TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT

or

The Speediest Car on the Road

 

by

VICTOR APPLETON

 

 

 

 

THE TOM SWIFT SERIES

 

TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE

Or Fun and Adventure on the Road

 

TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-BOAT

Or the Rivals of Lake Carlopa

 

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP

Or the Stirring Cruise of the Red Cloud

 

TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT

Or Under the Ocean for Sunken Treasure

 

TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT

Or the Speediest Car on the Road

 

 

 

 

 

Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout

 

 

 

 

 

CONTENTS

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER

    I   TOM HOPES FOR A PRIZE

   II   MR. DAMON'S STEERING

  III   THE MOTOR-CYCLE WINS

   IV   TALE OF A NEW BANK

    V   A MIDNIGHT ENCOUNTER

   VI   BUILDING THE CAR

  VII   TOM IS CAPTURED

 VIII   A BLINDING FLASH

   IX   TOM IS RESCUED

    X   TOM HAS A FALL

   XI   CROSSED WIRES

  XII   THE TRYOUT

 XIII   TOWED BY A MULE

  XIV   A GREAT RUN

   XV   ANDY FOGER'S BLACK EYE

  XVI   TROUBLE AT THE BANK

 XVII   A RUN ON THE BANK

XVIII   AFTER THE CASH

  XIX   STOPPED ON THE ROAD

   XX   ON TIME

  XXI   OFF TO THE BIG RACE

 XXII   IN A DITCH

 XIII   THE POWER GONE

  XIV   ON THE TRACK

  XXV   WINNING THE PRIZE

 

 

 

TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER I                     TOM HOPES FOR A PRIZE

 

 

"Father," exclaimed Tom Swift, looking up from a paper he was

reading, "I think I can win that prize!"

 

"What prize is that?" inquired the aged inventor, gazing away

from a drawing of a complicated machine, and pausing in his task

of making some intricate calculations. "You don't mean to say,

Tom, that you're going to have a try for a government prize for a

submarine, after all."

 

"No," not a submarine prize, dad," and the youth laughed.

"Though our Advance would take the prize away from almost any

other under-water boat, I imagine. No, it's another prize I'm

thinking about."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Well, I see by this paper that the Touring Club of America has

offered three thousand dollars for the speediest electric car.

The tests are to come off this fall, on a new and specially built

track on Long Island, and it's to be an endurance contest for

twenty-four hours, or a race for distance, they haven't yet

decided. But I'm going to have a try for it, dad, and, besides

winning the prize, I think I'll take Andy Foger down a peg.

 

"What's Andy been doing now?"

 

"Oh, nothing more than usual. He's always mean, and looking

for a chance to make trouble for me, but I didn't refer to

anything special He has a new auto, you know, and he boasts that

it's the fastest one in this country. I'll show him that it

isn't, for I'm going to win this prize with the speediest car on

the road."

 

"But, Tom, you haven't any automobile, you know," and Mr. Swift

looked anxiously at his son, who was smiling confidently. "You

can't be going to make your motor-cycle into an auto; are you?"

 

"No, dad."

 

"Then how are you going to take part in the prize contest?

Besides, electric cars, as far as I know, aren't specially

speedy."

 

"I know it, and one reason why this club has arranged the

contest is to improve the quality of electric automobiles. I'm

going to build an electric runabout, dad."

 

"An electric runabout?  But it will have to be operated with a

storage battery, Tom, and you haven't--"

 

"I guess you're going to say I haven't any storage battery,

dad," interrupted Mr. Swift's son. "Well, I haven't yet, but I'm

going to have one. I've been working on--"

 

"Oh, ho!" exclaimed the aged inventor with a laugh. "So that's

what you've been tinkering over these last few weeks, eh, Tom?  I

suspected it was some new invention, but I didn't suppose it was

that. Well, how are you coming on with it?"

 

"Pretty good, I think. I've got a new idea for a battery, and I

made an experimental one. I gave it some pretty severe tests, and

it worked fine."

 

"But you haven't tried it out in a car yet, over rough roads,

and under severe conditions have you?"

 

"No, I haven't had a chance. In fact, when I invented the

battery I had no idea of using it on a car I thought it might

answer for commercial purposes, or for storing a current

generated by windmills. But when I read that account in the

papers of the Touring Club, offering a prize for the best

electric car, it occurred to me that I might put my battery into

an auto, and win."

 

"Hum," remarked Mr. Swift musingly. "I don't take much stock in

electric autos, Tom. Gasolene seems to be the best, or perhaps

steam, generated by gasolene. I'm afraid you'll be disappointed.

All the electric runabouts I ever saw, while they were very nice

cars, didn't seem able to go so very fast, or very far."

 

"That's true, but it's because they didn't have the right kind

of a battery. You know an electric locomotive can make pretty

good speed, Dad. Over a hundred miles an hour in tests."

 

"Yes, but they don't run by storage batteries. They have a

third rail, and powerful motors," and Mr. Swift looked

quizzically at his son. He loved to argue with him, for he said

it made Tom think, and often the two would thus thresh out some

knotty point of an invention, to the interests of both.

 

"Of course, Dad, there is a good deal of theory in what I'm

thinking of," the lad admitted. "But it does seem to me that if

you put the right kind of a battery into an automobile, it could

scoot along pretty lively. Look what speed a trolley car can

make."

 

"Yes, Tom, but there again they get their power from an

overhead wire."

 

"Some of them don't. There's a new storage battery been

invented by a New Jersey man, which does as well as the third

rail or the overhead wire. It was after reading about his battery

that I thought of a plan for mine. It isn't anything like his;

perhaps not as good in some ways, but, for what I want, it is

better in some respects, I think. For one thing it can be

recharged very quickly."

 

"Now Tom, look here," said Mr. Swift earnestly, laying aside

his papers, and coming over to where his son sat. "You know I

never interfere with your inventions. In fact, the more you think

of the better I like it. The airship you helped build certainly

did all that could be desired, and--"

 

"That reminds me. Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon are out in it now,"

interrupted Tom. "They ought to be back soon. Yes, Dad, the

airship Red Cloud certainly scooted along."

 

"And the submarine, too," continued the aged inventor. "Your

ideas regarding that were of service to me, and helped in our

task of recovering the treasure, but I'm afraid you're going to

be disappointed in the storage battery. You may get it to work,

but I don't believe you can make it powerful enough to attain any

great speed. Why don't you confine yourself to making a battery

for stationary work?"

 

"Because, Dad, I believe I can build a speedy car, and I'm

going to try it. Besides I want to race Andy Foger, and beat him,

even if I don't win the prize. I'm going to build that car, and

it will make fast time."

 

"Well, go ahead, Tom," responded his father, after a pause. "Of

course you can use the shops here as much as you want, and Mr.

Sharp, Mr. Jackson, and I will help you all we can. Only don't be

disappointed, that's all."

 

"I won't, Dad. Suppose you come out to my shop and I'll show

you a sample battery I've been testing for the last week. I have

it geared to a small motor, and it's been running steadily for

some time. I want to see what sort of a record it's made."

 

Father and son crossed the yard, and entered a shop which the

lad considered exclusively his own. There he had made many

machines, and pieces of apparatus, and had invented a number of

articles which had been patented, and yielded him considerable of

an income.

 

"There's the battery, Dad," he said, pointing to a complicated

mechanism in one corner

 

"What's that buzzing noise?" asked Mr. Swift. "That's the

little motor I run from the new cells. Look here," and Tom

switched on an electric light above the experimental battery,

from which he hoped so much. It consisted of a steel can, about

the size of the square gallon tin in which maple syrup comes, and

from it ran two wires which were attached to a small motor that

was industriously whirring away.

 

Tom looked at a registering gauge connected with it.

 

"That's pretty good," remarked the young inventor.

 

"What is it, Tom?" and his father peered about the shop.

 

"Why this motor has run an equivalent of two hundred miles on

one charging of the battery! That's much better than I expected.

I thought if I got a hundred out of it I'd be doing well. Dad, I

believe, after I improve my battery a bit, that I'll have the

very thing I want!  I'll install a set of them in a car, and it

will go like the wind. I'll --" Tom's enthusiastic remarks were

suddenly interrupted by a low, rumbling sound.

 

"Thunder!" exclaimed Mr. Swift. "The storm is coming, and Mr.

Sharp and Mr. Damon in the airship--"

 

Hardly had he spoken than there sounded a crash on the roof of

the Swift house, not far away. At the same time there came cries

of distress, and the crash was repeated.

 

"Come on, Dad!  Something has happened!" yelled Tom, dashing

from the shop, followed by his parent. They found themselves in

the midst of a rain storm, as they raced toward the house, on the

roof of which the smashing noise was again heard.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER II              MR. DAMON'S STEERING

 

 

Tom Swift was a lad of action, and his quickness in hurrying

out to investigate what had happened when he was explaining about

his new battery, was characteristic of him. Those of my readers

who know him, through having read the previous books of this

series, need not be told this, but you who, perhaps, are just

making his acquaintance, may care to know a little more about

him.

 

As told in my first book, "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle" the

young inventor lived with his father, Barton Swift, a widower, in

the town of Shopton, New York. Mr. Swift was also an inventor of

note.

 

In my initial volume of this series, Tom became possessed of a

motor-cycle in a peculiar way. It was sold to him by a Mr.

Wakefield Damon, a wealthy gentleman who was unfortunate in

riding it. On his speedy machine, which Tom improved by several

inventions, he had a number of adventures. The principal one was

being attacked by a number of bad men, known as the "Happy Harry

Gang," who wished to obtain possession of a valuable turbine

patent model belonging to Mr. Swift. Tom was taking it to a

lawyer, when he was waylaid, and chloroformed. Later he traced

the gang, and, with the assistance of Mr. Damon and Eradicate

Sampson, an aged colored man who made a living for himself and

his mule, Boomerang, by doing odd jobs, the lad found the thieves

and recovered a motor-boat which had been stolen. But the men got

away.

 

In the second volume, called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat,"

Tom bought at auction the boat stolen by, and recovered from, the

thieves, and proceeded to improve it. While he was taking his

father out on a cruise for Mr Swift's health, the Happy Harry

Gang made a successful attempt to steal some valuable inventions

from the Swift house. Tom started to trace them, and incidentally

he raced and beat Andy Foger, a rich bully. On their way down the

lake, after the robbery, Tom, his father and Ned Newton, Tom's

chum, saw a man hanging from the trapeze of a blazing balloon

over Lake Carlopa. The balloonist was Mr. John Sharp and he was

rescued by Tom in a thrilling fashion. In his motor-boat, Tom had

much pleasure, not the least of which was taking out a young lady

named Miss Mary Nestor, whose acquaintance he had made after

stopping her runaway horse, which his bicycle had frightened.

Tom's association with  Miss Nestor soon ripened into something

deeper than mere friendship.

 

It developed that Mr Sharp, whom Tom had saved from the burning

balloon, was an aeronaut of note, and had once planned to build

an airship. After his recovery from his thrilling experience, he

mentioned the matter to Mr. Swift and his son, with whom he took

up his residence. This fitted right in with Tom's ideas, and soon

father, son and the balloonist were constructing the Red Cloud,

as they named their airship. It was finally completed, as related

in "Tom Swift and His Airship," made a successful trial trip, and

won a prize. It was planned to make a longer journey, and Tom,

Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon agreed to go together. Mr. Damon was an

odd individual, who was continuously blessing some part of his

anatomy, his clothing or some inanimate object but, for all that,

he was a fine man.

 

The night before Tom and his friends started off in their

airship, the Shopton Bank vault was blown open and seventy-five

thousand dollars was taken. Tom and his friends did not know of

this, but, no sooner had the young inventor, Mr. Sharp and Mr.

Damon sailed away, than the police arrived at Mr. Swift's house

to arrest them. They were charged with the robbery, and with

having sailed away with the booty.

