; so we split the difference, so to speak. You certainly have a
sky racer, Tom, my boy!"
"And I'll need it, too, dad, if I'm to compete with Andy Foger, who may
have a machine almost like mine."
"But I thought you were going to object to him if he has," said Mr.
Damon, who had hardly recovered from the speedy flight through space.
"Well, I was just providing for a contingency, in case my protest was
overruled," remarked Tom. "But I'm glad the Humming-Bird did so well on
her first trial. I know she'll do better the more I run her. Now we'll
get her back in her 'nest,' and I'll look her over, when she cools
down, and see if anything has worked loose."
But the trim little craft needed only slight adjustments after her
tryout, for Tom had built her to stand up under a terrific strain.
"We'll soon be in shape for the big race," he announced, "and when I
bring home that ten thousand dollars I'm going to abandon this
sky-scraping business, except for occasional trips."
"What will you do to occupy your mind?" asked Mr. Damon.
"Oh, I'm going to travel," announced Tom. "Then there's my new electric
rifle, which I have not perfected yet. I'll work on that after I win
the big race."
For several days after the first real trial of his sky racer Tom was
busy going over the Humming-Bird, making slight changes here and there.
He was the sort of a lad who was satisfied with nothing short of the
best, and though neither his father nor Mr. Jackson could see where
there was room for improvement, Tom was so exacting that he sat up for
several nights to perfect such little details as a better grip for the
steering-lever, a quicker way of making the automatic equilibriumizer
take its position, or an improved transmitter for the wireless
apparatus.
That was a part of his monoplane of which Tom was justly proud, for
though many aeroplanes to-day are equipped with the sending device, few
can receive wireless messages in mid-air. But Tom had seen the
advantage of this while making a trip in the ill-fated Red Cloud to the
cave of the diamond makers, and he determined to have his new craft
thus provided against emergencies. The wireless outfit of the
Humming-Bird was a marvel of compactness.
Thus the days passed, with Tom very busy; so busy, in fact, that he
hardly had time to call on Miss Nestor. As for Andy Foger, he heard no
more from him, and the bully was not seen around Shopton. Tom concluded
that he was at his uncle's place, working on his racing craft.
The young inventor sent a formal protest to the aviation committee, to
be used in the event of Andy entering a craft which infringed on the
Humming-Bird, and received word from Mr. Sharp that the interests of
the young inventor would be protected. This satisfied Tom.
Still, at times, he could not help wondering how the first plans had so
mysteriously disappeared, and he would have given a good deal to know
just how Andy got possession of them, and how he knew enough to use
them.
"He, or some one whom he hired, must have gotten into our house mighty
quickly that day," mused Tom, "and then skipped out while dad fell into
a little doze. It was a mighty queer thing, but it's lucky it was no
worse."
The time was approaching for the big aviation meet. Tom's craft was in
readiness, and had been given several other trials, developing more
speed each time. Additional locks were put on the doors of the shed,
and more burglar-alarm wires were strung, so that it was almost a
physical impossibility to get into the Humming-Bird's "nest" without
arousing some one in the Swift household.
"And if they do, I guess we'll be ready for them," said Tom grimly. He
had been unable to find out who it was that had attempted once before
to damage the monoplane, but he suspected it was the ill-favored man
who was working with Andy.
As for Mr. Swift, at times he seemed quite well, and again he required
the services of a physician.
"You will have to be very careful of your father, Tom," said Dr.
Gladby. "Any sudden shock or excitement may aggravate his malady, and
in that case a serious operation will be necessary."
"Oh, we'll take good care of him," said the lad; but he could not help
worrying, though he tried not to let his father see the strain which he
was under.
It was some days after this, and lacking about a week until the meet
was to open, when a peculiar thing happened. Tom had given his
Humming-Bird a tryout one day, and had then begun to make arrangements
for taking it apart and shipping it to Eagle Park. For he would not fly
to the meet in it, for fear of some accident. So big cases had been
provided.
"I'll take it apart in the morning," decided Tom, as he went to his
room, after seeing to the burglar alarm, "and ship her off. Then Mr.
Damon and I will go there, set her up, and get ready to win the race."
Tom had opened all the windows in his room, for it was very warm. In
fact it was so warm that sleep was almost out of the question, and he
got up to sit near the windows in the hope of feeling a breeze.
There it was more comfortable, and he was just dozing off, and
beginning to think of getting back into bed, when he was aware of a
peculiar sound in the air overhead.
"I wonder if that's a heavy wind starting up?" he mused. "Good luck, if
it is! We need it." The noise increased, sounding more and more like
wind, but Tom, looking out into the night, saw the leaves of the trees
barely moving.
