Silently they waited about the aeroplane. Tom tried to busy himself,
but he could not. He kept his eyes fastened on the house.
It seemed like several hours, but it was not more than one, ere the
white-capped nurse came to the door and waved her hand to Tom. He
sprang to his feet and rushed forward. What would be the message he was
to receive?
He stood before the nurse, his heart madly beating. She looked gently
at him.
"Will he--will he live?" Tom asked, pantingly.
"I think so," she answered gently. "The operation is over. It was a
success, so far. Time alone will tell, now. Dr. Hendrix says you can
see your father for just a moment."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Off to the Meet
Softly Tom tiptoed into the room where his father lay. At the bedside
were the three doctors, and the nurse followed the young inventor in.
Mrs. Baggert stood in the hall, and near her was Garret Jackson. The
aged housekeeper had been weeping, but she smiled at Tom through her
tears.
"I think he's going to get well," she whispered. She always looked on
the bright side of things. Tom's heart felt better.
"You must only speak a few words to him," cautioned the specialist, who
had performed such a rare and delicate operation, near the heart of the
invalid. "He is very weak, Tom."
Mr. Swift opened his eyes as his son approached. He looked around
feebly.
"Tom--are you there?" he asked in a whisper.
"Yes, dad," was the eager answer.
"They tell me you--you made a great trip to get Dr. Hendrix--broken
bridge--came through the air with him. Is that right?"
"Yes, dad. But don't tire yourself. You must get well and strong."
"I will, Tom. But tell me; did you go in--in the Humming-Bird?"
"Yes, dad."
"How did she work?"
"Fine. Over a hundred, and the motor wasn't at its best."
"That's good. Then you can go in the big race, and win."
"No, I don't believe I'll go, dad."
"Why not?" Mr. Swift spoke more strongly.
"I--because--well, I don't want to."
"Nonsense, Tom! I know; it's on my account. I know it is. But listen to
me. I want you to go in! I want you to win that race! Never mind about
me. I'm going to get well, and I'll recover all the more quickly if you
win that race. Now promise me you'll go in it and--and--win!"
The invalid's strength was fast leaving him.
"I--I---," began Tom.
"Promise!" insisted the aged inventor, trying to rise. Dr. Hendrix made
a hasty move toward the bed.
"Promise!" whispered the surgeon to Tom.
"I--I promise!" exclaimed Tom, and the aged inventor sank back with a
smile of satisfaction on his pale face.
"Now you must go," said Dr. Gladby to Tom. "He has talked long enough.
He must sleep now, and get up his strength."
"Will he get better?" asked Tom, anxiously.
"We can't say for sure," was the answer. "We have great hopes."
"I don't want to enter the race unless I know he is going to live,"
went on Tom, as Dr. Gladby followed him out of the room.
"No one can say for a certainty that he will recover," spoke the
physician. "You will have to hope for the best, that is all, Tom. If I
were you I'd go in the race. It will occupy your mind, and if you could
send good news to your father it might help him in the fight for life
he is making."
"But suppose--suppose something happens while I am away?" suggested the
young inventor.
The doctor thought for a moment. Then he exclaimed:
"You have a wireless outfit on your craft; haven't you?"
"Yes."
"Then you can receive messages from here every hour if you wish. Garret
Jackson, your engineer, can send them, and you can pick them up in
mid-air if need be."
"So I can!" cried Tom. "I will go to the meet. I'll take the
Humming-Bird apart at once, and ship it to Eagle Park. Unless Dr.
Hendrix wants to go back in it," he added as an after thought.
"No," spoke Dr. Gladby, "Dr. Hendrix is going to remain here for a few
days, in case of an emergency. By that time the bridge will have been
repaired, and he can go back by train. I gather, from what he said,
that though he liked the air trip, he will not care for another one."
"Very well," assented Tom, and Mr. Damon and he were kept busy, packing
the Humming-Bird for shipment. Mr. Jackson helped them, and Eradicate
and his mule Boomerang were called on occasionally when boxes or crates
were to be taken to the railroad station.
In the meanwhile, Mr. Swift, if he did not improve any, at least held
his own. This the doctors said was a sign of hope, and, though Tom was
filled with anxiety, he tried to think that fate would be kind to him,
and that his father would recover. Dr. Hendrix left, saying there was
nothing more he could do, and that the rest depended on the local
physicians, and on the nurse.
