saw the ground slipping away below him. He felt sure that he would win,
even when Alameda, the Spaniard, in the Antoinette, came creeping up on
him, and even when Andy Foger, with a burst of speed, placed himself
and his passenger in the lead.
"I'll catch him!" muttered Tom, and he opened the throttle a trifle
wider, and went after Andy, passing him with ease.
They had covered about thirty miles of the course, when the humming and
crackling of the wireless apparatus told Tom that a message was coming.
He snapped the receiver to his ear, adjusting the outer covering to
shut out the racket of the motor, and listened.
"Well?" asked Mr. Damon, as Tom took off the receiver.
"Dad isn't quite so well," answered the lad. "Mr. Jackson says they
have sent for Dr. Hendrix again. But dad is game. He sends me word to
go on and win, and I'll do it, too, only--"
Tom paused, and choked back a sob. Then he prepared to get more speed
out of his motor.
"Of course you will!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my--!"
But they encountered an adverse current of wind at that moment, and it
required the attention of both of the aviators to manage the machine.
It was soon on an even keel again, and once more was shooting forward
around the course.
At times Tom would be in advance, and again he would have to give place
to the Curtis, the Farman, or the Santos-Dumont, as these speedy
machines, favored by a spurt from their motors, or by some current of
air, shot ahead. But, in general, Tom maintained the lead, and among
the spectators there began a series of guesses as to how much he would
win by.
Tom glanced at the barograph. It registered a little over twelve
hundred feet. He looked at the speed gage. He was doing a trifle better
than a hundred miles an hour. He looked down at the signals. There was
twenty miles yet to go. It was almost time for the spurt for which he
had been holding back. Yet he would wait until five miles from the end,
and then he felt that he could gain and maintain a lead.
"Andy seems to be doing well," said Mr. Damon.
"Yes, he has a good machine," conceded Tom.
Five miles more were reeled off. Then another five. Another round of
that distance and Tom would key his motor up to the highest pitch, and
then the Humming-Bird would show what she could do. Eagerly Tom waited
for the right signal.
Suddenly the wireless began buzzing again. Quickly the young inventor
clamped the receiver to his ear. Mr. Damon saw him turn pale.
"Dr. Gladby says dad has a turn for the worse. There is little hope,"
translated Tom.
"Will you--are you going to quit?" asked Mr. Damon.
Tom shook his head.
"No!" he cried. "My father has become unconscious, so Mr. Jackson says,
but his last words were to me: 'Tell Tom to win the race!' And I'm
going to do it!"
Tom suddenly changed his plans. There was to be no waiting for the
signal now. He would begin his final spurt, and if possible finish the
hundred miles at his utmost speed, win the race and then hasten to his
father's side.
With a menacing roar the motor of the Humming-Bird took up the
additional power that Tom sent into her. She shot ahead like an eagle
darting after his prey. Tom opened up a big gap between his machine and
the one nearest him, which, at that moment, was the Antoinette, with
the Spaniard driving her.
"Now to win!" cried Tom, grimly.
Surely no race was ever flown as was that one! Tom flashed through the
air so quickly that his speed was almost incredible. The gage
registered one hundred and thirty miles an hour!
Down below in the grand stands, and on the aviation field, there were
yells of approval--of wonder--of fear. But Tom and Mr. Damon could not
hear them. They only heard the powerful song of the motor.
Faster and faster flew the Humming-Bird. Tom looked down, and saw the
signal put up which meant that there were but three miles more to go.
He felt that he could do it. He was half a lap ahead of them all now.
But he saw Andy Foger's machine pulling away from the bunch.
"He's going to try to catch me!" exulted Tom.
Then something happened. The motor of the Humming-Bird suddenly
slackened its speed, it missed explosions, and the trim little craft
began to drop behind.
"What's the matter?" cried Mr. Damon.
"Three of the cylinders are out of business!" yelled Tom. "We're done
for, I guess."
