suggested the physician. "Dr. Hendrix would hardly come on the request
of some one whom he did not know. I'll prepare a telegram, briefly
explaining the case. It is the sort of an operation Dr. Hendrix is much
interested in, and I think he will come on that account, if for no
other reason. I'll write out the message, and you can have Eradicate
take it to the telegraph office."
"I'll take it myself!" exclaimed Tom, as he got ready to go out into
the night with the urgent request. "Is there any immediate danger for
my father?" he asked.
"No; not any immediate danger," replied Dr. Gladby. "But the operation
is imperative if he is to live. It is his one and only chance."
Tom thought only of his father as he hurried on through the night. Even
the prospect of the great race, so soon to take place, had no part in
his mind.
"I'll not race until I'm sure dad is going to get better," he decided.
With the message to the noted specialist Tom also sent one to Mr.
Damon, telling him the news, and asking him to come to Shopton. Tom
felt that the presence of the odd gentleman would help him, and Mr.
Damon, who first intended to stay on at the Swift home until he and Tom
departed for Eagle Park, had gone back to his own residence to attend
to some business Tom knew he would come in the morning, and Mr. Damon
did arrive on the first train.
"Bless my soul!" he exclaimed with ready sympathy, as he extended his
hand to Tom. "What's all this?" The young inventor told him, beginning
with the fire that had been the cause of the excitement which produced
the change in Mr. Swift.
"But I have great hopes that the specialist will be able to cure him,"
said Tom, for, with the coming of daylight, his courage had returned to
him. "Dr. Gladby and Dr. Kurtz depend a great deal on Dr. Hendrix," he
said.
"Yes, he certainly is a wonderful man. I have heard a great deal about
him. I have no doubt but what he will cure your father. But about the
fire? How did it start?"
"I don't know, but now that I have a few hours to spare before the
doctor can get here, I'm going to make an examination."
"Bless my penwiper, but I'll help you."
Tom went into the house, to inquire of Mrs. Baggert, for probably the
tenth time that morning, how his father was doing. Mr. Swift was still
in a semi-conscious condition, but he recognized Tom, when the youth
stood at his bedside.
"Don't worry about me, son," said the brave old inventor, as he took
Tom's hand. "I'll be all right. Go ahead and get ready for the race. I
want you to win!"
Tears came into Tom's eyes. Would his father be well enough to allow
him to take part in the big event? He feared not.
By daylight it was seen that quite a hole had been burned in the
aeroplane shed. Tom and Mr. Damon, accompanied by Mr. Jackson, walked
through the place.
"And you say the fire broke out right after you had seen the mysterious
airship hovering over the house?" asked the eccentric man.
"Well, not exactly after," answered Tom, "but within an hour or so. Why
do you ask?"
But Mr. Damon did not answer. Something on the floor of the shed, amid
a pile of blackened and charred pieces of wood, attracted his
attention. He stooped over and picked it up.
"Is this yours?" he asked Tom.
"No. What is it?"
The object looked like a small iron ball, with a tube about half an
inch in diameter projecting slightly from it. Tom took it.
"Why, it looks like an infernal machine or a dynamite bomb," he said.
"I wonder where it came from? Guess I'd better drop it in a pail of
water. Maybe Eradicate found it and brought it here. I never saw it
before. Mr. Jackson, please hand me that pail of water. We'll soak this
bomb."
"There is no need," said Mr. Damon, quietly. "It is harmless now. It
has done its work. It was that which set fire to your shed, and which
caused the stifling fumes."
"That?" cried Tom.
"Yes. This ball is hollow, and was filled with a chemical. It was
dropped on the roof, and, after a certain time, the plug in the tube
was eaten through, the chemicals ran out, set the roof ablaze, and,
dripping down inside spread the choking odors that nearly prevented you
from getting out your aeroplane."
"Are you sure of this?" asked the young inventor.
"Positive. I read about these bombs recently. A German invented them to
be used in attacking a besieged city in case of war."
"But how did this one get on my shed roof?" asked Tom.
"It was dropped there by the mysterious airship!" exclaimed the odd
man. "That was why the aeroplane moved about over your place. Those in
it hoped that the fire would not break out until you were all asleep,
and that the shed and the Humming-Bird would be destroyed before you
came to the rescue. Some of your enemies are still after you, Tom."
"And it was Andy Foger, I'll wager!" he cried. "He was in that
aircraft! Oh, I'll have a long score to settle with him!"
"Of course you can't be sure it was he," said Mr. Damon, "but I
wouldn't be a bit surprised but what it was. Andy is capable of such a
thing. He wanted to prevent you from taking part in the race."