"Und ve vill do our duty!" ponderously exclaimed Dr. Kurtz. "You go off
to dot bird race, Dom, und doan't vorry. Ve vill send der with-out-vire
messages to you venever dere is anyt'ing to report. Go mit a light
heart!"
How Tom wished he could, but it was out of the question. The last of
the parts of the Humming-Bird had been sent away, and our hero
forwarded a telegram to Mr. Sharp, of the arrangement committee,
stating that he and Mr. Damon would soon follow. Then, having bidden
his father a fond farewell, and after arranging with Mr. Jackson to
send frequent wireless messages, Tom and the eccentric man left for the
meet.
There was a wireless station at Eagle Park, and Tom had planned to
receive the messages from home there until he could set up his own
plant. He would have two outfits. One in the big tent where the
Humming-Bird was to be put together, and another on the machine itself,
so that when in the air, practicing, or even in the great race itself,
there would be no break in the news that was to be flashed through
space.
Tom and Mr. Damon arrived at Eagle Park on time, and Tom's first
inquiry was for a message from home. There was one, stating that Mr.
Swift was fairly comfortable, and seemed to be doing well. With
happiness in his heart, the young inventor then set about getting the
parts of his craft from the station to the park, where he and Mr.
Damon, with a trusty machinist whom Mr. Sharp had recommended, would
assemble it. Tom arranged that in his absence the wireless operator on
the grounds would take any message that came for him.
The Humming-Bird, in the big cases and boxes, had safely arrived, and
these were soon in the tent which had been assigned to Tom. It was
still several days until the opening of the meet, and the grounds
presented a scene of confusion.
Workmen were putting up grand stands, tents and sheds were being
erected, exhibitors were getting their machines in shape, and excited
contestants of many nationalities were hurrying to and fro, inquiring
about parts delayed in shipment, or worrying lest some of their pet
ideas be stolen.
Tom and Mr. Damon, with Frank Forker, the young machinist, were soon
busy in their big tent, which was a combined workshop and living
quarters, for Tom had determined to stay right on the ground until the
big race was over.
"I don't see anything of Andy Foger," remarked Mr. Damon, on the second
day of their residence in the park. "There are lots of new entries
arriving, but he doesn't seem to be on hand."
"There's time enough," replied Tom. "I am afraid he's hanging back
until the last minute, and will spring his machine so late that I won't
have time to lodge a protest. It would be just like him."
"Well, I'll be on the lookout for him. Have you heard from home to-day,
Tom?"
"No. I'm expecting a message any minute." The young inventor glanced
toward the wireless apparatus which had been set up in the tent. At
that moment there came the peculiar sound which indicated a message
coming through space, and down the receiving wires. "There's something
now!" exclaimed Tom, as he hurried over and clamped the telephone
receiver to his ear. He listened a moment.
"Good news!" he exclaimed. "Dad sat up a little to-day! I guess he's
going to get well!" and he clicked back congratulations to his father
and the others in Shopton.
Another day saw the Humming-Bird almost in shape again, and Tom was
preparing for a tryout of the engine.
Mr. Damon had gone over to the committee headquarters to consult with
Mr. Sharp about the steps necessary for Tom to take in case Andy did
attempt to enter a craft that infringed on the ideas of the young
inventor, and on his way back he saw a newly-erected tent. There was a
young man standing in the entrance, at the sight of whom the eccentric
man murmured:
"Bless my skate-strap! His face looks very familiar!"
The youth disappeared inside the tent suddenly, and, as Mr. Damon came
opposite the canvas shelter, he started in surprise.
For, on a strip of muslin which was across the tent, painted in gay
colors, were the words:
THE FOGER AEROPLANE
"Bless my elevation rudder!" cried Mr. Damon. "Andy's here at last! I
must tell Tom!"
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Great Race
"Well," remarked Mr. Sharp, when Tom and Mr. Damon had called on him,
to state that Andy Foger's machine was now on the grounds, and
demanding to be allowed to view it, to see if it was an infringement on
the one entered by the young inventor, "I'll do the best I can for you.
I'll lay the case before the committee. It will meet at once, and I'll
let you know what they say."