 

It appeared that Andy Foger said he had seen Tom hanging around

the bank the night of the robbery, with a bag of burglar tools in

his possession. Search was immediately begun for the airship, the

occupants of which were, meanwhile, speeding on.

 

Tom and his two friends had trouble. They were nearly burned up

in a forest fire, and were fired upon by a crowd of people with

rifles, who, reading of the bank robbery and the reward offered

for the capture of the thieves, hoped to bring down the airship.

The fact that they were fired upon caused Tom and the two

aeronauts to descend to make an investigation, and for the first

time they learned of the bank theft. How they got track of the

real robbers, took the sheriff with them in the airship, and

raided the gang will be found set down at length in the book.

Also how Tom administered well-deserved thrashing to Andy Foger.

 

Mr. Swift did not accompany his son in the airship, and when

asked why he did not care to make the trip, said he was working

on a new type of submarine boat, which he hoped to enter in the

government trials, to win a prize. In the fourth volume of the

series, called "Tom Swift and his Submarine," you may read how

successful Mr. Swift was.

 

When the submarine, called the Advance, was finished, the party

made a trip to recover three hundred thousand dollars in gold

from a sunken treasure ship, off the coast of Uruguay, South

America. They sailed beneath the seas for many miles, and were in

great peril at times. One reason for this was that a rival firm

of submarine builders got wind of the treasure, and tried to get

ahead of the Swifts in recovering it. How Tom and his friends

succeeded in their quest, how they nearly perished at the bottom

of the sea, how they were captured by a foreign war vessel, and

sentenced to death, how they fought with a school of giant sharks

and how they blew up the wreck to recover the money is all told

of in the book.

 

On their return to civilization with the gold, Mr. Swift, Tom,

and their friends deposited the money in the Shopton Bank, where

Ned Newton worked. Ned was a bright lad, but had not been

advanced as rapidly as he deserved, and Tom knew this. He asked

his father to speak to the president, Mr. Pendergast, in Ned's

behalf, and, as a result the lad was made assistant cashier, for

the request of a man who controlled a three hundred thousand

dollar deposit was not to be despised.

 

In building the submarine Tom and his father rented a large

cottage on the New Jersey seacoast, but, on returning from their

treasure-quest they went back to Shopton, leaving the submarine

at the boathouse of the shore cottage, which was near the city of

Atlantis. That was in the fall of the year, and all that winter

the young inventor had been busy on many things, not the least of

which was his storage battery. It was now spring, and seeing the

item in the paper, about the touring club prize for an electric

auto, had given him a new idea.

 

But all thoughts of electric cars, and everything else, were

driven from the mind of the young man, when, with his father, he

rushed out to see the cause of the crash on the roof of the Swift

homestead.

 

"There's something up there, Tom," called his father, as he

splashed on through the rain.

 

"That's right," added his son. "And somebody, too, to judge by

the fuss they're making."

 

"Maybe the house has been struck by lightning!" suggested the

aged inventor.

 

"No, the storm isn't severe enough for that; and, besides, if

the house had been struck you'd hear Mrs. Baggert yelling, Dad.

She--"

 

At that moment a woman's voice cried out:

 

"Mr. Swift! Tom! Where are you? Something dreadful has

happened!"

 

"There she goes!" remarked Mr. Swift, as he splashed into a mud

puddle.

 

"Bless my deflection rudder!" suddenly cried a voice from the

flat roof of the Swift house. "Hello! I say, is anyone down

there?"

 

"Yes, we are," answered Tom. "Is that you, Mr. Damon?"

 

"Bless my collar button! It certainly is."

 

"Where's Mr. Sharp? I don't hear him."

 

"Oh, I'm here all right," answered the balloonist. "I'm trying

to get the airship clear of the chimney. Mr. Damon--"

 

"Yes, I steered wrong!" interrupted the odd man. "Bless my

liver pin, but it was so dark I couldn't see, and when that clap

of thunder came I shifted the deflection rudder instead of the

lateral one, and tried to knock over your chimney."

 

"Are either of you hurt?" asked Mr. Swift anxiously.

 

"No, not at all," replied Mr. Sharp. "We were moving slowly,

ready for a landing."

 

"Is the airship damaged?" inquired Tom.

 

"I don't know. Not much, I guess," was the answer of the

aeronaut. "I've stopped the engine, and I don't like to start it

again until I can see what shape we're in."

 

"I'll come up, with Mr. Jackson," called Tom, and he hastily

summoned Garret Jackson, an engineer, who had been in the service

of Mr. Swift for many years. Together they proceeded to the roof

by a stairway that led to a scuttle.

 

"Is anyone killed?" asked Mrs. Baggert, as Tom hurried up the

stairs. "Don't tell me there is, Tom!"

 

"Well, I don't have to tell you, for no one is," replied the

young inventor with a laugh. "It's all right. The airship tried

to collide with the chimney, that's all."

 

He was soon on the large, flat roof of the dwelling, and, with

the aid of lanterns he, the engineer, and Mr. Sharp made a hasty

examination.

 

"Anything wrong?" inquired Mr. Damon, looking out from the

cabin of the Red Cloud where he had taken refuge after the crash,

and to get out of the wet.

 

"Not much," answered Tom. "One of the forward planes is

smashed, but we can rise by means of the gas, and float down. Is

all clear, Mr. Sharp?"

 

"All clear," replied the balloonist, for the airship had now

been wheeled back from the entanglement with the chimney.

 

"Then here we go!" cried Tom, as he and the aeronaut entered

the craft, while Mr. Jackson descended through the scuttle.

 

There came a fiercer burst to the storm, and, amid a series of

dazzling lightning flashes and the muttering of thunder, the

airship rose from the roof. Tom switched on the search-light,

and, starting the big propellers, guided the craft skillfully

toward the big shed where it was housed when not in use.

 

With the grace of a bird it turned about in the air, and

settled to the ground. It was the work of but a few minutes to

run it into the shed. Then they all started for the house.

 

"Bless my umbrella!  How it rains!" cried Mr. Damon, as he

splashed on through numerous puddles. "We got back just in time,

Mr. Sharp."

 

"Where did you go?" asked the lad.

 

"Why we took a flight of about fifty miles and stopped at my

house in Waterfield for supper. Were you anxious about us?"

 

"A little when it began to storm," replied Tom.

 

"Anything new since we left?" asked Mr. Sharp, for it was the

custom of himself, or some of his friends, to take little trips

in the airship. They thought no more of it than many do of going

for a short spin in an automobile.

 

"Yes, there is something new," said Mr. Swift, as the party,

all drenched now, reached the broad veranda.

 

"Bless my gaiters!" cried Mr. Damon. "What is it? I hope the

Happy Harry gang hasn't robbed you again; nor Berg and his men

tried to take that treasure away from us, after we worked so hard

to get it from the wreck."

 

"No, it isn't that," replied Mr. Swift. "The truth is that Tom

thinks he has invented a storage battery that will revolutionize

matters. He's going to build an electric automobile, he says."

 

"I am," declared the lad, as the others looked at him, "and it

will be the speediest one you ever saw, too!"

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER III             THE MOTORCYCLE WINS

 

 

"Well, Tom," remarked Mr. Sharp, after a pause following the

lad's announcement. "I didn't know you had any ambitions in that

line. Tell us more about the battery. What system do you use;

lead plates and sulphuric acid?"

 

"Oh, that's out of date long ago," declared the lad.

 

"Well, I don't know much about electricity," admitted the

aeronaut. "I'll take my chances in an airship or a balloon, but

when it comes to electricity I'm down and out."

 

"So am I," admitted Mr. Damon. "Bless my gizzard, it's all I

can do to put a new spark plug in my automobile. Where is your

new battery, Tom?"

 

"Out in my shop, running yet if it hasn't been frightened by

the airship smash," replied the lad, somewhat proudly. "It's an

oxide of nickel battery, with steel and oxide of iron negative

electrodes."

 

"What solution do you use, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "I didn't get

that far in questioning you before the crash came," he added.

 

"Well I have, in the experimental battery, a solution of

potassium hydrate," replied the lad, "but I think I'm going to

change it, and add some lithium hydrate to it. I think that will

make it stronger."

 

"Bless my watch chain!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "It's all Greek to

me. Suppose you let us see it, Tom? I like to see wheels go

'round, but I'm not much of a hand for chemical terms."

 

"If you're sure you're not hurt by the airship smash, I will,"

declared the lad.

 

"Oh, we're not hurt a bit," insisted Mr. Sharp. "As I said we

were moving slow, for I knew it was about time to land. Mr. Damon

was steering--"

 

"Yes I thought I'd try my hand at it, as it seemed so easy,"

interrupted the eccentric man. "But never again--not for mine! I

couldn't see the house, and, before I knew it we were right over

the roof. Then the chimney seemed to stick itself up suddenly in

front of us, and--well, you know the rest. I'm willing to pay for

any damage I caused."

 

"Oh, not at all!" replied Tom. "It's easy enough to put on a

new plane, or, for that matter, we can operate the Red Cloud

without it. But come on, I'll show you my sample battery."

 

"Here, take umbrellas!" Mrs. Baggert called after them as they

started toward the shop, for it was still raining.

 

"We don't mind getting wet," replied the young inventor. "It's

in the interests of science."

 

"Maybe it is. You don't mind a wetting, but I mind you coming

in and dripping water all over the carpets!" retorted the

housekeeper.

 

"Bless my overshoes, I'm afraid we have wet the carpets a

trifle now," admitted Mr. Damon ruefully, as he looked down at a

puddle, which had formed where he had been standing.

 

"That's the reason I want you to take umbrellas this trip,"

insisted Mrs. Baggert.

 

They complied, and were soon in the shop, where Tom explained

his battery. The small motor was still running and had, as the

lad had said, gone the equivalent of over two hundred miles.

 

"If a small battery does as well as that, what will a larger

one do?" asked Mr. Damon.

 

"Much better, I hope," replied the youth. "But Dad doesn't seem

to have much faith in them."

 

"Well," admitted Mr. Swift, "I must say I am skeptical. Still,

I acknowledge Tom has done some pretty good work along electrical

lines. He helped me with the positive and negative plates on the

submarine, and, maybe--well, we'll wait and see," he concluded.

 

"If you build a car I hope you give me a ride in it," said Mr.

Damon. "I've ridden fast in the air, and swiftly on top of, and

under, the water. Now I'd like to ride rapidly on top of the

earth. The gasolene auto doesn't go very fast."

 

"I'll give you a ride that will make your hair stand up!"

prophesied Tom, and the time was to come when he would make good

that prediction.

 

The little party in the machine shop talked at some length

about Tom's battery. He showed them how it was constructed, and

gave them some of his ideas regarding the new type of auto he

planned to build.

 

"Well," remarked Mr. Swift at length, "if you want to keep your

brain fresh, Tom, you must get to bed earlier than this. It's

nearly twelve o'clock."

 

"And I want to get up early !" exclaimed the lad. "I'm going to

start to build a larger battery to-morrow."

 

"And I'm going to repair the airship," added Mr. Sharp.

 

"Bless my night cap, I promised my wife I'd be home early to-

night, too!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I don't fancy making

the trip back to Waterfield in my auto, though. Something will be

sure to happen. I'll blow out a tire, or a spark plug will get

sooty on me and--"

 

"It's raining harder than ever," interrupted Tom. "Better stay

here to-night. You can telephone home."  Which Mr. Damon did.

 

Tom was up early the next morning, in spite of the fact that he

did not go to bed in good season, and before breakfast he was

working at his new storage battery. After the meal he hurried

back to the shop, but it was not long before he came out,

wheeling his motor-cycle.

 

"Where are you going, Tom?" asked Mrs. Baggert.

 

"Oh, I've got to go to Mansburg to get some steel tubes for my

new battery," he replied. "I thought I had some large enough, but

I haven't."  Mansburg was a good-sized town, near Shopton.