On came the other machines, Andy in the lead, then the Santos-Dumont,
then the Farman, and lastly the Wright. They saw the plight of the
Humming-Bird and determined to beat her. Tom cast a despairing look up
at the motor. There was nothing to be done. He could not reach it in
mid-air. He could only keep on, crippled as he was, and trust to luck.
Andy passed by his rival with an evil smile on his ugly face. Then the
Antoinette flashed by. In turn all the others left Tom in the rear. His
heart was like lead. Mr. Damon gazed blankly forward. They were beaten.
It did not seem possible.
There was but a single chance. If Tom shut off all power, coasted for a
moment, and then, ere the propeller had ceased revolving, if he could
start the motor on the spark, the silent cylinders might pick up, with
the others, and begin again. He would try it. They could be no worse
off than they were.
"A mile behind!" gasped Tom. "It's a long chance, but I'll take it."
He shut off the power. The motor was silent, the Humming-Bird began to
fall. But ere she had gone down ten feet Tom suddenly switched on the
batteries. There was a moment of silence, and then came the welcome
roar that told of the rekindled motor. And such a roar as it was! Every
cylinder was exploding as though none of them had ever stopped!
"We did it!" yelled Tom. Opening up at full speed, he sent the sky
racer on the course to overtake and pass his rivals.
Slowly he crept on them. They looked back and saw him coming. They
tried to put on more speed, but it was impossible. Andy Foger was in
the lead. He was being slowly overhauled by the Santos-Dumont, with
the queer tail-rudders.
"I'll get him!" muttered Tom. "I'll pass 'em all!"
And he did. With a wonderful burst of speed the little Humming-Bird
overtook one after another of her larger rivals, and passed them. Then
she crept up on Andy's Slugger.
In an instant more it was done, and, a good length in advance of the
Foger craft, Tom shot over the finish line a winner, richer by ten
thousand dollars, and, not only that, but he had picked up a mile that
had been lost, and had snatched victory from almost certain defeat.
There was a succession of thundering cheers as he shut off the motor,
and volplaned to earth, but he paid little attention to them. He
brought his craft to a stop just as the wireless on it buzzed again.
He listened with a look of pain on his face.
"My father is dying," he said simply. "I must go to him. Mr. Damon,
will you fill the tanks with oil and gasoline, while I send off a
message?"
"Oil and gasoline," murmured the odd man, while hundreds pressed up to
congratulate Tom Swift "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to my father in the Humming-Bird," said Tom. "It's the only
way I can see him alive," and he began to click off a message to Mr.
Jackson, stating that he had won the race and was going to fly to
Shopton, while Mr. Damon and several others replenished the fuel and
oil of the aeroplane.
Tom Swift had won one race. Could he win the other?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Home Again--Conclusion
Mr. Sharp pushed his way through the crowd.
"The committee has the certified check ready for you, Tom," called the
balloonist. "Will you come and get it?"
"Send it to me, please," answered the young inventor. "I must go to my
father."
"Huh! I'd have beaten him in another round," boasted Andy Foger. No one
paid any attention to him.
"Monsieur ezz plucky!" said the Frenchman, Perique. "I am honaired to
shake his hand! He has broken all ze records!"
"Dot's der best machine I effer saw," spoke the Dutchman, De Tromp,
ponderously. "Shake hands!"
"Ver' fine, ver' good!" came from the little Japanese, and all the
contestants congratulated Tom warmly. Never before had a hundred miles
been covered so speedily.
A man elbowed his way through the press of people.
"Is your machine fully protected by patents?" he inquired earnestly.
"It is," said Tom.
"Then, as a representative of the United States Government, I would
like an option to purchase the exclusive right to use them," said the
man. "Can you guarantee that no one else has any plans of them? It
will mean a fortune to you."
Tom hesitated. He thought of the stolen plans. If he could only get
possession of them! He glanced at Andy Foger, who was wheeling his
machine back into the tent. But there was no time now to have it out
with the bully.