"If that's a breeze, it's taking its own time getting here," he went on.
The sound came nearer, and then Tom knew that it was not the noise of
the wind in the trees. It was more like a roaring and rumbling.
"Can it be distant thunder?" Tom asked himself. "There is no sign of a
storm." Once more he looked from the window. The night was calm and
clear--the trees as still as if they were painted.
The sound was even more plain now, and Tom, who had sharp ears, at once
decided that it was just over the house--directly overhead. An instant
later he knew what it was.
"The motor of an aeroplane, or a dirigible balloon!" he exclaimed.
"Some one is flying overhead!"
For an instant he feared lest the shed had been broken into, and his
Humming-Bird taken, but a glance toward the place seemed to show that
it was all right.
Then Tom hastily made his way to where a flight of stairs led to a
little enclosed observatory on the roof.
"I'm going to see what sort of a craft it is making that noise," he
said.
As he opened the trap door, and stepped out into the little observatory
the sound was so plain as to startle him. He looked up quickly, and,
directly overhead he saw a curious sight.
For, flying so low as to almost brush the lightning rod on the chimney
of the Swift home, was a small aeroplane, and, as Tom looked up, he saw
in a light that gleamed from it, two figures looking down on him.
Chapter Sixteen
A Mysterious Fire
For a few moments Tom did not know what to think. Not that the sight of
aeroplanes in flight were any novelty to him, but to see one flying
over his house in the dead of night was a little out of the ordinary.
Then, as he realized that night-flights were becoming more common, Tom
tried to make out the details of the craft.
"I wish I had brought the night glasses with me," he said aloud.
"Here they are," spoke a voice at his side, and so suddenly that Tom
was startled. He looked down, and saw Mr. Jackson standing beside him.
"Did you hear the noise, too?" the lad asked the engineer.
"Yes. It woke me up. Then I heard you moving around, and I heard you
come up here. I thought maybe it was a flight of meteors you'd come to
see, and I knew the glasses would be handy, so I stopped for them. Take
a look, Tom. It's an aeroplane; isn't it?"
"Yes, and not moving very fast, either. They seem to be circling around
here."
The young inventor was peering through the binoculars, and, as soon as
he had the mysterious craft in focus, he cried:
"Look, Mr. Jackson, it's a new kind of monoplane. I never saw one like
it before. I wonder who could have invented that? It's something like a
Santos-Dumont and a Bleriot, with some features of Cornu's Helicopter.
That's a queer machine."
"It certainly is," agreed the engineer, who was now sighting through
the glasses. In spite of the darkness the binoculars brought out the
peculiarities of the aeroplane with considerable distinctness.
"Can you make out who are in it?" asked Tom.
"No," answered Mr. Jackson. "You try."
But Tom had no better luck. There were two persons in the odd machine,
which was slowly flying along, moving in a great circle, with the Swift
house for its center.
"I wonder why they're hanging around here?" asked Tom, suspiciously.
"Perhaps they want to talk to you," suggested Mr. Jackson. "They may be
fellow inventors--perhaps one of them is that Philadelphia man who had
the Whizzer."
"No," replied the lad. "He would have sent me word if he intended
calling on me. Those are strangers, I think. There they are, coming
back again."
The mysterious aeroplane was once more circling toward the watchers on
the roof. There was a movement on the steps, near which Tom was
standing, and his father came up.
"Is anything the matter?" he asked anxiously.
"Only a queer craft circling around up here," was the reply. "Come and
see, dad."
Mr. Swift ascended to the roof. The aeroplane was higher now, and those
in her could not so easily be made out. Tom felt a vague sense of fear,
as though he was being watched by the evil eyes of his enemies. More
than once he looked over to the shed where his craft was housed, as
though some danger might threaten it. But the shed of the Humming-Bird
showed no signs of invaders.
Suddenly the mysterious aeroplane increased its speed. It circled about
more quickly, and shot upward, as though to show the watchers of what
it was capable. Then, with a quick swoop it darted downward, straight
for the building where Tom's newest invention was housed.
"Look out! They'll hit something!" cried the young inventor, as though
those in the aeroplane could hear him.
Then, just as though they had heeded his warning, the pilots of the
mysterious craft shot her upward, after she had hovered for an instant
over the big shed.
"That was a queer move," said Tom. "It looked as if they lost control
of her for a moment."
"And they dropped something!" cried Mr. Jackson. "Look! something fell
from the aeroplane on the roof of the shed."
"Some tool, likely," spoke Tom. "I'll get it in the morning, and see
what sort of instruments they carry. I'd like to examine that machine,
though."