"Understand," said Tom, "I don't want to interfere unless I am
convinced that Andy is trying an underhand trick. My plans are missing,
and I think he took them. If his machine is made after those plans, it
is, obviously, a steal, and I want him ruled out of the meet."
"And so he shall be!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp. "Get the evidence against
him, and we'll act quickly enough."
The committee met in about an hour, and considered the case. Meanwhile,
Tom and Mr. Damon strolled past the tent with its flaring sign. There
was a man on guard, but Andy was not in sight.
Then Tom was sent for, and Mr. Sharp told him what conclusion had been
arrived at. It was this:
"Under the rules of the meet," said the balloonist, "we had to
guarantee privacy to all the contestants until such time as they choose
to exhibit their machines. That is, they need not bring them out until
just before the races," he added. "This is not a handicap affair, and
the speediest machine, or the one that goes to the greatest height,
according to which class it enters, will win. In consequence we cannot
force any contestant to declare what kind of a machine he will use
until he gets ready.
"Some are going to use the familiar type of biplanes and, as you can
see, there is no secret about them. They are trying them out now." This
was so, for several machines of this type were either in the air,
circling about, or were being run over the ground.
"But others," continued Mr. Sharp, "will not even take the committee
into their confidence until just before the race. They want to keep
their craft a secret. We can't compel them to do otherwise. I'm sorry,
Tom, but the only thing I see for you to do is to wait until the last
minute. Then, if you find Andy has infringed on your machine, lodge a
protest--that is unless you can get evidence against him before that
time."
Tom well knew the uselessness of the latter plan. He and Mr. Damon had
tried several times to get a glimpse of the craft Andy had made, but
without success. As to the other alternative--that of waiting until the
last moment--Tom feared that, too, would be futile.
"For," he reasoned, "just before the race there will be a lot of
confusion, officials will be here and there, scattered over the ground,
they will be hard to find, and it will be almost useless to protest
then. Andy will enter the race, and there is a possibility that he may
win. Almost any one could with a machine like the Humming-Bird. It's
the machine almost as much as the operator, in a case like this."
"But you can protest after the race," suggested Mr. Damon.
"That would be little good, in case Andy beat me. The public would say
I was a sorehead, and jealous. No, I've either got to stop Andy before
the race, or not at all. I will try to think of a plan."
Tom did think of several, but abandoned them one after the other. He
tried to get a glimpse inside the tent where the Foger aeroplane was
housed, but it was too closely guarded. Andy himself was not much in
evidence, and Tom only had fleeting glimpses of the bully.
Meanwhile he and Mr. Damon, together with their machinist, were kept
busy. As Tom's craft was fully protected by patents now, he had no
hesitation in taking it out, and it was given several severe tests
around the aerial course. It did even better than Tom expected of it,
and he had great hopes.
Always, though, there were two things that worried him. One was his
father's illness, and the other the uneasiness he felt as to what Andy
Foger might do. As to the former, the wireless reports indicated that
Mr. Swift was doing as well as could be expected, but his improvement
was not rapid. Regarding the latter worry, Tom saw no way of getting
rid of it.
"I've just got to wait, that's all," he thought.
The day before the opening of the meet, Tom and Mr. Damon had given the
Humming-Bird a grueling tryout. They had taken her high up--so high
that no prying eyes could time them, and there Tom had opened the motor
for all the power in it. They had flashed through space at the rate of
one hundred and twenty miles an hour.
"If we can only do that in the race, the ten thousand dollars is mine!"
exulted Tom, as he slanted the nose of the aeroplane toward the earth.
The day of the race dawned clear and beautiful. Tom was up early, for
there remained many little things to do to get his craft in final trim
for the contest. Then, too, he wanted to be ready to act promptly as
soon as Andy's machine was wheeled out, and he also wanted to get a
message from home.
The wireless arrived soon after breakfast, and did not contain very
cheering news.
"Your father not so well," Mr. Jackson sent. "Poor night, but doctor
thinks day will show improvement. Don't worry."
"Don't worry! I wonder who could help it," mused poor Tom. "Well, I'll
hope for the best," and he wired back to tell the engineer in Shopton
to keep in touch with him, and to flash the messages to the
Humming-Bird in the air, after the big race started.
"Now I'll go out and see if I can catch a glimpse of what that sneak
Andy has to pit against me," said Tom.