"I will see you again," said Tom to the government agent. "I must go to
my father, who is dying. I can't answer you now."
The tanks were filled. Tom gave a hasty look to his machine, and,
bidding his new friends farewell, he and Mr. Damon took their places
aboard the Humming-Bird. The little craft rose in the air, and soon
they had left Eagle Park far behind. Eagerly Tom strained his eyes for
a sight of his home town, though he knew it would be several hours ere
he could hover over it.
Would he be in time? Would he be in time? That question came to him
again and again.
For a time the Humming-Bird skimmed along as though she delighted in
the rapid motion, in slipping through the air and sliding along on the
billows of wind. Tom, with critical ears, listened to the hum of the
motor, the puffing of the exhaust, the grinding of the gear wheels, and
the clicking of the trips, as valve after valve opened or closed to
admit the mixture of air and gasoline, or closed to give the
compression necessary for the proper explosion.
"Is she working all right?" asked Mr. Damon, anxiously, and, such was
the strain on him that he did not think to bless anything. "Is she all
right, Tom, my lad?"
"I think so. I'm speeding her to the limit. Faster than I ever did
before, but I guess she'll do. She was built to stand a strain, and
she's got to do it now!"
Then there was silence again, as they slid along through the air like a
coaster gliding down a steep descent.
"It was a great race, wasn't it?" asked Mr. Damon, as he shifted to an
easier position in his seat. "A great race, Tom. I didn't think you'd
do it, one spell there."
"Neither did I," came the answer, as the young inventor changed the
spark lever. "But I made up my mind I wouldn't be beaten by Andy Foger,
if I could help it. Though it was taking a risk to shut off the current
the way I did."
"A risk?"
"Yes; it might not have started again," and Tom looked down at the
earth below them, as if measuring the distance he would have fallen had
not his sky racer kept on at the critical moment.
"And--and if the current hadn't come on again; eh, Tom? Would we--?"
Mr. Damon did not finish, but Tom knew what he meant.
"It would have been all up with us," he said simply. "I might have
volplaned back to earth, but at the speed we were going, and at the
height, around a curve, we might have turned turtle."
"Bless my--!" began Mr. Damon, and then he stopped. The thought of
Tom's trouble came to him, and he realized that his words might grate
on the feelings of his companion.
On they rushed through the air with the Humming-Bird speeded up faster
and faster as she warmed to her task. The machinery seemed to be
working perfectly, and as Tom listened to the hum a look of pleasure
replaced the look of anxiety on his face.
"Don't you think we'll make it?" asked Mr. Damon, after another pause,
during which they passed over a large city, the inhabitants exhibiting
much excitement as they sighted the airship over their heads.
"We've got to make it!" declared Tom between his clenched teeth.
He turned on a little more gasoline, and there was a spurt in their
speed which made Mr. Damon grasp the upright braces near him with firm
hands, and his face became a little paler.
"It's all right," spoke Tom, reassuringly. "There's no danger."
But Tom almost reckoned without his host, for a few moments later, as
he was trying to get more revolutions out of the propellers, he ran
into an adverse current of air.
In an instant the Humming-Bird was tilted up almost on her "beams'
ends," so to speak, and had it not been that the young inventor quickly
warped the wing tips, to counteract the pressure on one side, there
might have been a different end to this story.
"Bless my----!" began Mr. Damon, but he got no further, for he had to
bend his body as Tom did, to equalize the pressure of the wind current.
"A little farther over!" yelled the lad. "A little farther over this
way, Mr. Damon!"
"But if I come any more toward you I'll be out of my seat!" objected
the eccentric man.
"If you don't you'll be out of the aeroplane!" cried Tom grimly, and
his companion leaned over as far as he could until the young pilot had
brought the craft to an even keel again.
Then Tom speeded up the motor, which he had partly shut down as they
passed through the danger zone, and again they were racing through
space.
They were nearing Shopton now, as the lad and Mr. Damon could tell by
the familiar landmarks which loomed up in sight. Tom strained his eyes
for the first view of his home.