 

"Then I wish you'd bring me a bottle of stove polish,"

requested the housekeeper. "The liquid kind. I'm out of it, and

the stove is as red as a cow."

 

"All right," agreed the lad, as he leaped into the saddle and

pedaled off down the road. A moment later he had turned on the

power, and was speeding along the highway, which was in good

condition on account of the shower of the night before.

 

Tom was thinking so deeply of his new invention, and planning

what he would do when he had his electric runabout built, that,

almost before he knew it, he had reached Mansburg, purchased the

steel tubes, and the stove polish, and was on his way back again.

 

As he was speeding along on a level road, he heard, coming

behind him, an automobile. The lad turned to one side, but, in

spite of this the party in the car began a serenade of the

electric siren, and kept it up, making a wild discord.

 

"What's the matter with those fellows!" inquired Tom of

himself. "Haven't I given them enough of the road, or has their

steering gear broken?"

 

He looked back over his shoulder, and it needed but a glance to

show that the car was all right, as regarded the steering

apparatus. And it needed only another glance to disclose the

reason for the shrill sound of the siren.

 

"Andy Foger!" exclaimed Tom. "I might have known. And Sam and

Pete are with him. Well, if he wants to make me get off the road,

he'll find that I've got as much right as he has!"

 

He kept on a straight course, wondering if the red-haired, and

squint-eyed bully would dare try to damage the motor-cycle.

 

A little later Andy's car was beside Tom.

 

"Why don't you get out of the way," demanded Sam, who could

usually be depended on to aid Andy in all his mean tricks.

 

"Because I'm entitled to half the road," retorted our hero.

 

"Humph! A slow-moving machine like yours hasn't any right on

the road," sneered Andy, who had slowed down his car somewhat.

 

"I haven't, eh?" demanded Tom. "Well, if you'll get down out of

that car for a few minutes I'll soon show you what my rights

are!"

 

Now Andy, more than once, had come to personal encounters with

Tom, much to the anguish of the bully. He did not relish another

chastisement, but his mean spirit could not brook interference.

 

"Don't you want a race?" he inquired of Tom, in a sneering

tone. "I'll give you a mile start, and beat you! I've got the

fastest car built!"

 

"You have, eh?" asked Tom, while a grim look came over his

face. "Maybe you'll think differently some day."

 

"Aw, he's afraid to race; come on," suggested Pete. "Don't

bother with him, Andy."

 

"No, I guess it wouldn't be worth my while," was the reply of

the bully, and he threw the second gear into place, and began to

move away from the young inventor.

 

Tom was just as much pleased to be left alone, but he did not

want Andy Foger to think that he could have matters all his own

way. Tom's motor-cycle, since he had made some adjustments to it,

was very swift. In fact there were few autos that could beat it.

He had never tried it against Andy's new car, and he was anxious

to do so.

 

"I wonder if I would stand any chance, racing him?" thought the

young inventor, as he saw the car slowly pulling away from him.

"I think I'll wait until he gets some distance ahead, and then

I'll see how near I can come to him. If I get anywhere near him

I'm pretty sure I can pass him. I'll try it."

 

When Andy and his cronies looked back, Tom did not appear to be

doing anything save moving along at moderate speed on his

machine.

 

"You don't dare race!" Pete Bailey shouted to him.

 

"Wait," was what Tom whispered to himself.

 

Andy's car was now some distance ahead. The young inventor

waited a little longer, and then turned more power into his

machine. It leaped forward and began to "eat up the road," as Tom

expressed it. He had seen Andy throw in the third gear, but knew

that there was a fourth speed on the bully's car.

 

"I don't know whether I can beat him on that or not," thought

the lad dubiously. "If I try, and fail, they'll laugh at me. But

I don't think I'm going to fail."

 

Faster and faster he rode. He was rapidly overhauling Andy's

car now, and, as they heard him approach, the three cronies

turned around.

 

"He's going to race you, after all, Andy!" cried Sam.

 

"You mean he's going to try," sneered Andy. "I'll give him all

the racing he wants!"

 

In another few seconds Tom was beside the auto, and would have

passed it, only Andy opened his throttle a little more. For a

moment the auto jumped ahead, and then, as our hero turned on

still more power, he easily held his own.

 

"Aw, you can never beat us!" yelled Pete.

 

"Of course not!" added Sam.

 

"I'll leave him behind in a second," prophesied Andy. "Wait

until I throw in the other gear," he added to his cronies in a

low voice. "He thinks he's going to beat me. I'll let him think

so, and then I'll spurt ahead."

 

The two machines were now racing along side by side. Andy's car

was going the limit on third gear, but he still had the fourth

gear in reserve. Tom, too, still had a little margin of speed.

 

Suddenly Andy reached forward and yanked on a lever. There was

a grinding of cogs as the fourth gear slipped into place, for

Andy did not handle his car skillfully. The effect, however, was

at once apparent. The automobile shot forward.

 

"Now where are you, Tom Swift?" cried Sam.

 

Tom said nothing. He merely shifted a lever, and got a better

spark. He also turned on a little more gasolene and opened the

muffler The quickness with which his motor-cycle shot forward

almost threw him from the saddle, but he had a tight grip on the

handle bars. He whizzed past the auto, but, as the latter

gathered speed, it crept up to him, and, once more was on even

terms. Much chagrined at seeing Tom hold pace with him, even for

an instant, Andy shouted;

 

"Get over on your own side there! You're crowding me!"

 

"I am not!" yelled back Tom, above the explosions of his

machine.

 

The two were now racing furiously, and Andy, with a savage

look, tried to get more speed out of his car. In spite of all the

bully did, Tom was gradually forging ahead. A little hill was now

in view.

 

"Here's where I make him take my dust!" cried Andy, but, to his

surprise Tom still kept ahead. The auto began to lose ground, for

it was not made to take hills on high gear.

 

"Change to third gear quick!" cried Sam.

 

Andy tried to do it. There was a hesitancy on the part of his

car. It seemed to balk. Tom, looking back, slowed up a trifle. He

could afford to, as Andy was being beaten.

 

"Go on! Go on!" begged Pete. "You'll have to keep on fourth

gear to beat him, Andy."

 

"That's what!" murmured the bully. Once more he shifted the

gears. There was a grinding, smashing sound, and the car lost

speed. Then it slowed up still more, and finally stopped. Then it

began to back down hill.

 

"I've stripped those blamed gears!" exclaimed Andy ruefully.

 

"Can't you beat him?" asked Pete.

 

"I could have, easily, if my gears hadn't broken," declared the

bully, but, as a matter of fact, he could not have done so. "I

oughtn't to have changed, going up hill," he added, as he jammed

on the brakes, to stop the car from sliding down the slope.

 

Tom saw and heard.

 

"I thought you were so anxious to race," he said, exultantly,

as well he might. "I don't want to try a contest down hill,

though, Andy," and he laughed at the red-haired lad, who was

furious.

 

"Aw, go on!" was all the retort the squint-eyed one could think

of to make.

 

"I am going on," replied our hero. "Just to show you that I can

go down hill, watch me."

 

He turned his motor-cycle, and approached Andy's stalled car,

for Tom was some distance in advance of it, up the slope by this

time. As he approached the auto, containing the three

disconcerted cronies, something bounded out of Tom's pocket. It

was the bottle of stove blacking he had purchased for Mrs.

Baggert. The bottle fell in the soft dirt in front of his forward

wheel, and a curious thing happened. Perhaps you have seen a

bicycle or auto tire strike a stone at an angle, and throw it

into the air with great force. That was what happened to the

bottle. Tom's front wheel struck the cork, which fitted tightly,

and, just as when you hit one end of the wooden "catty" and it

bounds up, the bottle described a curve through the air, and flew

straight toward Andy's car. It struck the brass frame of the wind

shield with a crash.

 

The bottle broke, and in an instant the black liquid was

spattered all over Andy, Sam and Pete. It could not have been

done more effectively if Tom had thrown it by hand. All over

their clothes, their hands and faces, and the front of the car

went the dreary black. Tom looked on, hardly able to believe what

he saw.

 

"Wow! Wup! Ug! Blug! Mug!" spluttered Sam, who had some of the

stuff in his mouth.

 

"Oh! Oh!" yelled Pete.

 

"You did that on purpose, Tom Swift!" shouted Andy, wiping some

of the blacking from his left eye. "I'll have you arrested for

that! You've ruined my car, and look at my suit!"

 

"Mine's worse!" murmured Sam, glancing down at his light

trousers, which were of the polka-dot pattern now.

 

"No, mine is," insisted Pete, whose white shirt was of the hue

of a stove pipe.

 

Andy wiped some of the black stuff from his nose, whence it was

dropping on the steering wheel.

 

"You just wait!" the bully called to Tom. "I'll get even with

you for this!"

 

"It was an accident! I didn't mean to do that," explained Tom,

trying not to laugh, as he dismounted from his motorcycle, ready

to render what assistance he could.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER IV              TALK OF A NEW BANK

 

 

The three cronies were in a sorrowful plight. The black fluid

dripped from them, and formed little puddles in the car. Andy had

used his handkerchief to wipe some of the stuff from his face,

but the linen was soon useless, for it quickly absorbed the

blacking.

 

"There's a little brook over here," volunteered Tom. "You might

wash in that. The stuff comes off easily. It isn't like ink," and

he had to laugh, as he thought of the happening.

 

"Here! You quit that!" ordered Andy. "You've gone too far, Tom

Swift!"

 

"Didn't I tell you it was an accident?" inquired the young

inventor.

 

"It wasn't!" cried Sam. "You threw the bottle at us! I saw

you!"

 

"It slipped from my pocket," declared the youth, and he

described how the accident occurred. "I'll help you clean your

car, Andy," he added.

 

"I don't want your help! If you come near me I'll--I'll punch

your nose!" cried Andy, now almost beside himself with rage.

 

"All right, if you don't want my help I don't care," answered

Tom, glad enough not to have to soil his hands and clothes. He

felt that it was partly his fault, and he would have done all he

could to remedy matters, but his good offers being declined, he

felt that it was useless to insist further.

 

He remounted his motor-cycle, and rode off, the last view he

had of the trio being one where they were at the edge of the

brook, trying to remove the worst traces of the black fluid. As

Tom turned around for a final glimpse, Andy shook his fist at

him, and called out something.

 

"I guess Andy'll have it in for me," mused Tom. "Well, I can't

help it. I owed him something on account, but I didn't figure on

paying it in just this way," and he thought of the time the bully

had locked him in the ballast tanks of the submarine, thereby

nearly smothering him to death.

 

That night Andy Foger told his father what had happened, for

Mr. Foger inquired the reason for the black stains on his son's

face and hands. But Andy did not give the true version. He said

Tom had purposely thrown the bottle of blacking at him.

 

"So that's the kind of a lad Tom Swift is, eh?" remarked Andy's

father. "Well, Andy, I think you will soon have a chance to get

even with him."

 

"How, pop?"

 

"I can't tell you now, but I have a plan for making Tom sorry

he ever did anything to you, and I will also pay back some old

scores to Mr. Swift and Mr. Damon. I'll ruin their bank for them,

that's what I'll do."

 

"Ruin their bank, pop? How?"

 

"You wait and see. The Swift crowd will get off their high

horse soon, or I'm mistaken. My plans are nearly completed, but I

can't tell you about them. I'll ruin Mr. Swift, though, that's

what I'll do," and Mr. Foger shook his head determinedly.

 

Tom was soon at his home, and Mrs. Baggert, hearing the noise

of his machine, as it entered the front yard, came to the side

door.

 

"Where's my blacking?" she asked, as our hero dismounted and

untied the bundle of steel tubes he had purchased.

 

"I--I used it," he answered, laughing.

 

"Tom Swift! You don't mean to say you took my stove polish to

use in your battery, do you?"

 

"No, I used it to polish off Andy Foger and some of his

cronies," and the young inventor told, with much gusto, what had

happened. Mrs. Baggert could not help joining in the laugh, and

when Tom offered to ride back and purchase some more of the

polish for her, she said it did not matter, as she could wait

until the next day.