"Well, he sha'n't!" cried Tom, and then he thought of his invalid
father. They made a further examination of the shed, and discovered
another empty bomb. Then Tom recalled having seen something drop from
the mysterious aeroplane as it passed over the shed.
"It was these bombs," he said. "We certainly had a narrow escape! Oh,
wait until I settle my score with Andy Foger!"
As there would be but little use for the aeroplane shed now, if Tom
sent his craft off to the meet, it was decided to repair it temporarily
only, until he returned.
Accordingly, a big tarpaulin was fastened over the hole in the roof.
Then Tom put a new wing tip on in place of the one that had been
scorched. He looked all over his sky racer, and decided that it was in
fit condition for the coming meet.
"I'll begin to take it apart for shipment, as soon as I hear from the
specialist that dad is well enough for me to go," he said.
It was a few hours after the discovery of the empty bomb that Tom saw
Dr. Gladby coming along. The physician was urging his horse to top
speed. Tom felt a vague fear in his heart.
"I've got a message from Dr. Hendrix, Tom," he said, as he stopped his
carriage, and approached the lad.
"When can he come?" asked the young inventor, eagerly.
"He can't get here, Tom."
"Can't get here! Why not?"
"Because the railroad bridge has collapsed, and there is no way to
come. He can't make any other connections to get here in time--in time
to do your father any good, Tom. He has just sent me a telegram to that
effect. Dr. Hendrix can't get here, and..." Dr. Gladby paused.
"Do you mean that my father may die if the operation is not performed?"
asked Tom, in a low voice.
"Yes," was the answer.
"But can't Dr. Hendrix drive here in an auto?" asked the lad. "Surely
there must be some way of getting over the river, even if the railroad
bridge is down. Can't he cross in a boat and drive here?"
"He wouldn't be in time, Tom. Don't you understand, Dr. Hendrix must be
here within four hours, if he is to save your father's life. He never
could do it by driving or by coming on some other road, or in an auto.
He can't make the proper connections. There is no way."
"Yes, there is!" cried Tom, suddenly. "I know a way!"
"How?" asked Dr. Gladby, thrilled by Tom's ringing tones. "How can you
do it, Tom?"
"I'll go for Dr. Hendrix in my Humming-Bird."
"Going for him would do no good. He must be brought here."
"And so he shall be!" cried Tom. "I'll bring him here in my sky
racer--if he has the nerve to stand the journey, and I think he has!
I'll bring Dr. Hendrix here!" and Tom hurried away to prepare for the
thrilling trip.
Chapter Nineteen
A Nervy Specialist
There was little time to lose. Every moment of delay meant so much less
chance for the recovery of Mr. Swift. Even now the periods of
consciousness were becoming shorter and farther apart. He seemed to be
sinking.
Tom resolutely refused to think of the possibility of death, as he went
in to bid his parent good-by before starting off on his trip through
the air. Mr. Swift barely knew his son, and, with tears in his eyes,
though he bravely tried to keep them back, the young inventor went out
into the yard.
There stood the Humming-Bird, with Mr. Jackson, Mr. Damon and Eradicate
working over her, to get her in perfect trim for the race before her--a
race with death.
Fortunately there was little to be done to get the speedy craft ready.
Tom had accomplished most of what was necessary, while waiting for word
from Dr. Hendrix. Now about all that needed to be done was to see that
there was plenty of gasoline and oil in the reservoirs.
"I'll give you a note to Dr. Hendrix," said Mr. Gladby, as Tom was
fastening on his faceguard. "I--I trust you won't be disappointed, Tom.
I hope he will consent to return with you."
"He's got to come," said the young inventor, simply, as if that was all
there was to it.
"Do you think you can make the trip in time?" asked Mr. Damon. "It is a
little less than a hundred miles in an airline, but you have to go and
go back. Can the aeroplane do it?"
"I'd be ashamed of her if she couldn't," said Tom, with a grim
tightening of his lips. "She's just got to do it; that's all! But I
know she will," and he patted the big propeller and the motor's shining
cylinders as though the machine was a thing alive, like a horse or a
dog, who could understand him.
He climbed to his seat, the other one holding a bag of sand to maintain
a good balance.
"Start her," ordered Tom, and Mr. Jackson twisted the propeller. The
motor caught at once, and the air throbbed with the noise of the
explosions. Tom listened to the tune of the machinery. It sang true.
"Two thousand pounds thrust!" called the engineer, as he looked at the
scale.
"Let her go!" cried Tom, whose voice was hardly heard above the roar.