Suddenly, as they were skimming along, there came a cessation of the
hum and roar that told of the perfectly-working motor. It was an
ominous silence.
"What's--what's wrong?" gasped Mr. Damon.
"Something's given way," answered Tom quickly. "I'm afraid the magneto
isn't sparking as it ought to."
"Well, can't we volplane back to earth?" asked the odd man, for he had
become familiar with this feat when anything happened to the motor.
"We could," answered Tom, "but I'm not going to."
"Why not?"
"Because we're too far from Shopton--and dad! I'm going to keep on.
I've got to--if I want to be there in time!"
"But if the motor doesn't work?"
"I'll make her work!"
Tom was desperately manipulating the various levers and handles
connected with the electrical ignition system. He tried in vain to get
the magneto to resume the giving out of sparks, and, failing in that,
he switched on the batteries. But, to his horror, the dry cells had
given out. There was no way of getting a spark unless the little
electrical machine would work.
The propellers were still whirring around by their own momentum, and if
Tom could switch in the magneto in time all might yet be well.
They had started to fall, but, by quickly bringing up the head plane
tips, Tom sent his craft soaring upward again on a bank of air.
"Here!" he cried to Mr. Damon. "Take the steering-wheel and kept her on
this level as long as you can."
"What are you going to do?"
"I've got to fix that magneto!"
"But if she dips down?"
"Throw up the head planes as I did. It's our only chance! I can't go
down now, so far from Shopton!"
Mr. Damon reached over and took the wheel from Tom's hands. Then the
young inventor, leaning forward, for the magneto was within easy reach,
looked to see what the trouble was. He found it quickly. A wire had
vibrated loose from a binding-post. In a second Tom had it in place
again; and, ere the propellers had ceased revolving, he had turned the
switch. The magneto took up the work in a flash. Once more the spark
exploded the gasoline mixture, and the propellers sent the Humming-Bird
swiftly ahead.
"We'll make it now!" declared Tom grimly.
"We're almost there," added Mr. Damon, as he relinquished the wheel to
the young pilot. The craft had gone down some, but Tom sent her up
again.
Nearer and nearer home they came, until at last the spires of the
Shopton churches loomed into view. Then he was over the village. Now he
was within sight of his own house.
Tom coasted down a bank of air, and brought the Humming-Bird up with a
jerk of the ground brakes. Before the wheels had ceased turning he had
leaped out.
"It's Massa Tom!" cried Eradicate, as he saw Tom alight.
The young inventor hurried into the house. He was met by the nurse, who
held up a warning finger. Tom's heart almost stopped beating. He was
aware that Dr. Gladby came from the room where Mr. Swift lay.
"Is he--is he--am I too late?" gulped Tom.
"Hush!" cautioned the nurse.
Tom reeled, and would have fallen had not the doctor caught him, for
the lad was weak and worn out.
"He is going to get well!" were the joyful words he heard, as if in a
dream, and then his strength suddenly came back to him. "The crisis is
just passed, Tom," went on Dr. Gladby, "and your father will recover,
and be stronger than ever. Your good news of winning was like a tonic
to him. Now let me congratulate you on the race." Tom had flashed by
wireless a brief message of his success.
"Dad's news is better than all the congratulations in the world," he
said softly, as he grasped the doctor's hand.
* * * * *
It was a week later. Mr. Swift improved rapidly once the course of the
disease was permanently checked, and he was soon able to sit up. Tom
was with him in the room, talking of the great race, and how he had
won. He fingered the certified check for ten thousand dollars that had
just come to him by mail.
"You certainly did wonderfully well," said the aged inventor, softly.
"Wonderfully well, Tom. I'm proud of you."
"You may well be," added Mr. Damon. "Bless my shoelaces, but I thought
Andy Foger had us there one spell; didn't you, Tom?"
"Indeed I did. But you helped me win, Mr. Damon."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the odd man.
"Yes, you did. You helped me a lot."