 

The lad was soon busy in his machine shop, making several

larger cells for the new storage battery. He wanted to give it a

more severe test. He worked for several days on this, and when he

had one unit of cells complete, he attached the motor for an

efficiency trial.

 

"We'll see how many miles that will make," he remarked to his

father.

 

"Have you thought anything of the type of car you are going to

build?" asked the aged inventor of his son.

 

"Yes, somewhat. It will be almost of the regulation style, but

with two removable seats at the rear, with curtains for

protection, and a place in front for two persons. This can also

be protected with curtains when desired."

 

"But what about the motors and the battery?"

 

They will be located under the middle of the car. There will be

one set of batteries there, together with the motor, and another

set of batteries will be placed under the removable seats in what

I call the tonneau, though, of course, it isn't really that. A

smaller set will also be placed forward, and there will be ample

room for carrying tools and such things."

 

"About how far do you expect your car will go with one charging

of the battery?"

 

"Well, if I can make it do three hundred miles I'll be

satisfied, but I'm going to try for four hundred."

 

"What will you do when your battery runs out?"

 

"Recharge it."

 

"Suppose you're not near a charging station?"  "Well, Dad, of

course those are some of the details I've got to work out. I'm

planning a register gauge now, that will give warning about fifty

miles before the battery is run down. That will leave me a margin

to work on. And I'm going to have it fixed so I can take current

from any trolley line, as well as from a regular charging

station. My battery will be capable of being recharged very

quickly, or, in case of need, I can take out the old cells and

put in new ones.

 

"That's a very good idea. Well, I hope you succeed."

 

A few evenings after this, when Tom was busy in his machine

shop, he heard some one enter. He looked up from the gauge of the

motor, which he was studying, and, for a moment, he could make

out nothing in the dark interior of the shop, for he was working

in a brilliant light.

 

"Who's there?" he called sharply, for, more than once

unscrupulous men had endeavored to sneak into the Swift shops to

steal ideas of inventions; if not the actual apparatus itself.

 

"It's me--Ned Newton," was the cheerful reply.

 

"Oh, hello, Ned! I was wondering what had become of you,"

responded Tom. "Where have you been lately?"

 

"Oh, working overtime."

 

"What's the occasion?"

 

"We're trying out a new system to increase the bank business."

 

"What's the matter? Aren't you folks getting business enough,

after the big deposits we made of the bullion from the wreck?"

 

"Oh, it's not that. But haven't you heard the news? There is

talk of starting a rival bank in Shopton, and that may make us

hustle to hold what business we have, to say nothing of getting

new customers."

 

"A new bank, eh? Who's going to start it?" "Andy Foger's

father, I hear. You know he was a director in our bank, but he

got out last week."

 

"What for?"

 

"Well, he had some difficulty with Mr. Pendergast, the

president. I fancy you had something to do with it, too."

 

"I?"  Tom was plainly surprised.

 

"Yes, you know you and Mr. Damon and Mr. Sharp captured the

bank robbers, and got back most of the money."

 

"I guess I do remember it! I wish you could have seen the gang

when we raided them from the clouds, in our airship!"

 

"Well, you know Andy Foger hoped to collect the five thousand

dollars reward for telling the police that you were the thief,

and of course he got fooled, for you got the reward. Mr. Foger

expected his son would collect the money, and when Andy got left,

it made him sore. He's had a grudge against Mr. Pendergast, and

all the other bank officials ever since, and now he's going to

start a rival bank. So that's why I said it was partly due to

you."

 

"Oh, I see. I thought at first you meant that it was on account

of something that happened the other day."

 

"What was that?"

 

"Andy, Sam and Pete got the contents of a bottle of stove

blacking," and Tom related the occurrence, at which Ned laughed

heartily.

 

"I wouldn't be surprised though," added Ned, "to learn that Mr.

Foger started the new bank more for revenge than anything else."

 

"So that's the reason you've been working late, eh?" went on

Tom. "Getting ready for competition. Do you think a new bank will

hurt the one you're with?"

 

"Well, it might," admitted Ned. "It's bound to make a change,

anyhow, and now that I have a good position I don't want to lose

it. I take more of an interest in the institution now that I'm

assistant cashier, than I did when I was a clerk. So, naturally,

I'm a little worried."

 

"Say, don't let it worry you," begged Tom, earnestly.

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because I know my father and Mr. Damon will stick to the old

bank. They won't have anything to do with the one Andy Foger's

father starts. Don't you worry."

 

"Well, that will help some," declared Ned. "They are both heavy

depositors, and if they stick to the old bank we can stand it

even if some of our smaller customers desert us."

 

"That's the way to talk," went on the young inventor. "Let

Foger start his bank. It won't hurt yours."

 

"What are you making now?" asked Ned, a little later, looking

with interest at the machinery over which Tom was bending, and to

which he was making adjustments.

 

"New electric automobile. I want to beat Andy Foger's car worse

than I did on my motorcycle, and I also want to win a prize," and

the lad proceeded to relate the incidents leading up to his

construction of the storage battery.

 

Tom and Ned were in the shop until long past midnight, and then

the bank employee, with a look at his watch, exclaimed:

 

"Great Scott! I ought to be home."

 

"I'll run you over in Mr. Damon's car," proposed Tom. "He left

it here the other day, while he and his wife went off on a trip,

and he said I could use it whenever I wanted to."

 

"Good!" cried Ned.

 

The two lads came from Tom's particular workshop. As the young

inventor closed the door he started suddenly, as he snapped shut

the lock.

 

"What's the matter?" asked Ned quickly.

 

"I thought I heard a noise," replied Tom.

 

They both listened. There was a slight rustling in some bushes

near the shop.

 

"It's a dog or a cat," declared Ned.

 

Tom took several cautious steps forward. Then he gave a spring,

and made a grab for some one or something.

 

"Here! You let me be!" yelled a protesting voice.

 

"I will when I find out what you mean by sneaking around here,"

retorted Tom, as he came back toward Ned, dragging with him a

lad. "It wasn't a dog or a cat, Ned," spoke the young inventor.

"It's Sam Snedecker," and so it proved.

 

"You let me alone!" demanded Andy Foger's crony. "I ain't done

nothin' to you," he whined.

 

"Here, Ned, you hold him a minute, while I make an

investigation," called Tom, handing his prisoner over to his

chum. "Maybe Pete or Andy are around."

 

"No, they ain't. I came alone," said Sam quickly, but Tom, not

heeding, opened the shop, and, after turning on the electric

lights, procured a lantern. He began a search of the shrubbery

around the shop, while Ned held to the struggling Sam.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER V               A MIDNIGHT ENCOUNTER

 

 

The moment Tom disappeared behind his machine shop, Sam

Snedecker began a desperate struggle to escape from Ned Newton.

Now Ned was a muscular lad, but his work in the bank was

confining, and he did not have the chance to get out doors and

exercise, as Sam had. Consequently Ned had his hands full in

holding to the squirming crony of Andy Foger.

 

"You let me go!" demanded Sam, as he tried to twist loose.

 

"Not if I know it!" panted Ned.

 

Sam gave a sudden twist. Ned's foot slipped in the grass, and

in a moment he went down, with Sam on top of him. Still he did

not let go, and, finding he was still a prisoner Sam adopted new

tactics.

 

Using his fists Sam began to pound Ned, but the bank employee,

though suffering, would not call for help, to summon back Tom,

who was, by this time, at the rear of the shop, looking about.

Silently in the dark the two fought, and Ned found that Sam was

getting away. Then Ned's hand came in contact with Sam's ear. It

was the misfortune of the bully to have rather a large hearing

apparatus, and once Ned got his fingers on an ear there was room

enough to afford a good grip. He closed his hold tightly, and

began to twist. This was too much for Sam. He set up a lusty

howl.

 

"Wow! Ouch! Let go!" he pleaded, and he ceased to pound Ned,

and no longer tried to escape. Tom came back on the run.

 

"What's the matter?" he cried. Then his light flashed on the

two prostrate lads, and he understood without asking any further

questions.

 

"Get up!" he cried, seizing Sam by the back of his neck, and

yanking him to his feet. Ned arose, and secured a better grip on

the sneaking lad.

 

"What's up?" demanded Tom, and Ned explained, following it by

the question:

 

"See any more of 'em?"

 

"No, I guess he was here all alone," replied the young

inventor. "What do you mean by sneaking around here this time of

night?" he demanded of the captive.

 

"Don't you wish you knew?" was Sam's answer, with a leer. He

realized that he had a certain advantage.

 

"You'd better tell before I turn you over to the police!" said

Tom, sternly.

 

"You--you wouldn't do that; would you?" and Sam's voice that

had been bold, became shaky.

 

"You were trespassing on our property, and that's against the

law," declared Tom. "We have signs posted, warning people to keep

off."

 

"I didn't mean any harm," whined Sam.

 

"Then what were you doing here, at this hour?"

 

"I was just taking a short cut home. I was out riding with Andy

in his auto, and it broke down. I had to walk home, and I came

this way. I didn't know you didn't allow people to cross your

back lot. I wasn't doin' anything."

 

Tom hesitated. Sam might be telling the truth, but it was

doubtful.

 

"What happened to Andy's auto?" the young inventor asked.

 

"He broke a wheel, going over a big stone on Berk's hill. He

went to tell some one in the repair shop to go after the car, and

I came on home. You've got no right to arrest me."

 

"I ought to, on general principles," commented Tom. "Well, skip

out, and don't you come around here again. I'm going to get a

savage bull dog, and the first one who comes sneaking around here

after dark will be sorry. Move along now!"

 

Tom and Ned released their holds of Sam, and the latter lost no

time in obeying the injunction to make himself scarce. He was

soon lost to sight in the darkness.

 

"Think he was up to some mischief?" asked Ned.

 

"I'm almost sure of it," replied Tom, "but I can't see anything

wrong. I guess we were too quick for him. I believe he, Andy and

Pete Bailey tried to put up some job on me."

 

"Maybe they wanted to damage your new battery or car,"

suggested Ned.

 

"Hardly that. The car hasn't been started yet, and as for the

battery, no one knows of it outside of you and my friends here.

I'm keeping it secret. Well, if I'm going to take you home I'd

better get a move on. Wait here and I'll run out Mr. Damon's

car."

 

In a short time Tom was guiding the machine over the road to

Shopton, Ned on the seat beside him. The young assistant cashier

lived about a mile the other side of the village, and the two

chums were soon at his house. Asking his friend to come and see

him when he had a chance. Ned bid his chum good night, and the

young inventor started back home.

 

He was driving slowly along, thinking more of his new invention

than anything else, even more than of the mysterious visit of Sam

Snedecker, when the lights on Mr. Damon's car flashed upon

something big, black and bulky on the road just ahead of him.

Tom, brought suddenly out of his fit of musing, jammed on the

brakes, and steered to one side. Then he saw that the object was

a stalled auto. He had only time to note this when a voice hailed

him:

 

"Have you a tire pump you could lend us? Ours doesn't work, and

we have had a blowout."

 

There was something about the voice that was strangely

familiar, and Tom was wondering where he had heard it before,

when into the glare of the lamps on his machine stepped Mr.

Foger--Andy's father!

 

"Why, Mr. Foger!" exclaimed Tom. "I didn't know it was you."

 

"Oh, it's Tom Swift," remarked the man, and he did not seem

especially pleased.

 

"Hey! What's that?" cried another voice, which Tom had no

difficulty in recognizing as belonging to Andy. "What's the

matter, Dad?"

 

"Why it happens to be your--ahem! It's Tom Swift in this other

auto," went on Mr. Foger. "I didn't know you had a car," he

added.

 

"I haven't," answered the lad. "This belongs to Mr. Damon. But

can you see to fix your tire in the dark?" for Mr. Foger and his

son had no lamps lighted.