The queer aeroplane was now shooting off in the darkness and Tom
followed it with the glasses, wondering what its construction could be
like. He was to have another sight of it sooner than he expected.
"Well, we may as well get back to bed," said Mr. Jackson. "I'm tired,
and we've got lots to do to-morrow."
"Yes," agreed Tom. "It's cooler now. Come on, dad."
Tom fell into a light doze. He thought afterward he could not have
slept more than half an hour when he heard a commotion out in the yard.
For an instant he could not tell what it was, and then, as he grew
wider awake he knew that it was the shouting of Eradicate Sampson, and
the braying of Boomerang.
But what was Eradicate shouting?
"Fire! Fire! Fire!"
Tom leaped to his window.
"Wake up, Massa Tom! Wake up! De areoplane shed am on fire, an' de
Humming-Bird will burn up! Hurry! Hurry!"
Tom looked out. Flames were shooting up from the roof of the shed where
his precious craft was kept.
Chapter Seventeen
Mr. Swift is Worse
Almost before the echoes of Eradicate's direful warning cry had died
away, Tom was on his way out of the house, pausing only long enough to
slip on a pair of shoes and his trousers. There was but one thought in
his mind. If he could get the Humming-Bird safely out he would not care
if the shed did burn, even though it contained many valuable tools and
appliances.
"We must save my new aeroplane!" thought Tom, desperately. "I've got to
save her!"
As he raced through the hall he caught up a portable chemical
fire-extinguisher. Tom saw his father's door open, and Mr. Swift looked
out.
"What is it?" he called anxiously.
"Fire!" answered the young inventor, almost before he thought of the
doctor's warning that Mr. Swift must not be excited. Tom wished he
could recall the word, but it was too late. Besides Eradicate, down in
the yard was shouting at the top of his voice:
"Fire! Fire! Fire!"
"Where, Tom?" gasped Mr. Swift, and his son thought the aged inventor
grew suddenly paler.
"Aeroplane shed," answered the lad. "But don't worry dad. It's only a
small blaze. We'll get it out. You stay here. We'll attend to it--Mr.
Jackson and Eradicate and I."
"No--I'm going to help!" exclaimed Mr. Swift, sturdily. "I'll be with
you, Tom. Go on!"
The lad rushed down to the yard, closely followed by the engineer, who
had caught up another extinguisher. Eradicate was rushing about, not
knowing what to do, but still keeping up his shouting.
"It's on de roof! De roof am all blazin'!" he yelled.
"Quit your noise, and get to work!" cried Tom. "Get out a ladder, Rad,
and raise it to the side of the shed. Then play this extinguisher on
the blaze. Mr. Jackson, you help me run the Humming-Bird out. After
she's safe we'll tackle the fire."
Tom cast a hurried look at the burning shed. The flames were shooting
high up from the roof, now, and eating their way down. As he rushed
toward the big doors, which he intended to open to enable him to run
out his sky racer, he was wondering how the fire came to start so high
up as the roof. He wondered if a meteor could have fallen and caused it.
As the doors, which were quickly unlocked by Tom, swung back, and as he
and the engineer started to go in, they were met by choking fumes as if
of some gas. They recoiled for the moment.
"What--what's that?" gasped Tom, coughing and sneezing.
"Some chemical--I--I don't know what kind," spluttered Mr. Jackson.
"Have you any carboys of acid in there Tom, that might have exploded by
the heat?"
"No; not a thing. Let's try again."
Once more they tried to go in, but were again driven back by the
distressing fumes. The fire was eating down, now. There was a hole
burned in the roof, and by the leaping tongues of flame Tom could see
his aeroplane. It was almost in the path of the blaze.
"We must get her out!" he shouted. "I'm going in!"
But it was impossible, and the daring young inventor nearly succumbed
to the choking odors. Mr. Jackson dragged him back.
"We can't go in!" he cried. "There has been some mysterious work here!
Those fumes were put here to keep us from saving the machine. This fire
has been set by some enemy! We can't go in!"
"But I am going!" declared Tom. "We'll try the back door."
They rushed to that, but again were driven out by the gases and vapors,
which were mingled with the smoke. Disheartened, yet with a wild desire
to do something to save his precious craft, Tom Swift drew back for a
moment.
As he did so he heard a hiss, as Eradicate turned the chemical stream
on the blaze. Tom looked up. The faithful colored man was on a ladder
near the burning roof, acting well his part as a fireman.
"That's the stuff!" cried Tom. "Come on, Mr. Jackson. Maybe if we use
the chemical extinguishers we can drive out those fumes!"