"Well, are you going to keep after more air-prizes, Tom, or are you
going to try for something else?" asked his father.
"I don't believe I'll go in any more aeroplane races right away,"
answered the young inventor. "For some time I've been wanting to
complete and perfect my electric rifle. I think I'll begin work on that
soon."
"And go hunting?" asked Mr. Damon.
"I think so," answered Tom, dreamily. "I don't know just where, though."
Where he went, and what he shot, will be told in the next volume of
this series, to be called: "Tom Swift and His Electric Rifle; or,
Daring Adventures in Elephant Land."
For a few moments after Tom's announcement no one spoke, then the young
inventor said:
"It's too bad that first set of plans were stolen. If I had them I
could make a good deal with the Government about my little aeroplane.
But they don't want to take up with it as long as there is a chance of
some foreign nation getting information about the secret parts, and my
patents won't hold abroad. I wonder if there is any way of getting
those plans away from Andy Foger? I don't understand why he hasn't used
them before this. I thought sure he would make a craft like the
Humming-Bird to race against me."
"What plans are those?" asked Mr. Swift.
"Why, don't you remember?" asked Tom. "The ones I showed you one day,
in the library, when you fell asleep, and some one slipped in and stole
them."
A curious look came over Mr. Swift's face. He passed his hand across
his brow.
"I am beginning to remember something I have been trying to recall ever
since I became ill," he said slowly. "It is coming back to me. Those
plans--in the library--I fell asleep, but before I did so I hid those
plans, Tom!"
"You hid those plans!" Tom fairly shouted the words.
"Yes, I remember feeling a drowsy feeling coming on, and I feared lest
some one might see the drawings. I got up and put them under the
window, in a little, hollow place in the foundation wall. Then I came
back in through the window again, and went to sleep. Then, on account
of my illness, just as I once before forgot something, and thought the
minister had called, I lost all recollection of them. I hid those
plans."
Tom leaped to his feet. He rushed to the place named by his father.
Soon his triumphant shout told of his success. He came hurrying back
into the house with a roll of papers in his hands.
And there were the long-missing plans! damp and stained by the weather,
but all there. No enemy had them, and Tom's secret was safe.
"Now I can accept the Government offer!" he cried. And a few weeks
later he made a most advantageous deal with the United States officials
for his patents.
Dr. Gladby explained that Mr. Swift's queer action was due to his
illness. He became liable to lapses of memory, and one happened just
after he hid away the plans. Even the hiding of them was caused by the
peculiar condition of his brain. He had opened the library window,
slipped oot with the papers, and hastened in again, to fall asleep in
his chair, during the short time Tom was gone.
"And Andy Foger never took them at all," remarked Mary Nestor, when Tom
was telling her about it a few days afterward.
"No. I guess I must apologize to him." Which Tom did, but Andy did not
receive it very graciously, especially as Tom accused him of trying to
destroy the Humming-Bird.
Andy denied this and denied having anything to do with the mysterious
fire, and, as there was no way to prove him guilty, Tom could not
proceed against him. So the matter was dropped.
Mr. Swift continued to improve, and was soon himself again, and able to
resume his inventive work. Tom received several offers to give
exhibition flights at big aero meets, but refused, as he was busy on
his new rifle. Mr. Damon helped him.
Andy Foger made several successful flights in his queer aeroplane,
which turned out to be the product of a German genius who was supplied
with money by Mr. Foger. Andy became very proud, and boasted that he
and the German were going abroad to give flights in Europe.
"I'd be glad if he would," said Tom, when he heard of the plan. "He
wouldn't bother me then."
With the money received from winning the big race, and from his
contracts from the Government, Tom Swift was now in a fair way to
become quite wealthy. He was destined to have many more adventures;
yet, come what might, never would he forget the thrilling happenings
that fell to his lot while flying for the ten-thousand dollar prize in
his sky racer.
End of Project Gutenberg's Tom Swift and his Sky Racer, by Victor Appleton