The trim little aeroplane scudded over the ground, gathering speed at
every revolution of the wheels. Then with a spring like that of some
great bird launching itself in flight, she left the earth, and took to
the air. Tom was off on his trip.
Those left behind sent up a cautious cheer, for they did not want to
disturb Mr. Swift. They waved their hands to the young inventor, and he
waved his in reply. Then he settled down for one of the swiftest
flights he had ever undertaken.
Tom ascended until he struck a favorable current of air. There was a
little wind blowing in the direction he wished to take, and that aided
him. But even against a powerful head-wind the Humming-Bird could make
progress.
The young inventor saw the ground slipping backward beneath him.
Carefully he watched the various indicators, and listened intently to
the sound of the cylinders' explosions. They came rapidly and
regularly. The motor was working well.
Tom glanced at the barograph. It registered two thousand feet, and he
decided to keep at about that height, as it gave him a good view, and
he could see to steer, for a route had been hastily mapped out for him
by his friends.
Over cities, towns, villages, scattered farmhouses; across stretches of
forest; over rivers, above big stretches of open country he flew. Often
he could see eager crowds below, gazing up at him. But he paid no heed.
He was looking for a sight of a certain broad river, which was near
Kirkville. Then he knew he would be close to his goal.
He had speeded up the motor to the limit, and there was nothing to do
now, save to manage the planes, wing tips and rudders, and to see that
the gasoline and oil were properly fed to the machine.
Faster and faster went the Humming-Bird, but Tom's thoughts were even
faster. He was thinking of many things--of his father--of what he would
do if Mr. Swift died--of the mysterious airship--of the stolen
plans--of the fire in the shed--of the great race--and of Andy Foger.
He took little note of time, and when, in less than an hour he sighted
the river that told him he was near to Kirkville, he was rather
startled.
"You certainly did come right along, Humming-Bird!" he murmured proudly.
He descended several hundred feet, and, as he passed over the town, the
people of which grew wildly excited, he looked about for the house of
the noted specialist. He knew how to pick it out, for Dr. Gladby had
described it to him, and Tom was glad to see, as he came within view of
the residence, that it was surrounded by a large yard.
"I can land almost at his door," he said, and he did, volplaning to
earth with an ease born of long practice.
To say that Dr. Hendrix was astonished when Tom dropped in on him in
this manner, would not be exactly true. The specialist was not in the
habit of receiving calls from youths in aeroplanes, but the fact was,
that Dr. Hendrix was so absorbed in his work, and thought so constantly
about it, that it took a great deal to startle him out of his usual
calm.
"And so you came for me in your aeroplane?" he asked of Tom, as he
gazed at the trim little craft. It is doubtful if he really saw it,
however, as Dr. Hendrix was just then thinking of an operation he had
performed a few hours before. "I'm sorry you had your trip for
nothing," he went on. "I'd like very much to come to your father, but
didn't you get my telegram, telling about the broken bridge? There is
no way for me to get to Shopton in time."
"Yes, there is!" cried Tom, eagerly.
"How?"
"The same way I came--in the aeroplane! Dr. Hendrix you must go back
with me! It's the only way to save my father's life. Come with me in
the Humming-Bird. It's perfectly safe. I can make the trip in less than
an hour. I can carry you and your instruments. Will you come? Won't you
come to save my father's life?" Tom was fairly pleading now.
"A trip in an aeroplane," mused Dr. Hendrix "I've never taken such a
thing. I--"
"Don't be afraid, there's really no danger," said Tom.
The physician seemed to reach a sudden conclusion. His eyes brightened.
He walked over and looked at the little Humming-Bird. For the time
being he forgot about his operations.
"I'll go with you!" he suddenly cried. "I'll go with you, Tom Swift! If
you've got the nerve, so have I! and if my science and skill can save
your father's life, he'll live to be an old man! Wait until I get my
bag and I'll be with you!"
Tom's heart gave a bound of hope.
Chapter Twenty
Just in Time
While Dr. Hendrix was in his office, getting ready to make the
thrilling trip through the air with Tom, the young inventor spent a few
minutes going over his monoplane. The wonderful little craft had made
her first big flight in excellent time, though Tom knew she could do
better the farther she was flown. Not a stay had started, not a guy
wire was loose. The motor had not overheated, and every bearing was as
cool as though it had not taken part in thousands of revolutions.
"Oh, I can depend on you!" murmured Tom, as he looked to see that the
propeller was tight on the shaft. He gave the bearing a slight
adjustment to make sure of it.