 

"Oh, we have it all fixed," declared the man, "and, just as we

were going to pump it up out lamps went out. Then we found that

our pump wouldn't work. If you have one I would be obliged for

the use of it," and he spoke somewhat stiffly.

 

"Certainly," agreed Tom, cheerfully, for he had no special

grudge against Mr. Foger, though had he known Andy's father's

plans, perhaps our hero would not have so readily aided him. The

young inventor got down, removed one of his oil lamps in order

that there might be some light on the operation, and then brought

over his pump.

 

"I heard you had an accident," said Tom, a chain of thoughts

being rapidly forged in his mind, as he thought of what Sam had

told him.

 

"You heard of it?" repeated Mr. Foger, while Andy was busy

pumping up the tire.

 

"Yes, a friend who was out riding with you said you had broken

a wheel on Berk's hill. But I see he was slightly wrong. You're a

good way from Berk's hill, and it's a tire that is broken, not a

wheel."

 

"But I don't understand," said Mr. Foger. "No friend has been

out riding with us. My son and I were out on a business trip,

and--"

 

"Come on, pop. I've got it all pumped up. Jump in. There's your

pump, Tom Swift. Much obliged," muttered Andy hastily.  It was

very evident that he wanted to prevent any further conversation

between his parent and Tom.

 

"But I don't understand," went on the banker, clearly puzzled.

"What friend gave you such information, Mr.--er--Tom Swift?"

 

"Sam Snedecker," replied the lad quickly. "I caught him

sneaking around my machine shop about an hour ago, and when I

asked him what he was doing he said he'd been out riding with

Andy, and that they broke a wheel. I'm glad it was only a blown-

out tire," and Tom's voice had a curious note in it.

 

"But there must be some mistake," insisted Mr. Foger. "Sam

Snedecker was not riding with us this evening. We have been over

to Waterfield--my son and I, and--"

 

"Come on, pop!" cried Andy desperately. "We must hurry home.

Mom will be worried."

 

"Yes, I think she will. But I can't understand why Sam should

say such a thing. However, we are much obliged for the use of

your pump, Swift, and--"

 

But Andy prevented any further talk by starting the car with

the muffler open, making a great racket, and he hurriedly drove

off, almost before his father was seated, leaving Tom standing

there in the road, beside his pump and lantern.

 

"So," mused the young inventor, "there's some game on. Sam

wasn't with Andy, yet Andy evidently knew where Sam was, or he

wouldn't have been so anxious to choke off talk. Mr. Foger knew

nothing of Sam, naturally. But why have Andy and his father been

on a midnight trip to Waterfield?"

 

That last question caused Tom to adopt a new line of thought.

 

"Waterfield," he mused. "That's where Mr. Damon lives. Mr.

Damon is a heavy depositor in the old bank. Mr. Foger is going to

start a new bank. I wonder if there's any connection there? This

is getting mysterious. I must keep my eyes open. I never expected

to meet Andy and his father tonight, any more than I expected to

find Sam Snedecker sneaking around my shop, but it's a good thing

I discovered both parties. I guess Andy must have had nervous

prostration when I was talking to his father," and Tom grinned at

the thought. Then, picking up the pump, and fastening the lantern

in place, he drove Mr. Damon's auto slowly back home.

 

Tom said nothing to his father or Mr. Sharp, the next morning,

about the incidents of the previous night. In the first place he

could not exactly understand them, and he wanted to devote more

time to thinking of them, before he mentioned the matter to his

parent. Another reason was that Mr. Swift was a very nervous

person, and the least thing out of the ordinary worried him. So

the young inventor concluded to keep quiet.

 

His first act, after going to look at the small motor, which

was being run with the larger, experimental storage battery, was

to get out pencil and paper.

 

"I've got to plan the electric auto now that my battery is in a

fair way to success," he said, for he noted that the one cell he

had constructed had done over twice as much mileage in

proportion, as had the small battery. "I'll soon start building

the car," mused Tom, "and then I'll enter it in the race. I must

write to that touring club and find how much time I have."

 

All that morning the young inventor drew plan after plan for an

electric runabout, and rejected them. Finally he threw aside

paper and pencil and exclaimed:

 

"It's no use. I can't think to-day. I'm dwelling too much on

what happened last night. I must clear my brain.

 

"I know what I'll do. I'll get in my motor-boat and take a run

over to Waterfield to see Mr. Damon. Maybe he's home by this

time. Then I can ask him what Mr. Foger wanted to see him about,

if he did call."

 

It was a fine May morning, and Tom was soon in his boat, the

Arrow, gliding over Lake Carlopa, the waters of which sparkled in

the sun. As he speeded up his craft, the lad looked about,

thinking he might catch sight of Andy Foger, for the bully also

owned a boat, called the Red Streak and, more than once, in spite

of the fact that Andy's craft was the more powerful, Tom had

beaten him in impromptu races. But there was no sign of his rival

this morning, and Tom kept on to Waterfield. He found that Mr.

Damon had not yet returned home.

 

"So far I've had my run for nothing," mused the youth. "Well, I

might as well spend the rest of the morning in the boat."

 

He swung his craft out into the lake, and headed back toward

Mansburg, intending to run up to the head of the body of water,

which offered so many attractions that beautiful morning.

 

As Tom passed a small dock he saw a girl just putting out in a

rowboat. The figure looked familiar and, having nothing special

to do, the lad steered over closer. His first view was confirmed,

and he called out cheerfully:

 

"Good morning, Miss Nestor. Going for a row?"

 

"Oh! Mr. Swift!" exclaimed the girl with a blush.  "I didn't

hear you coming. You startled me."

 

"Yes, the engine runs quite silently since I fixed it," resumed

Tom. "But where are you going?"

 

"I was going for a row," answered the girl, "but I have just

discovered that one of the oar locks is broken, so I am not going

for a row," and she laughed, showing her white, even teeth.

 

"That's too bad!" remarked the lad. "I don't suppose," he added

doubtfully, "that I could induce you to accept a motor-boat as a

substitute for a rowing craft, could I?" and he looked

quizzically at her.

 

"Are you asking me that as a hypothetical question?" she

inquired.

 

"Yes," said Tom, trying not to smile.

 

"Well, if you are asking for information, merely, I will say

that I could he induced to make such a change," and her face was

nearly as grave as that of the young inventor's.

 

"What inducement would have to be used?" he asked.

 

"Suppose you just ask me in plain English to come and have a

ride?" she suggested.

 

"All right, I will!" exclaimed the youth.

 

"All right, then I'll come!" she retorted with a laugh, and a

few minutes later the two were in the Arrow, making a pretty

picture as they speeded up the lake.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VI              BUILDING THE CAR

 

 

"Well," remarked Tom to himself, about two hours later, when he

had left Mary Nestor at her dock, and was on his way home, "I

feel better than I did, and now I must do some hard thinking

about my runabout. I want to get it the right shape to make the

least resistance." He began to make some sketches when he got

home, and at dinner he showed them to his father and Mr. Sharp.

He said he had gotten an idea from looking at the airship.

 

"I'm going to make the front part, or what corresponds to the

engine-hood in a gasolene car, pointed," he explained. "It will

be just like the front of the aluminum gas container of the

airship, only built of steel. In it will be a compartment for a

set of batteries, and there will be a searchlight there. From the

top of some supporters in front of the two rear seats, a slanting

sheet of steel will come right down to meet the sloping nose of

the car. First I was going to have curtains close over the top of

the driver's seat, but I think a steel covering, with a celluloid

opening will be better and make less wind resistance. I'll use

leather side curtains when it rains. Under the front seats will

be a compartment for more batteries, and there will be a third

place under the rear seats, where I will also carry spare wheels

and a repair kit. The motors will be slung under the body of the

car, amidships, and there will also be room for some batteries

there."

 

"How are you going to drive the car?" asked Mr. Sharp. "By a

shaft?"

 

"Chain drive," explained Tom. "I can get more power that way,

and it will be more flexible under heavy loads. Of course it will

be steered in the usual way, and near the wheel will be the

starting and reversing levers, and the gear handle."

 

"Gears!" exclaimed the aged inventor. "Are you going to gear an

electric auto? I never heard of that. Usually the motor directly

connected is all they use."

 

"I'm going to have two gears on mine," decided Tom.

 

"That's a new idea," commented the aeronaut.

 

"It is," admitted the lad, "and that's why my car is going to

be so speedy. I'll make her go a hundred miles an hour, if

necessary!"

 

"Nonsense!" exclaimed his father.

 

"I will!" cried the young inventor, enthusiastically. "You just

wait and see. I couldn't do it but for the gears, but by using

them I'll secure more speed, especially with the big reserve

battery power I'll have. I know I've got the right idea, and I'm

going to get right to work."

 

His father and Mr. Sharp were much interested, and closely

examined his sketches. In a few days Tom had made detailed

drawings, and the aged inventor looked at them critically. He had

to admit that his son's theory was right, though how it would

work out in practice was yet to be demonstrated. Mr. Swift

offered some suggestions for minor changes, as did Mr. Sharp, and

the lad adopted some of them. Then, with Mr. Jackson to help him,

work was started on constructing the car.

 

Certain parts of it could be better purchased in the open

market instead of being manufactured in Mr. Swift's shop, and

thus Tom was able to get his new invention into some sort of

shape sooner than would otherwise have been the case. He also

started making the batteries, many of which would be needed.

 

Gradually the car began to take form on the floor of Tom's

shop. It was rather a curious looking affair, the sharp forward

part making it appear like some engine of war, or a projectile

for some monster gun. But Tom cared little for looks. Speed,

strength and ease of control were the chief features the lad

aimed at, and he incorporated many new ideas into his electric

car.

 

He was busy in the shop, one morning, when, above the noise

caused by filing a piece of steel he heard some one exclaim:

 

"Bless my gizzard! If you aren't as busy as ever!"

 

"Mr. Damon!" cried Tom in delight. "When did you get back?"

 

"Last night," replied the eccentric man. "My wife and I stayed

longer than we meant to. And whom do you think we met when we

were off on our little trip?"

 

"Some of the Happy Harry gang?"

 

"Oh no. You'd never guess, so I'll tell you. It was Captain

Weston."

 

"Indeed! And how has he been since he went in the submarine

with us, and helped recover the gold from the wreck?"

 

"Very well. The first thing he said to me was: 'How is Tom

Swift and his father, if I may be permitted to ask?'"

 

"Ha! Ha!" laughed the lad, at the recollection of the odd sea

captain, who generally tagged on an apologetic expression to most

of his remarks.

 

"He was getting ready to take part in some South American

revolution," went on Mr. Damon. "He used most of his money that

he got from the wreck to help finance their cause."

 

"I must tell Mr. Sharp," went on the lad. "He'll be

interested."

 

"Anything new since I've been away?" asked the odd man. "Bless

my shoe laces, but I'm glad to get back!"

 

Tom told of the prospect of a new bank being started, and of

Sam's midnight visit, as well as the encounter with Mr. Foger and

Andy.

 

"I went over to see what Mr. Foger wanted of you," went on the

young inventor, "but you weren't home. Did he call?"

 

"The servant said he had been there, not once, but several

times," remarked Mr. Damon. "That reminds me. He left a note for

me, and I haven't read it yet. I'll do so now."

 

He tore open the letter, and hastily perused the contents.

 

"Ha!" he exclaimed. "So that's what he wanted to see me about!"

 

"What?" inquired Tom, with the privilege of and old friend.

 

"Mr. Foger says he's going to start a new bank, and he wants me

to withdraw my deposit from the old one, and put it in his

institution. Says he'll pay me bigger interest. And he adds that

some of the old employees have gone with him."

 

"I hope you're not going to change," spoke Tom, thinking of his

chum, Ned.

 

"Indeed I'm not. The old bank is good enough for me. By the

way, doesn't a friend of yours work there?"

 

"Yes, Ned Newton. I'm wondering how he'll be affected?"

