MIDNIGHT VISITORS
“CAN you make a landing on that ball field?” Ned Newton asked, as the
young inventor put aside the glasses and took over the steering wheel.
“I doubt it,” was the answer. “It would be too much of a risk to try.
That ball field is too small. Though I could make a safe landing in a
big enough place without a landing crew by manipulating the gas
pressure, I don’t want to try it unless it’s necessary. Might damage the
airship, and then I’d be out a lot more money.”
“That’s right. Don’t take any chances,” agreed Ned, who, as befitted a
financial manager, was rightfully cautious. “But they see us!” he
exclaimed, as he and Tom saw crowds pouring from the hotel, some one
having spread word of the sight of the big dirigible.
“Yes, I suppose Mary, dad, and Mr. and Mrs. Nestor are in that bunch,”
went on Tom. “I’ll go a bit lower and maybe we can pick ’em out.”
“Wonder if they take us for the _Graf Zeppelin_?” chuckled Ned.
“Oh, dad would know this boat,” Tom answered. “I fancy Mrs. Jardine
would, too, for the last time I talked to her she had a small sketch of
it she said her brother-in-law had given her.”
“Is Mrs. Jardine still at this hotel?”
“Oh, yes; she and her children. Mary has become quite friendly with
them, she wrote me.”
The big dirigible was now just drifting along, the motors having been
stopped, and was slowly settling toward the hotel. On the green lawn in
front of the hotel the guests had assembled in great excitement. It was
so still and quiet, with the machinery cut off, that the cheers of the
hotel people could be heard.
“There’s Mary!” Tom exclaimed, pointing out a group of persons detached
from the others.
“Yes, I see Mr. Damon, too!” ejaculated Ned. “Look! He’s swinging his
hat!”
“He’ll be standing on his head next, he’s so easily excited,” laughed
Tom. “I see dad, too! Hand me that bouquet, Ned!”
The bunch of flowers, to which Tom had fastened a little note for his
wife, was attached to a small parachute and at the proper time was
dropped through a trapdoor opening in the bottom of the main cabin, back
of the control room. There was very little wind, and as the _Silver
Cloud_ hovered over the hotel Tom, Ned, and the others could see the
flowers gently floating down. They fell within a short distance of Mary.
Mr. Damon was seen to run and pick them up, and then, observing the note
with Mary’s name, he handed them to her.
The air was so clear and the big, floating airship was so close to earth
that in the silence which followed the dropping of the flowers, Tom
could hear his wife call up to him:
“Thank you!”
Then there was a burst of applause over the clever and romantic feat,
and Tom waved his hand to his wife, blowing her a kiss from his fingers,
though she may not have seen that action.
To give the guests a good view of the wonderful ship, Tom slowly circled
over the hotel several times. Then, to show what his craft could do, he
speeded up the motors and raced along at roaring speed. He was higher in
the air now, however, and could not make out individuals on the ground.
“Too bad we couldn’t land,” remarked Ned, as, with three dips of her
“nose,” Tom made the _Silver Cloud_ wave a final farewell salute to his
wife and the others.
“Yes,” the young inventor agreed. “But I think this airship is about
finished now, and I’m going to lock her in the hanger and take my
vacation.”
“So you think you’ll have to keep her yourself, do you?” asked Ned. “I
mean, have you given up the idea of trying to sell the dirigible?”
“I’d be glad to have the government, the Jardines, or any one else buy
the _Silver Cloud_ if we could get out of it with a decent profit,” Tom
said. “As it is, she’s a white elephant on my hands. But we’ve certainly
had no offers for her or even inquiries about her. So I’ll just park her
after I make a few more changes and give her a last hard test.”
The trip back to Shopton was without incident, save that one of the
motors cut out on account of ignition trouble. But those remaining were
more than sufficient to drive the craft along, and she was soon safely
housed.
Tom Swift went to his office to make some notes on the trip,
incorporating in them suggestions to Mr. Jackson for certain changes,
while Ned went over some accounts and tried to think of some way of
making the _Silver Cloud_ a profitable venture for the Swift firm.
It was past midnight and all was quiet in the office. The plant was shut
down and only the watchmen were making their various rounds to be sure
all was well.
Tom was writing a letter to Mary, intending to post it on his way home
with Ned, when the latter, giving up with a sigh of regret an attempt to
figure some way out of the financial puzzle, suddenly murmured:
“Hark!”
“What to?” Tom asked.
“I thought I heard some one coming along the hall.”
“The watchman, probably.”
“The watchman wouldn’t walk on his tiptoes like a thief,” whispered Ned.
“I believe we are going to have unexpected visitors.”
Tom Swift quietly left his seat at the desk and moved softly across the
room to the door. He opened it suddenly and as he did so there was a
scurrying rush of feet. As Ned leaped to join his chum and Tom switched
on a light in the corridor, they saw two dark forms vanishing around a
turn.
“Come on!” cried Tom. “We’ve got to catch them!”