He was at this when the specialist reappeared. Dr. Hendrix, after his
first show of excitement, when he had made his decision to accompany
Tom, had resumed his usual calm demeanor. Once again he was the grave
surgeon, with his mind on the case before him.
"Well, is my auto ready?" he asked absentmindedly. Then, as he saw the
little aeroplane, and Tom standing waiting beside it, he added: "Oh, I
forgot for the moment that I was to make a trip through the air,
instead of in my car. Well, Mr. Swift, are we all ready?"
"All ready," replied the young inventor. "We're going to make fast
time, Dr. Hendrix. You'd better put this on," and Tom extended a face
protector.
"What's it for?" The physician looked curiously at it.
"To keep the air from cutting your cheeks and lips. We are going to
travel a hundred miles an hour this trip."
"A hundred miles an hour!" Dr. Hendrix spoke as though he would like to
back out.
"Maybe more, if I can manage it," went on Tom, calmly, as he proceeded
to remove the bag of sand from the place where the surgeon was to sit.
Then he looked to the various equilibrium arrangements and the control
levers. He was so cool about it, taking it all for granted, as if
rising and flying through the air at a speed rivaling that of the
fastest birds, was a matter of no moment, that Dr. Hendrix was
impressed by the calm demeanor of the young inventor.
"Very well," said the surgeon with a shrug of his shoulders, "I guess
I'm game, Tom Swift."
The doctor took the seat Tom pointed out to him, with his bag of
instruments on his knees. He put on the face protector, and had, at the
suggestion of our hero, donned a heavy coat.
"For it's cold in the upper regions," said Tom.
Several servants in the physician's household had gathered to see him
depart in this novel fashion, and the chauffeur of the auto, in which
the specialist usually made his calls, was also there.
"I'll give you a hand," said the chauffeur to the young inventor. "I
was at an aviation meet once, and I know how it's done."
"Good," exclaimed Tom. "Then you can hold the machine, and shove when I
give the word."
Tom started the propeller himself, and quickly jumped into his seat.
The chauffeur held back the Humming-Bird until the young aviator had
speeded up the motor.
"Let go!" cried the youthful inventor, and the man gave the little
craft a shove. Across the rather uneven ground of the doctor's yard it
ran, straight for a big iron barrier.
"Look out! We'll be into the fence!" shouted the surgeon. "We'll be
killed!" He seemed about to leap off.
"Sit still!" cried Tom, and at that instant he tilted the elevation
planes, and the craft shot upward, going over the fence like a circus
horse taking a seven-barred gate.
"Oh!" exclaimed the physician in a curious voice. They were off on
their trip to save the life of Mr. Swift.
What the sensations of the celebrated specialist were, Tom never
learned. If he was afraid, his fright quickly gave place to wonder, and
the wonder soon changed to delight as the machine rose higher and
higher, acquired more speed, and soared in the air over the country
that spread out in all directions from Kirkville.
"Magnificent! Magnificent!" murmured the doctor, and then Tom knew that
the surgeon was in the grip of the air, and was one of the "bird-men."
Every moment the Humming-Bird increased her speed. They passed over the
river near where men were working on the broken bridge. It was now no
barrier to them. Tom, noting the barograph, and seeing that they were
twenty-two hundred feet high, decided to keep at about that distance
from the earth.
"How fast are we going?" cried Dr. Hendrix, into the ear of the young
inventor.
"Just a little short of a hundred an hour!" Tom shouted back. "We'll
hit a hundred and five before long."
His prediction proved true, and when about forty miles from Shopton
that terrific speed had been attained. It seemed as if they were going
to have a trip devoid of incident, and Tom was congratulating himself
on the quick time made, when he ran into a contrary strata of air.
Almost before he knew it the Humming-Bird gave a dangerous and
sickening dive, and tilted at a terrifying angle.
"Are we going to turn turtle?" cried the doctor.
"I--I hope not!" gasped Tom. He could not understand why the
equilibrium weights did not work, but he had no time then to
investigate. Quickly he warped the wing tips and brought the craft up
on an even keel.
He gave a sigh of relief as the aeroplane was once more shooting
forward, and he was not mistaken when he thought he heard Dr. Hendrix
murmur a prayer of thankfulness. Their escape had been a narrow one.
Tom's nerve, and the coolness of the physician, had alone saved them
from a fall to death.
But now, as if ashamed of her prank, the Humming-Bird went along even
better than before. Tom was peering through the slight haze that hung
over the earth, for a sight of Shopton. At length the spires of the
churches came into view.
"There it is," he called, pointing downward. "We'll land in two minutes
more."
"No time to spare," murmured the doctor, who knew the serious nature of
the aged inventor's illness. "How long did it take us?"