 

"Don't you worry!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my check book!

I'll speak to Pendergast about your friend. Maybe there'll be a

chance to advance him further. I've got some mortgages falling

due pretty soon, and I'll deposit the money from them in the old

bank. Then we'll see what we can do about Ned."

 

"They'll make you a bank director, if you keep on putting in

money," remarked our hero, with a smile.

 

"Not much they won't!" was the quick answer

 

"Bless my stocks and bonds! I've got trouble enough without

becoming a bank director.

 

My doctor says my liver is out of order again, and I've got to

eat a lemon every morning before breakfast."

 

"Eat a lemon?"

 

"Well, drink the juice! It's the same thing. But how is the

electric runabout coming on?"

 

"Pretty good."

 

"Have you entered it in the races yet?"

 

"No, but I've written for information. I have until September

to finish it. The races take place then."

 

"Let's see; they're on Long Island; aren't they? How do you

calculate to do; run from here to there?"

 

"No, Dad still has the cottage he rented when we built the

submarine and I think I'll make that my headquarters during the

race. It's easy to run from there over to the Long Island track.

They're building a new one, especially for the occasion.

 

"Well, I hope you win the prize. I must go to town now, as I

have to attend to some business. I don't s'pose you want to come

in my auto. I'm pretty sure something will break before I get

there, and I'd like to have you along to fix it."

 

"Sorry, but I'm afraid I can't go," replied the lad. "I must

get this car done, and then I've got to start on the batteries."

 

Mr. Damon rather reluctantly went off alone, looking anxiously

at his car, for the machine got out of order on every trip he

took.

 

It was a few days after this that Tom received a call from Ned

one evening. The bank employee's face wore a happy smile.

 

"What's the matter; some one left you a fortune?" asked Tom.

 

"Pretty nearly as good. I've got a better position."

 

"What? Have you left the old bank, and gone to the new one?"

 

"No, I'm still in the same bank, but I'm one of the two

cashiers now. Mr. Foger took several of the old employees when he

opened his new bank, and that left vacancies. I was promoted, and

so were one or two others. Mr. Damon spoke a good word for me."

 

"That's fine! He's a friend worth having."

 

"That's right. Your father also recommended me. But how are

things with you? Has Andy made any more trouble?"

 

"No, and I don't believe he will. I guess he'll steer clear of

me."

 

But Tom was soon to learn he was mistaken.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VII             TOM IS CAPTURED

 

 

Meanwhile the young inventor, aided by his father, Mr. Sharp

and Garret Jackson, the engineer, worked hard over his new car,

and the powerful batteries. A month passed, and such was the

progress made that Tom felt justified in making formal entry of

his vehicle for the races to be held by the Touring Club of

America.

 

He paid a contingent fee and was listed as one of the

competitors. As is usual in an affair of this kind, the promoters

of it desired publicity, and they sought it through the papers.

 

Consequently each new entrant's name was published. In addition

something was said about his previous achievements in the speed

line.

 

No sooner was the name of Tom Swift received by the officials

of the club, than it was at once recalled that young Swift had

had a prominent part in the airship Red Cloud, and the submarine

Advance. This gave an enterprising reporter a chance for a

"special" for the Sunday supplement of a New York newspaper.

 

Tom, it was stated, was building a car which would practically

annihilate distance and time, and there were many weird pictures,

showing him flying along without touching the ground, in a car,

the pictorial construction of which was at once fearful and

wonderful.

 

Tom and his friends laughed at the yarn, at first, but it soon

had undesirable results. The young inventor had desired to keep

secret the fact that he was building a new electric vehicle, and

a novel storage battery, but the article in the paper aroused

considerable interest. Many persons came a long distance, hoping

for a sight of the wonderful car, as pictured in the Sunday

supplement, but they had to be denied. The news, thus leaking

out, kept the Swift shops almost constantly besieged by many

curious ones, who sought, by various means, to gain admission.

Finally Tom and his father, after posting large signs, warning

persons to keep away, added others to the effect that undesirable

visitors might find themselves unexpectedly shocked by

electricity, if they ventured too close. This had the desired

effect, though the wires which were strung about carried such a

mild charge that it would not have harmed a child. Then the only

bothersome characters were the boys of the town, and, fearless

and careless lads, they persisted in hanging around the Swift

homestead, in the hope of seeing Tom dash away at the rate of

five hundred miles an hour, which one enthusiastic writer

predicted he would do.

 

"I've got a plan!" exclaimed Tom one day when the boys had been

particularly troublesome.

 

"What is it?" asked his father.

 

"We'll hire Eradicate Sampson to stand guard with a bucket of

whitewash. He'll keep the boys away."

 

The plan was put into operation, and Eradicate and his mule,

Boomerang, were installed on the premises.

 

"Deed an' Ah'll keep dem lads away," promised the colored man.

"Ah'll splash white stuff all ober 'em, if dey comes traipsin'

around me."

 

He was as good as his word, and, when one or two lads had

received a dose of the stuff, which punishment was followed by

more severe from home, for having gotten their clothes soiled,

the nuisance ceased, to a certain extent. Sam Snedecker and Pete

Bailey were two who received a liberal sprinkling of the lime,

and they vowed vengeance on Tom.

 

"And Andy Foger will help us, too," added Sam, as he withdrew,

after an encounter with Eradicate.

 

"Doan't let dat worry yo', Mistah Swift!" exclaimed the darkey.

"Jest let dat low-down-good-fo-nuffin' Andy Foger come 'round me,

an' Ah'll make him t'ink he's de inside ob a chicken coop, dat's

what Ah will."

 

Perhaps Andy heard of this, and kept away. In the meanwhile Tom

kept on perfecting his car and battery. From the club secretary

he learned that a number of inventors were working on electric

cars, and there promised to be many of the speedy vehicles in the

race.

 

After considerable labor Tom had succeeded in getting together

one set of the batteries. He had them completed one afternoon,

and wanted to give them a test that night. But, when he went to

his father's chemical laboratory for a certain powder, which he

needed to use in the battery solution, he found there was none.

 

"I'll have to ride in to Mansburg for some," he decided. "I'll

go after supper, on my motorcycle, and test the battery to-

night."

 

The young inventor left his house immediately after the evening

meal. Along the road toward Mansburg he speeded, and, as he came

to the foot of a hill, where once Andy Foger had put a big tree,

hoping Tom would run into it and be injured, the youth recalled

that circumstance.

 

"Andy has been keeping out of my way lately," mused Tom. "I

wonder if he's up to any mischief? I don't like the way Sam

Snedecker is hanging around the shop, either. It looks as if they

were plotting something. But I guess Eradicate and his pail of

whitewash will scare them off."

 

Tom got the powdered chemical he wanted in the drug store, and,

after refreshing himself with some ice cream soda, he started

back. As he rode along through the streets of the town he kept a

lookout, and those of you who know how fond the lad was of a

certain young lady, do not need to be told for whom he was

looking. But he did not see her, and soon turned into the main

highway leading to Shopton.

 

It was dark when he reached the hill, where once he had been so

near an accident, and he slowed up as he coasted down it, using

the brake at intervals.

 

Tom got safely to the bottom of the declivity, and was about to

turn on the power of his machine, when, from the bushes that

lined either side of the roadway, several figures sprang

suddenly. They ranged themselves across the road, and one cried:

"Halt!" in tones that were meant to be stern, but which seemed to

Tom, to tremble somewhat. The young inventor was so surprised

that he did not open the gasolene throttle, nor switch on his

spark. As a consequence his motor-cycle lost momentum, and he had

to take one foot from the pedal and touch the ground, to prevent

himself from toppling over.

 

"Hold on there!" cried another voice. "We've got you where we

want you, now! Hold on! Don't go!"

 

"I wasn't going to go," responded Tom calmly, trying to

recognize the voice, which seemed to be unnatural. "What do you

want, and who are you?"

 

"Never mind who we are. We want you and we've got you! Get off

that wheel!"

 

"I don't see why I should!" exclaimed Tom, and he suddenly

shifted his handle bars, so as to flash the bright headlight he

carried, upon the circle of dark figures that opposed his

progress. As the light flashed on them he was surprised to see

that all the figures wore masks over their faces.

 

Tom started. Was this the Happy Harry gang after him again? He

hoped not, yet the fact that the persons had on masks made the

hold-up have an ugly look. Once more Tom flashed the light on the

throng. There were exclamations of dismay.

 

"Douse that glim, somebody!" called a sharp voice, which Tom

could not recognize.

 

A stone came whizzing through the air, from some one in the

crowd. There was a smashing of glass as it hit the lantern, and

the road was plunged in darkness. Tom tried to throw one leg over

the saddle, and let down the supporting stand from the rear

wheel, so the motorcycle would remain upright without him holding

it. He determined to have revenge for that act of vandalism in

breaking his lamp.

 

But, just as he was free of the seat, he was surrounded by a

dozen persons, and several hands were laid on him.

 

"We've got you now!" some one fairly hissed in his ear. "Come

along, and get what's coming to you!"

 

Tom tried to fight, but he was overpowered by numbers and, a

little later, was dragged off into the woods in the darkness by

the masked figures. His arms were securely bound with ropes, and

a handkerchief was tied over his eyes. Tom Swift was a prisoner.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VIII            A BLINDING FLASH

 

 

Stumbling on through the dark woods, led by his captors, Tom

tried to pierce the gloom and identify the persons who had firm

grips on either side of him. But it was useless. A little light

sifted down from the starlit sky above, but it was not

sufficient. The young inventor was beginning to think, after all,

that he had fallen into the hands of the Happy Harry gang, and he

knew that if this was so he need expect no mercy.

 

But two things were against this belief. One was that the

principal members of the gang were still in jail, or at least

they were supposed to be, and another was that there were too

many of the captors. Happy Harry's crowd never numbered so many.

 

"Maybe they're highwaymen," thought our hero, as he was dragged

along  "But that can't be," he reasoned further. "If they wanted

to rob me they'd have done it back there in the road, and not

brought me off here in the woods. Besides, I haven't anything for

them to steal."

 

Suddenly Tom stumbled over a projecting root, and nearly fell,

dragging along with him the person who had hold of his left arm.

 

"Look out there! What's the matter with you?" exclaimed one of

the throng quickly, and at the sound of the voice Tom started.

 

"Andy Foger!" cried the young inventor, as he recovered

himself, for he had recognized the voice of the red-haired bully.

"What do you mean by holding me up in this way?" he demanded.

 

"Quiet!" urged a voice in his ear, and the tones were

unfamiliar. "Mention no names!"

 

"I'm on to your game!" retorted Tom. "I know you're here, Andy,

and Sam and Pete; and Jack Reynolds and Sid Holton," and he named

two rather loose-charactered lads, who were often in the company

of Andy and his cronies. "You'd better quit this nonsense," Tom

went on. "I'll cause the arrest of all of you if you make trouble

for me. I know who you are now!"

 

"You think you do," answered the voice in his ear, and the

young inventor concluded that it must be some lad whom he did not

know. "Nor is this nonsense," the other went on. "You are about

to receive the punishment due you."

 

Our hero did not answer, but he was doing some hard thinking.

He wondered why Andy and his crowd had captured him.

 

Suddenly the blackness of the woods was illuminated by the

fitful gleam of a distant fire. Tom could see more plainly now,

and he managed to count about ten dusky figures hurrying along,

four being close to him, to prevent his escape, and the others

running on ahead. The light became stronger, and, a moment later

the prisoner and his captors emerged into a little clearing,

where a fire was burning. Two figures, masked with black cloth,

as were all in the crowd, stood about the blaze, putting on

sticks of wood.

 

"Did you get him?" asked one of these figures eagerly.

 

"Yes, they got me, Sam Snedecker," answered Tom quickly,

recognizing Sam's tones. "And they'll wish they hadn't before I'm

done with them."

 

"Quiet!" ordered an unknown voice. "Members of the Deep Forest

Throng, the prisoner is here!" the lad went on.