The Foger tent was tightly closed, and Tom turned back to his own
place, having arranged with a messenger to come and let him know as
soon as Andy's craft was wheeled out.
All about was a scene of great activity. The grand stands were filled,
and a big crowd stood about the field anxiously waiting for the first
sight of the "bird-men" in their wonderful machines. Now and then the
band blared out, and cheers arose as one after another the frail craft
were wheeled to the starting place.
Men in queer leather costumes darted here and there--they were the
aviators who were soon to risk life and limb for glory and gold. Most
of them were nervously smoking cigarettes. The air was filled with
guttural German or nasal French, while now and then the staccato
Russian was heard, and occasionally the liquid tones of a Japanese. For
men of many nations were competing for the prizes.
The majority of the machines were monoplanes and biplanes though one
triplane was entered, and there were several "freaks" as the biplane
and monoplane men called them--craft of the helicopter, or the wheel
type. There was also one Witzig Liore Dutilleul biplane, with three
planes behind.
Tom was familiar with most of these types, but occasionally he saw a
new one that excited his curiosity. However, he was more interested in
what Andy Foger would turn out. Andy's machine had not been tried, and
Tom wondered how he dared risk flying in it, without at least a
preliminary tryout. But Andy, and those with him, were evidently full
of confidence.
News of the suspicions of Tom, and what he intended to do in case these
suspicions proved true, had gotten around, and there was quite a crowd
about his own tent, and another throng around that of Andy.
Tom and Mr. Damon had wheeled the Humming-Bird out of her canvas
"nest." There was a cheer as the crowd caught sight of the trim little
craft. The young inventor, the eccentric man, and the machinist were
busy going over every part.
Meanwhile the meet had been officially opened, and it was announced
that the preliminary event would be some air evolutions at no great
height, and for no particular prize. Several biplanes and monoplanes
took part in this. It was very interesting, but the big
ten-thousand-dollar race, over a distance of a hundred miles was the
principal feature of the meet, and all waited anxiously for this.
The opening stunts passed off successfully, save that a German operator
in a Bleriot came to grief, crashing down to the ground, wrecking his
machine, and breaking an arm. But he only laughed at that, and coolly
demanded another cigarette, as he crawled out of the tangle of wires,
planes and the motor.
After this there was an exhibition flight by a French aviator in a
Curtis biplane, who raced against one in a Baby Wright. It was a dead
heat, according to the judges. Then came a flight for height; and while
no records were broken, the crowd was well satisfied.
"Get ready for the hundred-mile ten-thousand-dollar-prize race!"
shouted the announcer, through his megaphone.
Tom's heart gave a bound. There were seven entrants in this contest
besides Tom and Andy Foger, and as announced by the starter they were
as follows:
CONTESTANT MACHINE
Von Bergen.................Wright Biplane
Alameda..............Antoinette Monoplane
Perique.................Bleriot Monoplane
Loi Tong..........Santos-Dumont Monoplane
Wendell....................Curtis Biplane
De Tromp...................Farman Biplane
Lascalle.............Demoiselle Monoplane
Andy Foger.................--------------
Tom Swift..........Humming-Bird Monoplane
"What is the style of the Foger machine?" yelled some one in the crowd,
as the announcer lowered his megaphone.
"It has not been announced," was the reply. "It will at once be wheeled
out though, in accordance with the conditions of the race."
There was a craning of necks, and an uneasy movement in the crowd, for
Tom's story was now generally known.
"Get ready to make your protest," advised Mr. Damon to the young
inventor. "I'll stay by the machine here until you come back. Bless my
radiator! I hope you beat him!"
"I will, if it's possible!" murmured Tom, with a grim tightening of his
lips.
There was a movement about Andy's tent, whence, for the last half hour
had come spasmodic noises that indicated the trying-out of the motor.
The flaps were pulled back and a curious machine was wheeled into view.
Tom rushed over toward it, intent on getting the first view. Would it
prove to be a copy of his speedy Humming-Bird?
Eagerly he looked, but a curious sight met his eyes. The machine was
totally unlike any he had expected to see. It was large, and to his
mind rather clumsy, but it looked powerful. Then, as he took in the
details, he knew that it was the same one that had flown over his house
that night--it was the one from which the fire bomb had been dropped.