The engineer understood. He took up the extinguisher he had brought,
and Tom got a second one from a nearby shed. Then Mr. Swift came out
bearing another.
"You shouldn't have come, dad! We can attend to it!" cried Tom, fearing
for the effect of the excitement on his invalid parent.
"Oh, I couldn't stay there and see the shed burn. Are you getting it
under control? Why don't you run out the Humming-Bird?"
Tom did not mention the choking fumes. He passed up a full extinguisher
to Eradicate, who had used all the chemical in his. Then Tom got
another ladder, and soon three streams were being directed on the
flames. They had eaten, a pretty big hole in the roof, but the
chemicals were slowly telling on them.
As soon as he saw that Eradicate and Mr. Jackson could control the
blaze, Tom descended to the ground, and ran once more to the big doors.
He was determined to make another try to wheel out the aeroplane, for
he saw from above that the flames were now on the side wall, and might
reach the craft any minute. And it would not take much to inflict
serious damage on the sky racer.
"I'll get her, fumes or no fumes!" murmured Tom, grimly. And, whether
it was the effect of the chemical streams, or whether the choking odors
were dissipated through the hole in the roof was not manifested, but,
at any rate, Tom found that he could go in, though he coughed and
gasped for breath.
He wheeled the aeroplane outside, for the Humming-Bird was almost as
light as her namesake. A hurried glance by the gleam of the dying fire
assured Tom that his craft was not damaged beyond a slight scorching of
one of the wing tips.
"That was a narrow escape!" he murmured, as he wheeled the sky racer
far away, out of any danger from sparks. Then he went back to help
fight the fire, which was extinguished in about ten minutes more.
"It was a mighty queer blaze," said Mr. Jackson, "starting at the top
that way. I wonder what caused it?"
"We'll investigate in the morning," decided Tom. "Now, dad, you must
get back to your room." He turned to help his father in, but at that
moment Mr. Swift, who was trying to say something, fell over in a dead
faint.
"Quick! Help me carry him into the house!" cried Tom. "Then telephone
for Dr. Gladby, Mr. Jackson."
The physician looked grave when, half an hour later, he examined his
patient.
"Mr. Swift is very much worse," he said in a low voice. "The excitement
of the fire has aggravated his ailment. I would like another doctor to
see him, Tom."
"Another doctor?" Tom's voice showed his alarm.
"Yes, we must have a consultation. I think Dr. Kurtz will be a good one
to call in. I should like his opinion before I decide what course to
take."
"I'll send Eradicate for him at once," said the young inventor, and he
went to give the colored man his instructions, while his heart was
filled with a great fear for his father.
Chapter Eighteen
The Broken Bridge
Dr. Kurtz looked as grave as did Dr. Gladby when he had made an
examination of the patient. Mr. Swift was still in a semi-conscious
condition, hardly breathing as he rested on the bed where they had
placed him after the fire.
"Vell," said the German physician, after a long silence, "vot is your
obinion, my dear Gladby?"
"I think an operation is necessary."
"Yes, dot is so; but you know vot kind of an operation alone vill safe
him; eh, my dear Gladby?"
Dr. Gladby nodded.
"It will be a rare and delicate one," he said. "There is but one
surgeon I know of who can do it."
"You mean Herr Hendrix?" asked Dr. Kurtz.
"Yes, Dr. Edward Hendrix, of Kirkville. If he can be induced to come I
think there is a chance of saving Mr. Swift's life. I'll speak to Tom
about it."
The two physicians, who had been consulting together, summoned the
youth from another room, where, with Mrs. Baggert and Mr. Jackson he
had been anxiously awaiting the verdict.
"What is it?" the young inventor asked Dr. Gladby.
The medical man told him to what conclusion he and his colleague had
arrived, adding:
"We advise that Dr. Hendrix be sent for at once. But I need hardly tell
you, Tom, that he is a noted specialist, and his services are in great
demand. He is hard to get."
"I'll pay him any sum he asks!" burst out the youth. "I'll spend all my
fortune--and I have made considerable money of late--I'll spend every
cent to get my father well! Money need not stand in the way, Dr.
Gladby."
"I knew that, Tom. Still Dr. Hendrix is a very busy man, and it is hard
to induce him to come a long distance. It is over a hundred miles to
Kirkville, and it is an out-of-the-way place. I never could understand
why Dr. Hendrix settled there. But there he is, and if we want him he
will have to come from there. The worst of it is that there are few
trains, and only a single railroad line from there to Shopton."
"Then I'll telegraph," decided Tom. "I'll offer him his own price, and
ask him to rush here as soon as he can."