 

"'Tis well, bind the captive to the sacrificial tree," was the

response from some one in the crowd.

 

Tom laughed. He was at ease now, for he recognized that those

who had taken him prisoner were all lads of Andy's character.

Most of them were Shopton youths, but some, evidently, were

strangers in town. Tom felt he had little to fear.

 

"Bring him over here," ordered one, and Tom cried out:

 

"You wouldn't be giving those orders, Andy Foger, if my arms

weren't tied. And if you'll untie me, I'll fight any two of you

at once," offered the young inventor fiercely, for he hated the

humiliation to which he was being subjected.

 

"Don't do it! Don't untie him!" begged some one.

 

"No danger, they won't. They're afraid to, Pete Bailey,"

replied Tom quickly, for he had recognized the voice of the other

one of Andy's particular cronies.

 

"Aw, he knows who we are," whispered Sam, but not so low but

that our hero heard him.

 

"No matter," was Andy's retort. "Let's go ahead with it. Tie

him to that tree."

 

It was useless for Tom to struggle. He was bound too tightly by

the rope, and the crowd was too many for him. In a few minutes he

was securely fastened to a tree, not far from the camp-fire,

which was replenished from time to time.

 

"Now for the judgment!" called one of the masked lads, in what

he meant to be a sepulchral tone. "What is the charge against the

prisoner? Brother Number One of the Deep Forest Throng, what is

your accusation?"

 

"He's a regular snob, that's what's the trouble,"  answered

Andy  Foger,  though whether he was "Brother Number One," did not

appear. "He's too fresh and--and--"

 

"I'll make you wish you felt fresh when I get hold of you,

Andy," murmured Tom.

 

"Quiet!" cried a tall lad. "What's the next charge?"

 

"He keeps an old colored man on guard at his place," was the

answer, and Tom had no difficulty in recognizing the voice of Sid

Holton. "The coon throws whitewash all over us. I got some of

it."

 

"You wouldn't have, if you'd minded your own business,"

retorted Tom. "It served you right!"

 

"What is the verdict on the prisoner?" asked one who seemed to

be the leader.

 

"I say let's tar and feather him!" cried Andy suddenly.

"There's a barrel of tar back in the woods here, and we can get

some feathers from a chicken coop. That would make him so he

wouldn't be so uppish, I guess!"

 

"That's right! Tar and feathers!" exclaimed several.

 

Our hero's heart sank. He was not afraid, but he did not relish

the indignity that was proposed. He resolved to fight to the last

ounce of his strength against the masked lads.

 

"Can we get a kettle to heat the tar in?" asked some one.

 

"We'll find one," answered Sam Snedecker. "Come on, let's do

it. You'll look pretty, Tom Swift, when we're through with you,"

he exulted.

 

Tom did not answer, but there was fierce anger in his heart.

The tar and feather proposal seemed to meet with general favor.

 

"Members of the Deep Forest Throng, we will hold a

consultation," proposed the leader, in his assumed deep voice.

"Come over here, to one side. Brother Number Six, guard the

prisoner well."

 

"There ain't no need to," answered a lad who had been

instructed to mount guard over Tom. "He's tied so tight he can't

move. I want to hear what you say."

 

"Very well then," assented the leader,  "But look to his

bonds."

 

The lad made a hasty examination of the ropes binding the young

inventor to the tree, and Tom was glad that the examination was a

hasty one. For he feared the guard might discover that one hand

had been worked nearly free. The young inventor had done this

while he leered at his captors.

 

Tom was not going to submit tamely to the nonsense, and from

the moment he had been tied, he had been trying to get loose. He

had nearly succeeded in freeing one hand when the crowd of masked

boys moved off to one side, where they presently began to talk in

excited whispers.

 

"I wonder how they came to catch me," thought the prisoner, as

he worked feverishly to further loosen the ropes. "This looks as

if it was a put-up job, with the masks, and everything."  Later

he learned that the idea was the outcome of a proposal of one of

the new arrivals in town. He had organized the "Deep Forest

Throng," as a sort of secret society, and Andy and his cronies

had been induced to join. It was Andy's proposal to capture Tom,

though, and, having seen him depart for Mansburg on his motor-

cycle, and knowing that he would return along a road that ran

near the woods where the Throng met, suggested that they take Tom

captive. The idea was enthusiastically received, and Andy and his

cronies thought they saw a chance to be revenged.

 

Tom, while he picked at the ropes, listened to what the boys

were saying. He heard frequent mention of tar and feathers, and

began to believe, that unless he could get free, while they were

off there consulting, he might be forced to submit to the

humiliating ordeal.

 

He managed to get one hand comparatively free, so that he could

move it about, but then he struck several hard knots, and could

make no further progress. The conference seemed on the point of

breaking up.

 

"One of you go for a big kettle to boil the tar in," ordered

the leader, "and the rest of you dig up some feathers."

 

"I must get loose!" thought Tom desperately. "If they try to

tar and feather me it will be a risky business. I've got to get

loose! They may burn me severely!"

 

But, though he tried with all his strength, the ropes would not

loosen another bit. He had one hand free, and that was all. The

crowd was moving back toward him.

 

"My knife!" thought the captive quickly. "If I can reach that

in my pocket I can cut the ropes! Once I get loose I'll fight the

whole crowd!"

 

He managed to get his free hand into his pocket. His fingers

touched something. It was not his knife, and, for a moment he

felt a pang of disappointment. Then, as he realized what it was

that he had grasped, a new idea came to him.

 

"This will be better than the knife!" he thought exultantly.

The crowd of lads was now surrounding him, some distance from the

fire, which burned in front of the captive.

 

"Sentence has been passed upon you," remarked the leader.

"Prepare to meet thy doom! Get the materials, brothers!"

 

"One moment!" called Tom, for he wanted the crowd all present

to witness what he was about to do. "I'll give you one chance to

let me go peaceably. If you don't--"

 

"Well, what will you do?" demanded Andy sneeringly, as he

pulled his mask further over his face. "I guess you won't do

anything, Tom Swift."

 

"I'll give you one chance to let me go, and I'll agree to say

nothing about this joke," went on Tom. "If you don't I'll blow

this place up!"

 

For a moment there was a silence.

 

"Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho!" laughed Sam Snedecker. "Listen to him! He'll

blow the place up! I'd like to see you do it! You can't get loose

in the first place, and you haven't anything to blow it up with

in the second. I'd like to see you do it; hey, fellers?"

 

"Sure," came the answering chorus.

 

"Would you?" asked Tom quickly. "Then watch. Stand back if you

don't want to get hurt, and remember that I gave you a chance to

let me go!"

 

Tom made a rapid motion with the hand he had gotten loose. He

threw something to ward the blazing fire, which was now burning

well. Something white sailed through the air, and fell amid the

hot embers.

 

There was a moment's pause, and then a blinding flash of blue

fire lighted up the woods, and a dull rumble, as when gun-powder

is lighted in the open followed. A great cloud of white smoke

arose, as the vivid blue glare died away, and it seemed as if a

great wind swept over the place. Several of the masked lads were

knocked down by the explosion, and when the rumble died away, and

deep blackness succeeded the intense blue light, there came cries

of pain and terror. The fire had been scattered, and extinguished

by the explosion which Tom, though still bound to the tree had

caused to happen in the midst of the Deep Forest Throng. Then, as

the smoke rolled away, Andy Foger cried:

 

"Come on, fellows! Something's happened. I guess a volcano blew

up!"

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER IX              TOM IS RESCUED

 

 

The Deep Forest Throng needed no urging to flee from the place

of the mysterious explosion. Their prisoner, helpless as he had

seemed, had proved too much for them. Slipping and stumbling

along in the darkness, the masked lads had but one thought--to

get away before they saw more of that blue fire, and the force of

the concussion.

 

"Gee! My eyebrows are all singed off!" cried Sam Snedecker, as

he tore loose his mask which had been rent in the explosion, and

felt of his face.

 

"And my hands are burned," added Pete Bailey. "I stood closer

to the fire than any of you."

 

"You did not! I got the worst of it!" cried Andy. "I was

knocked down by the explosion, and I'll bet I'm hurt somewhere. I

guess--Oh! Help! I'm falling in a mud hole!"

 

There was a splash, and the bully disappeared from the sight of

his companions who, now that the moon had risen, could better see

to flee from their prisoner.

 

"Help me out, somebody!" pleaded Andy. "I'm in a mud hole!"

 

They pulled him out, a sorry looking sight, and the red-haired

lad, whose locks were now black with muck, began to lament his

lot.

 

"Dry up!" commanded Sid Holton. "It's all your fault, for

proposing such a fool trick as capturing Tom Swift. We might have

known he would get the best of us."

 

"What was that stuff he used, anyhow?" asked Cecil Hedden, the

lad responsible for the organization of the Deep Forest Throng.

"He must be a wonder. Does he do sleight-of-hand tricks?"

 

"He does all sorts of tricks," replied Pete Bailey, feeling of

a big lump on his head, caused by falling on a stone in the mad

rush. "I guess we were chumps to tackle him. He must have put

some kind of chemical in the fire, to make it blow up."

 

"Or else he summoned his airship by wireless, and had that

balloonist, Mr. Sharp, drop a bomb in the blaze," suggested

another lad.

 

"But how could he do anything? Wasn't he tied fast to that

tree?" asked Cecil, the leader.

 

"You never know when you've got Tom Swift tied," declared Jack

Reynolds. "You think you've got him, and you haven't. He's too

slick for us. It's Andy's fault, for proposing to capture him."

 

"That's right! Blame it all on me," whined the squint-eyed

bully. "You was just as anxious as I was to tar and feather him."

 

"Well, we didn't do it," commented Pete Bailey, dryly. "I

s'pose he's loose now, laughin' at us. Gee, but that was an

explosion though! It's a wonder some of us weren't killed! I

guess I've had enough of this Deep Forest Throng business. No

more for mine."

 

"Aw, don't be afraid," urged Cecil. "The next time we get him

we'll be on our guard."

 

"You'll never catch Tom Swift again," predicted Pete.

 

"I'll go back now to where he is, if you will," agreed Cecil,

who was older than the others.

 

"Not much!" cried Pete. "I've had enough."

 

This seemed to be the sentiment of all. Away they stumbled

through the woods, and, emerging on the road, scattered to their

several homes, not one but who suffered from slight burns,

contusions, torn and muddy clothes or injured feelings as the

outcome of the "joke" on the young inventor.

 

But our hero was not yet free from the bonds of his enemies.

When they scattered and ran, after the vivid blue light, and the

dull explosion, which, being unconfined, did no real damage, Tom

was still fast to the tree. As his eyes became accustomed to the

semi-darkness that followed the glare, he remarked:

 

"Well, I don't know that I'm much better off. I gave those

fellows a good scare, but I'm not loose. But I can work to better

advantage now."

 

Once more he resumed the effort to free himself, but in spite

of the crude manner in which the knots had been made, the lad

could not get loose. The more he pulled and tugged the tighter

they seemed to become.

 

"This is getting serious," Tom mused. "If I could only reach my

knife I could cut them, but it's in my pocket on the other side,

and that bond's fast. Guess I'll have to stay here all night.

Maybe I'd better call for help, but--"

 

His words, spoken half aloud, were suddenly interrupted by a

crash in the underbrush. Somebody was approaching. At first Tom

thought it was Andy and his cronies coming back, but a voice that

called a moment later proved that this was not so.

 

"Is any one here?" shouted a man. "Any one hurt? What was that

fire and explosion?"

 

"I'm here," replied Tom. "I'm not hurt exactly, but I'm tied to

a tree. I'll be much obliged if you'll loosen me."

 

"Who are you?"

 

"Tom Swift. Is that you, Mr. Mason?"

 

"Yes. By jinks! I never expected to find you here, Tom. Over

this way, men," he added calling aloud. "I've found him; it's Tom

Swift."