He pushed his way through the crowd. He saw Andy standing near the
curious biplane, which type of air craft it nearest resembled, though
it had some monoplane features. On the side was painted the name:
SLUGGER
Andy caught sight of Tom Swift.
"I'm going to beat you!" the bully boasted, "and I haven't a machine
like yours, after all. You were wrong."
"So I see," stammered Tom, hardly knowing what to think. "What did you
do with my plans then?"
"I never had them!"
Andy turned away, and began to assist the men he had hired to help him.
Like all the others, his machine had two seats, for in this race each
operator must carry a passenger.
Tom turned away, both glad and sorry,--glad that his rival was not to
race him in a duplicate of the Humming-Bird, but sorry that he had as
yet no track of the strangely missing plans.
"I wonder where they can be?" mused the young inventor.
Then came the firing of the preliminary gun. Tom rushed back to where
Mr. Damon stood waiting for him.
There was a last look at the Humming-Bird. She was fit to race any
machine on the ground. Mr. Damon took his place. Tom started the
propeller. The other contestants were in their seats with their
passengers. Their assistants stood ready to shove them off. The
explosions of so many motors in action were deafening.
"How much thrust?" cried Tom to his machinist.
"Twenty-two hundred pounds!"
"Good!"
The report of the starting-gun could not be heard. But the smoke of it
leaped into the air. It was the signal to go.
Tom's voice would not have carried five feet. He waved his hands as a
signal. His helper thrust the Humming-Bird forward. Over the smooth
ground it rushed. Tom looked eagerly ahead. On a line with him were the
other machines, including Andy Foger's Slugger.
Tom pulled a lever. He felt his craft soar upward. The other machines
also pointed their noses into the air.
The big race for the ten-thousand-dollar prize was under way!
Chapter Twenty-Four
Won by a Length
Rising upward, on a steep slant, for he wanted to get into the upper
currents as soon as possible, Tom looked down and off to his left and
saw one machine going over the ground in curious leaps and bounds. It
was the tiny Demoiselle--the smallest craft in the race, and its
peculiar style of starting was always thus manifested.
"I don't believe he's going to make it," thought Tom.
He was right. In another moment the tiny craft, after rising a short
distance, dove downward, and was wrecked. The young inventor saw the
two men crawling out from the tangled planes and wings, apparently
uninjured.
"One contestant less," thought Tom, grimly, though with pity in his
heart for the unfortunates.
However, he must think of himself and his own craft now. He glanced at
Mr. Damon sitting beside him. That odd gentleman, with never a thought
of blessing anything now, unless he did it silently, was watching the
lubricating system. This was a vital part of the craft, for if anything
went wrong with it, and the bearings overheated, the race would have to
be abandoned. So Tom was not trusting to any automatic arrangement, but
had instituted, almost at the last moment, a duplicate hand-worked
system, so that if one failed him he would have the other.
"A good start!" shouted Mr. Damon in his ear.
Tom nodded, and glanced behind him. On a line with the Humming-Bird,
and at about the same elevation, were the Bleriot monoplane and a
Wright biplane. Below were the Santos-Dumont and the Antoinette.
"Where's the Slugger?" called Tom to his friend.
Mr. Damon motioned upward. There, in the air above Tom's machine, and
slightly in advance, was Andy Foger's craft. He had gotten away in
better shape than had the Humming-Bird.
For a moment Tom's heart misgave him. Then he turned on more power, and
had the satisfaction of mounting upward and shooting onward until he
was on even terms with Andy.
The bully gave one glance over toward his rival, and pulled a lever.
The Slugger increased her speed, but Tom was not a second behind him.
There was a roaring noise in the rear, and up shot De Tromp in the
Farman, and Loi Tong, the little Japanese, in the Santos-Dumont. Truly
the race was going to be a hotly contested one. But the end was far off
yet.
After the first jockeying for a start and position, the race settled
down into what might be termed a "grind." The course was a large one,
but so favorable was the atmosphere that day, and such was the location
of Eagle Park in a great valley, that even on the far side of the great
ellipse the contestants could be seen, dimly with the naked eye, but
very plainly with glasses, with which many of the spectators were
provided.
Around and around they went, at no very great height, for it was
necessary to make out the signals set up by the race officials, so that
the contestants would know when they were near the finish, that they
might use the last atom of speed. So at varying heights the wonderful
machines circled about the course.