A Runaway Giant
"What do you think it's all about, Mr. Damon?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Ned."
The two were at the home of the young bank clerk, preparing to start
for the Swift place, it being nearly nine o'clock on the evening named
by the youthful inventor.
"Bless my hat-rack!" went on the eccentric man, "but Tom isn't at all
like himself of late. He's working on some invention, I know that, but
it's all I do know. He hasn't given me a hint of it."
"Nor me, nor any of his friends," added Ned. "And he acts so oddly
about enlisting--doesn't want even to speak of it. How he got exempted
I don't know, but I do know one thing, and that is Tom Swift is for
Uncle Sam first, last and always!"
"Oh, of course!" agreed Mr. Damon. "Well, we'll soon know, I guess.
We'd better start, Ned."
"It's useless to try to guess what it is Tom is up to. He has kept his
secret well. The nearest any one has come to it was when Harry figured
out that Tom had a band of giant elephants which he was fitting with
coats of steel armor to go against the Germans," observed Ned, when he
and Mr. Damon were on their way.
"Well, that mightn't be so bad," agreed Mr. Damon.
"But--um--elephants--and wild giant ones, too! Bless my circus ticket,
Ned! do you think we'd better go in that case?"
"Oh, Tom hasn't anything like that!" laughed Ned. "That was only
Harry's crazy notion after he saw something big and ungainly careening
about the enclosed yard of Shop Thirteen. Hello, there go Mary Nestor
and her father!" and Ned pointed to the opposite side of the street
where the girl and Mr. Nestor could be seen in the light of a street
lamp.
"They're going out to see Tom's secret," said Mr. Damon. "There's
plenty of room in my car. Let's ask them to go with us."
"Surely," agreed Ned, and a moment later he and Mary were in the rear
seat while Mr. Damon and Mr. Nestor were in the front, Mr. Damon at the
wheel, and they were soon speeding down the road.
"I do hope everything will go all right," observed Mary.
"What do you mean?" asked Ned.
"I mean Tom is a little bit anxious about this test."
"Did he tell you what it was to be?"
"No; but when he called to invite father and me to be present he seemed
worried. I guess it's a big thing, for he never has acted this way
before--not talking about his work."
"That's right," assented Ned. "But the secret will soon be disclosed, I
fancy. But how is it you aren't going to the dance with Lieutenant
Martin? He told me you had half accepted for to-night."
"I had." And if it had been light enough Ned would have seen Mary
blushing. "I was going with him. It's a dance for the benefit of the
Red Cross to get money for comfort kits for the soldiers. But when Tom
sent word that he'd like to have me present to-night, why--"
"Oh, I see!" broke in Ned, with a little laugh. "'Nough said!"
Mary's blushes were deeper, but the kindly night hid them.
Then they conversed on matters connected with the big war--the selling
of Liberty Bonds, the Red Cross work and the Surgical Dressings
Committee, in which Mary was the head of a junior league.
"Everybody in Shopton seems to be doing something to help win the war,"
said Mary, and as there was just then a lull in the talk between her
father and Mr. Damon her words sounded clearly.
"Yes, everybody--that is, all but a few," said Mr. Nestor, "and they
ought to get busy. There are some young fellows in this town that ought
to be wearing khaki, and I don't mean you, Ned Newton. You're doing
your bit, all right."
"And so is Tom Swift!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as if there had been an
implied accusation against the young inventor. "I heard, only to-day,
that one of his inventions--a gas helmet that he planned--is in use on
the Western front in Europe. Tom gave his patents to the government,
and even made a lot of the helmets free to show other factories how to
turn them out to advantage."
"He did?" cried Mr. Nestor.
"That's what he did. Talk about doing your bit--"
"I didn't know that," observed Mary's father slowly. "Do you suppose
it's a test of another gas helmet that Tom has asked us out to see
to-night?"
"I hardly think so," said Ned. "He wouldn't wait until after dark for
that. This is something big, and Tom must intend to have it out in the
open. He probably waited until after sunset so the neighbors wouldn't
come out in flocks. There's been a lot of talk about what is going on
in Shop Thirteen, especially since the arrest of the German spies, and
the least hint that a test is under way would bring out a big crowd."
"I suppose so," agreed Mr. Nestor. "Well, I'm glad to know that Tom is
doing something for Uncle Sam, even if it's only helping with gas
helmets. Those Germans are barbarians, if ever there were any, and
we've got to fight them the same way they fight us! That's the only way
to end the war! Now if I had my way, I'd take every German I could lay
my hands on--"
"Father, pretzels!" exclaimed Mary.
"Eh? What's that, my dear?"
"I said pretzels!"
"Oh!" and Mr. Nestor's voice lost its sharpness.
"That's my way of quieting father down when he gets too strenuous in
his talk about the war," explained Mary. "We agreed that whenever he
got excited I was to say 'pretzels' to him, and that would make him
remember. We made up our little scheme after he got into an argument
with a man on the train and was carried past his station."
"That's right," admitted Mr. Nestor, with a laugh. "But that fellow was
the most obstinate, pig-headed Dutchman that ever tackled a plate of
pig's knuckles and sauerkraut, and if he had the least grain of common
sense he'd--"
"Pretzels!" cried Mary.
"Eh? Oh, yes, my dear. I was forgetting again."
There was a moment of merriment, and then, after the talk had run for a
while in other and safer channels, Mr. Damon made the announcement:
"I think we're about there. We'll be at Tom's place when we make the
turn and--"
He was interrupted by a low, heavy rumbling.
"What's that?" asked Mr. Nestor.
"It's getting louder--the noise," remarked Mary. "It sounds as if some
big body were approaching down the road--the tramp of many feet. Can it
be that troops are marching away?"
"Bless my spark plug!" suddenly cried Mr. Damon. "Look!"
They gazed ahead, and there, seen in the glare of the automobile
headlights, was an immense, dark body approaching them from across a
level field. The rumble and roar became more pronounced and the ground
shook as though from an earthquake.
A glaring light shone out from the ponderous moving body, and above the
roar and rattle a voice called:
"Out out of the way! We've lost control! Look out!"
"Bless my steering wheel!" gasped Mr. Damon, "that was Tom Swift's
voice! But what is he doing in that--thing?"
"It must be his new invention!" exclaimed Ned.
"What is it?" asked Mr. Nestor.
"A giant," ventured Ned. "It's a giant machine of some sort and--"
"And it's running away!" cried Mr. Damon, as he quickly steered his car
to one side--and not a moment too soon! An instant later in a cloud of
dust, and with a rumble and a roar as of a dozen express trains fused
into one, the runaway giant--of what nature they could only
guess--flashed and lumbered by, Tom Swift leaning from an opening in
the thick steel side, and shouting something to his friends.