"Fifty-one minutes," replied Tom, glancing at a small clock in front of
him. Then he shut off the motor and volplaned to earth, to the no small
astonishment of the surgeon. He made a perfect landing in the yard
before the shed, leaped from his seat, and called:
"Come, Dr. Hendrix!"
The surgeon followed him. Dr. Gladby and Dr. Kurtz came to the door of
the house. On their faces were grave looks. They greeted the celebrated
surgeon eagerly.
"Well?" he asked quickly, and they knew what he meant.
"You are only just in time," said Dr. Gladby, softly, and Tom,
following the doctors into the house, wondered if his trip with the
specialist had been in vain.
Chapter Twenty-One
"Will He Live?"
Soon there were busy scenes in the Swift home, as preparations were
made for a serious operation on the aged inventor. Tom's father had
sunk into deep unconsciousness, and was stretched out on the bed as
though there was no more life in him. In fact, Tom, for the moment,
feared that it was all over. But good old Dr. Kurtz, noting the look on
the lad's face, said:
"Ach, Dom, doan't vorry! Maybe it vill yet all be vell, und der vater
vill hear of der great race. Bluck up your courage, und doan't gif up.
Der greatest surgeon in der vorld is here now, und if anybody gan safe
your vater, Herr Hendriz gan. Dot vos a great drip you made--a great
drip!"
Tom felt a little comforted and, after a sight of his father, and a
silent prayer that God would spare his life for years to come, the
young inventor went out in the yard. He wanted to be busy about
something, for he knew, with the doctors, and a trained nurse who had
been hastily summoned, there was no immediate need for him. He wanted
to get his mind off the operation that would soon take place, and so he
decided to look over his aeroplane.
Mr. Damon came out when Tom was going over the guy wires and braces, to
see how they had stood the strain.
"Well, Tom, my lad," said the eccentric man, sadly, as he grasped our
hero's hand, "it's too bad. But hope for the best. I'm sure your father
will pull through. We will have to begin taking the Humming-Bird apart
soon; won't we, if we're going to ship it to Eagle Park?" He wanted to
take Tom's mind off his troubles.
"I don't know whether we will or not," was the answer, and Tom tried to
speak unbrokenly, but there was a troublesome lump in his throat, and a
mist of tears in his eyes that prevented him from seeing well. The
Humming-Bird, to him, looked as if she was in a fog.
"Nonsense! Of course we will!" cried Mr. Damon. "Why, bless my
wishbone! Tom, you don't mean to say you're going to let that little
shrimp Andy Foger walk away with that ten-thousand-dollar prize without
giving him a fight for it; are you?"
This was just what Tom needed, and it seemed good to have Mr. Damon
bless something again, even if it was only a wishbone.
"No!" exclaimed Tom, in ringing tones. "Andy Foger isn't going to beat
me, and if I find out he is going to race with a machine made after my
stolen plans, I'll make him wish he'd never taken them."
"But if the machine he had flying over here when he dropped that bomb
on the shed roof, and set fire to it, is the one he's going to race
with, it isn't like yours," suggested Mr. Damon, who was glad he had
turned the conversation into a more cheerful channel.
"That's so," agreed the young inventor. "Well, we'll have to wait and
see." He was busy now, going over every detail of the Humming-Bird. Mr.
Damon helped him, and they discovered the defect in the equilibrium
weights, and remedied it.
"We can't afford to have an accident in the race," said Tom. He glanced
toward the house, and wondered if the operation had begun yet. He could
see the trained nurse hurrying here and there, Mrs. Baggert helping her.
Eradicate Sampson shuffled out from the stable where he kept his mule
Boomerang. On the face of the honest colored man there was a dejected
look.
"Am Massa Swift any better, Massa Tom?" he asked.
"We can't tell yet," was the answer.
"Well, if he doan't git well, den I'm goin' t' sell mah mule," went on
the dirt-chaser, from which line of activity Eradicate had derived his
name.
"Sell Boomerang! Bless my curry comb! what for?" asked Mr. Damon.
"'Case as how he wouldn't neber be any good fo' wuk any mo'," explained
Eradicate. "He's got so attached t' dis place, an' all de folkes on it,
dat he'd feel so sorry ef--ef--well, ef any ob 'em went away, dat I
couldn't git no mo' wuk out ob him, no how. So ef Massa Swift doan't
git well, den I an' Boomerang parts!"
"Well, we hope it won't happen," said Tom, greatly touched by the
simple grief of Eradicate. The young inventor was silent a moment, and
then he softly added: "I--I wonder when--when we'll know?"