A QUEER STORY
THE young inventor was out at the flying field in his air togs going
over every detail of his machine when Mary Nestor arrived in the auto
driven by a messenger Tom often employed.
“Hello!” called the girl, as she leaped out of the car. She, too, wore a
leather flying suit, for Tom had told her to put it on.
“Hello,” responded Tom. “All ready?”
“Yes. But I want to talk to you, and we can’t do it very well with the
engine going. It makes such a noise.”
“This one doesn’t make as much racket as some do, for I’ve got a muffler
on her,” Tom replied. “But still you can’t exactly carry on a whispered
conversation in the _Hummer_.”
“This conversation is going to be—well rather private,” returned Mary
in a low voice, with a glance toward the man who had brought her over in
the car.
“We might start off, land in some lonely field, and talk there,” Tom
suggested. “I could throttle down the engine just enough to keep her
turning over, and yet not running enough to make the plane even taxi.”
“Why can’t you do that here?” asked Mary. “I want to tell you what I
have to say, Tom, at once, as you might want to act on it.”
“Well, I can have him turn the propellers and get her started,” answered
the youth, with a glance at his helper. “Then, with the engine idling,
you can tell me the story while he goes back in the auto.”
“Do that,” suggested the girl. “I want to get it off my mind.”
Accordingly, while Tom vainly wondered what his sweetheart could have to
say to him of such importance, he took his place in the forward cockpit,
in charge of the control levers, while the man stationed himself at the
propellers.
The _Hummer_ was comparatively easy to start. After the engine had been
turned over once or twice, with the accompanying coughs and sighs, it
started with a thundering roar that made the ground throb. Tom let it
run until it was well warmed up. Then, knowing it would keep going at
low speed without moving the plane, he throttled the gas down, adjusted
the spark, and signed for his helper to leave.
“Now, Mary, I’m ready to hear your story,” he said as he walked with his
friend a short distance away from the _Hummer_.
“It’s a queer story,” said the girl. “And as soon as I heard it I
started to call you on the ’phone. I was just going to take down the
receiver when you called me.”
“When did you hear this—whatever it is?” asked Tom, who was becoming
more and more mystified by Mary’s evident concern.
“Just this morning,” she answered. “I was over in Mansburg doing some
early shopping with Kate Borden. Shopping always makes me terribly
hungry, as it does Kate, so about noon we went into a small restaurant
for lunch.”
“And I suppose you had mislaid your money and couldn’t pay, and you had
to blush and ask the manager to trust you, and now you want to go there
in the plane and settle your debts. Is that it?” asked Tom, with a
laugh.
“No, and if you make any more fun of me I sha’n’t tell you a thing! So
there, Tom Swift!” and Mary pouted bewitchingly.
“Mercy! I’ll be good!” he promised.
His sense of humor was rudely shaken a moment later as Mary went on:
“While Kate and I were eating our lunch three men were eating at the
next table—eating and talking. We didn’t purposely listen—that is, not
until after I heard one of them mention the Swift Construction Company.
But then, as you can imagine, Tom, I was all ears. I shamelessly
listened after that, and though I didn’t hear all that was said I caught
enough to know that they were talking about something like a tidal
engine. Is there any such thing, Tom?”
“Is there, Mary? I should say there is! It’s one of my latest and best
inventions! I believe I can harness the ocean with it—at least, a part
of the tide. But go on—what did they say about the tidal engine?”
“One of the men seemed angry that you hadn’t sold it to them. He spoke
of Mr. Damon and said it was too bad—or words to that effect—that Mr.
Damon’s negotiations had fallen through.”
“Go on,” urged Tom, as Mary hesitated a moment. “This is interesting,
and it may be vitally important. Go on!”
“Then they spoke something about mill machinery,” resumed the girl. “I
couldn’t get that very plainly—I don’t know much about mechanics—but
they spoke of a turbine grinder. Is that right?”
“That’s right!” exclaimed Tom. “But it will be all wrong if they get on
to any of my plans in that respect. I’m mighty glad you listened to this
talk, Mary! Who were the men—I mean what did they look like?”
“I’ll describe them to you as well as I can. I had never seen any of
them before, as far as I know. The whole trend of the conversation was
to the effect that they had tried unsuccessfully, through Mr. Damon, to
get you or your father to sell them some or all of the rights in these
inventions. Is that the case?”
“Yes. Mr. Damon came to me some time ago—the day he landed on the roof
in his little plane—and wanted me to consider negotiations. But I sent
word by him to these fellows, who were represented by Mr. Blythe, not to
bother, for I wasn’t in the market.”
“I didn’t hear Mr. Blythe’s name mentioned,” said Mary, knitting her
forehead into a series of wrinkles as she tried to recall all the
details of the affair. “But there was some one whose name began with
B—let me see—I wrote it down.”
She fumbled in her pocket and brought out a slip of paper on which she
had written one word—Blodgett.
“That’s the man, Tom,” she said. “Mr. Blodgett. One of the three who
were talking near our table remarked: ‘Never mind. I think Blodgett will
fix it.’ Those were the words he used.”
“Hum,” mused Tom. “Blodgett—and he will fix it. Fix what, I wonder?”
“That I can’t say,” answered Mary, for Tom had spoken aloud. “Right
after one of the men said that, all three went out. I didn’t know what
to do. I kept wishing you had been there. But I made up my mind I’d tell
you about it as soon as I could.”
“Yes, Mary. Thanks! I’m glad you did. It’s all a mystery to me.”
“What do you think it means?”
“That would be hard to say. I’ll have to admit I’m a bit worried about
it, in view of several things that have happened at the shop lately.”
“Oh, Tom do you think there is any danger?”
“No more than usual. There’s always danger when you have rivals. But I
never heard of this Blodgett that I know of. As for the other matters:
As I said, Mr. Damon opened the subject but I told him to head off any
visit of the men to me, for I wouldn’t do business with them. And from
the fact that they haven’t called on me, I took it that they had dropped
the matter.”
“It doesn’t seem so, though, does it?” asked Mary.
“I should say not! I don’t like this at all!” Tom seemed anxious and
upset over the matter. “And what I particularly don’t like is the way
they said Blodgett would fix it. Is that the word they used?”
“Yes. It was ‘fix,’ I’m sure of it.”
“Smacks of desperation,” commented Tom. “I wonder if the owner of the
restaurant would know those men, Mary?”
“He might.”
“Then I’m going to drop in and have a talk with him. Give me the
address. Oh, I don’t mean I’m going to drop in off the _Hummer_ and let
you run the machine alone,” he went on with a laugh, as he saw Mary’s
momentary gasp of surprise. “I’ll go over and see him to-morrow. Just
now we’ll go for a ride. I need a little free breathing space in the
upper air.”
“Yes, it’s a wonderful day for a ride, Tom. And there’s no sign at all
of rain.”
“We need rain, too,” said the young inventor. “The woods and fields are
as dry as tinder. If a forest fire should start now it would do a lot of
damage. But as long as it hasn’t rained for some time, we’ll hope it
will hold off until we get back from our spin. Come on—let’s go!”