 

There was the flicker of several lanterns amid the trees, and

soon a number of men had joined Mr. Mason, and surrounded Tom.

They were farmers living in the neighborhood.

 

"What in the name o' Tunket happened?" asked one. "Did you get

hit by a meteor or a comet? Who tied you up; highwaymen?"

 

"Cut him loose first, and ask questions afterward," suggested

Mr. Mason.

 

"Yes," added Tom, with a laugh, "I wish you would. I'm

beginning to feel cramped."

 

With their knives, the farmers quickly cut the ropes, and some

of them rubbed the arms of the lad to restore the circulation.

 

"What was it--highwaymen?" asked a man, unable to longer

restrain his curiosity. "Did they rob you?"

 

"No, it wasn't highwaymen," replied the youth. "It was a trick

of some boys I know," and to Tom's credit be it said that he did

not mention their names. "They did it for a joke," he added.

 

"Boys' trick? Joke?" queried Mr. Mason. "Pretty queer sort of a

joke, I think. They ought to be arrested."

 

"Oh, I fancy I gave them what was coming to them," went on the

young inventor.

 

"Did they try to blow ye up, too?" asked Mr. Hertford. "What in

th' name of Tunket was that blue light, and that explosion? I

heard it an' saw it way over to my house."

 

"So did I," remarked Mr. Mason, and several others said the

same thing. "We thought a meteor had fallen," he continued, "and

we got together to make an investigation."

 

"It's a good thing for me you did," admitted Tom, "or I might

have had to stay here all night."

 

"But was it a meteor?" insisted Mr. Hertford.

 

"No," replied the lad, "I did it."

 

"You?"

 

"Yes. You see after they tied me I found I could get one hand

free. I reached in my pocket for my knife, but instead of it I

managed to get hold of a package of powder I had."

 

"Gunpowder?" asked Mr. Mason.

 

"No, a chemical powder I use in an electrical battery. The

powder explodes in fire, and makes quite a blue flash, and a lot

of smoke, but it isn't very dangerous, otherwise I wouldn't have

used it. When the boys were some distance away from the fire, I

threw the powder in the blaze. It went off in a moment, and--"

 

"I guess they run some; didn't they?" asked Mr. Mason with a

laugh.

 

"They certainly did," agreed Tom.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER X               TOM HAS A FALL

 

 

The young inventor told more details of his adventure in the

woods, but, though the farmers questioned him closely, he would

not give a single name of his assailants.

 

"But I should think you'd want to have them punished," remarked

Mr. Mason.

 

"I'll attend to that part later," answered Tom. "Besides, most

of them didn't know what they were doing. They were led on by one

or two. No, I'll fight my own battles. But I wish you'd lend me a

lantern long enough to find my motor-cycle. The moon doesn't give

much light in the woods, and those fellows may have hidden my

machine."

 

Mr. Mason and his companions readily agreed to accompany Tom on

a search for his wheel. It was found just where he had dismounted

from it in the road. Andy and his cronies had evidently had

enough of their encounter with our hero, and did not dare to

annoy him further.

 

"Do you think you can ride home?" asked one of the farmers of

the lad, when he had ascertained that his machine was in running

order.

 

"Well, it's risky without my lantern," answered Tom. "They

smashed that for me. But I guess I can manage."

 

"No, you can't!" insisted Mr. Mason. "You're stiff from being

tied up; and you can't ride. Now you just wheel that contraption

over to my place, and I'll hitch up and take you home. It isn't

far."

 

"Oh, I couldn't think of troubling you," declared Tom. At the

same time he felt that he was in no condition to ride.

 

"It's no trouble at all," insisted Mr. Mason. "I guess your

father and I are good enough friends to allow me to have my way.

You can come over and get your choo-choo bicycle in the morning."

 

A little later Tom was being rapidly driven toward his home,

where he found his father and Mrs. Baggert, to say nothing of Mr.

Sharp, somewhat alarmed over his absence, as it was getting late.

The youth told as much of his adventure as he thought would not

alarm his father, making a sort of joke of it, and, later,

related all the details to the balloonist.

 

"We'll have to get after Andy again," declared the aeronaut.

"He needs another toning down."

 

"Yes, similar to the one he got when we nearly ran away with

his automobile, by catching the airship anchor on it," added Tom

with a laugh. "But I fancy Andy will steer clear of me for a

while. I'm sorry I had to use up that chemical powder, though.

Now I can't start my battery until to-morrow." But the next day

Tom made up for lost time, by working from early until late. He

went over to Mr. Mason's, got his motor-cycle, procured some more

of the chemical, and soon had his storage battery in running

order. Then he arranged for a more severe test, and while that

was going on he worked at completing the body of the electric

runabout. The vehicle was beginning to look like a car, though it

was not of the regulation pattern.

 

For the next week Tom was very busy, so occupied, in fact, that

he scarcely took time for his meals, which caused Mrs. Baggert no

little worriment, for she was a housekeeper who liked to see

others enjoy her cooking.

 

"Well, Tom, how are you coming on?" asked his father one night,

as they sat on the porch, Mr. Sharp with them.

 

"Pretty well, Dad," was the answer of the young inventor. "I'll

put the wheels on tomorrow, and then set the batteries. I've got

the motor all finished; and all I'll have to do will be to

connect it up, and then I'll be ready for a trial on the road."

 

"And you still think you'll beat all records?"

 

"I'm pretty sure of it, Dad. You see the amperage will be

exceptionally high, and my batteries will have a large amount of

reserve, with little internal resistance. But do you know I'm so

tired I can hardly think. It's more of a job than I thought it

would be."

 

Tom, a little later, strolled down the road. As he turned back

toward the house and walked up the shrubbery lined path he heard

a noise.

 

"Some one's hiding in there!" thought the lad, and he darted to

an opening in the hedge to reach the other side. As he did so he

saw a figure running away. Whether it was a man or a boy he could

not tell in the darkness.

 

"Hold on there!" cried the young inventor, but, naturally, the

fleeing one did not stop. Tom began to sprint, and as it was

slightly down hill, he made good time. The figure ahead of him

was running well, too, but Tom who could see better, now that he

was out from under the trees, noticed that he was gaining. The

fleeing one came to a little brook, and hesitated a moment before

leaping across. This enabled Tom to catch up, and he made a grab

for the figure, just as the man or boy sprang across the little

stream.

 

Tom missed his grip, but he was not going to give up. He

scarcely slackened his speed, but, with the momentum he had

acquired in racing down the hill, he, too, leaped across the

brook. As he landed on the other side he made another grab for

the figure, a man, as Tom could now see, but he could make out no

features, as the person's hat was pulled down over his face.

 

"I've got you now!" cried Tom exultantly, reaching out his

hand. His fingers clutched something, but the next instant the

young inventor went sprawling. The other had put out his foot,

and tripped him neatly and, Tom throwing out his hands to save

himself in the fall that was inevitable, went splashing into the

brook at full length. The unknown, pausing a moment to view what

he had done, turned quickly and raced off in the darkness.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XI              CROSSED WIRES

 

 

More surprised than hurt, and with a feeling of chagrin and

anger at the trick which had been played on him, Tom managed to

scramble out of the brook. The water was not deep, but he had

splashed in with such force that he was wet all over. And, as he

got up, the water drip-ping from his clothes, the lad was

conscious of a pain in his head. He put up his hand, and found

that contact with a stone had raised a large lump on his

forehead. It was as big as a hen's egg.

 

"Humph! I'll be a pretty sight to-morrow," murmured Tom. "I

wonder who that fellow was, anyhow, and what he wanted? He

tripped me neatly enough, whoever he was. I've a good notion to

keep on after him."

 

Then, as he realized what a start the fleeing one had, the

young inventor knew that it would be fruitless to renew the

chase. Slowly he ascended the sloping bank, and started for home.

As he did so he realized that he had, clasped in his fingers,

something he had grabbed from the person he was pursuing just

before his unlucky tumble.

 

"It's part of his watch chain!" exclaimed Tom, as he felt of

the article. "I must have ripped it loose when I fell. Wonder

what it is? Evidently some sort of a charm. Maybe it will be a

clue."  He tried to discern of what style it was, but in the dark

woods this was impossible. Then the lad tried to strike a match,

but those in his pocket had become wet from his unexpected bath.

"I'll have to wait until I get home," he went on, and he hastened

his steps, for he was anxious to see what he had torn loose from

the person who appeared to be spying on him.

 

"Why Tom, what's the matter?" exclaimed Mrs. Baggert, when he

entered the kitchen, dripping water at every step. "Is it raining

outside? I didn't hear any storm."

 

"It was raining where I was," replied Tom angrily. "I fell in

the brook. It was so hot I thought I'd cool off."

 

"With your best suit on!" ejaculated the housekeeper.

 

"It isn't my best," retorted the lad. "But I went in before I

thought. It was an accident; I fell," he added, lest Mrs. Baggert

take his joking remarks seriously. He did not want to tell her of

the chase.

 

The chief concern of the lad now was to look at the charm and,

as soon as Mrs. Baggert's attention was attracted elsewhere, Tom

glanced at the object he still held tightly clenched in his hand.

As the light from the kitchen fell upon it he could hardly

repress an exclamation of astonishment.

 

For the charm that he held in his hand was one he had seen

before dangling from the watch chain of Addison Berg, the agent

for Bentley & Eagert, submarine boat builders, which firm had, as

told in "Tom Swift and His Submarine," tried unsuccessfully to

secure the gold treasure from the sunken wreck. Berg and his

associates had even gone so far as to try to disable the Advance,

the boat of Tom and his father, by ramming her when deep down

under the ocean, but Mr. Swift's use of an electric cannon had

broken the steering gear of the Wonder, the rival craft, and from

that time on Tom and his friends had a clear field to search for

the bullion held fast in the hold of the Boldero. "Addison Berg,"

murmured Tom, as he looked at the watch charm. "What can he be

doing in this neighborhood? Hiding, too, as if he wanted to

overhear something. That's the way he did when we were building

our submarine, and now he's up to the same trick when I'm

constructing my electric car. I'm sure this charm is his. It is

such a peculiar design that I'm positive I can't be mistaken. I

thought, when I was chasing after him, that it would turn out to

be Andy Foger, or some of the boys, but it was too big for them.

Addison Berg, eh? What can he be doing around here? I must not

tell Dad, or he'd worry himself sick. But I must be on my guard."

 

Tom examined the charm closely. It was a compass, but made in

an odd form, and was much ornamented.

 

The young inventor had noticed it on several occasions when he

had been in conversation with Mr. Berg previous to the attempt on

the part of the owners of the rival submarine to wreck Tom's

boat. He felt that he could not be mistaken in identifying the

charm.

 

"Berg was afraid I'd catch him, and ask for an explanation that

would have been awkward to make," thought the lad, as he turned

the charm over in his hand. "That's why he tripped me up. But

I'll get at the bottom of this yet. Maybe he wants to steal my

ideas for an electric car."

 

Tom's musings were suddenly interrupted by Mrs. Baggert.

 

"I hope you're not going to stand there all night," she said,

with a laugh. "You're in the middle of a puddle now, but when you

get over dreaming I'd like to mop it up."

 

"All right," agreed the young inventor, coming to himself

suddenly. "Guess I'd better go get some dry clothes on."

 

"You'd better go to bed," advised Mrs. Baggert. "That's where

your father and Mr. Sharp are. It's late."

 

The more Tom thought over the strange occurrence the more it

puzzled him. He mused over the presence of Berg as he went about

his work the next day, for that it was the agent whom he had

pursued he felt positive.

 

"But I can't figure out why he was hanging around here," mused

Tom.

 

Then, as he found that his thoughts over the matter were

interfering with his work, he resolutely put them from him, and

threw himself energetically into the labor of completing his

electric car. The new batteries, he found, were working well, and

in the next two days he had constructed several more, joining

them so as to get the combined effect.

 

It was the afternoon of the third day from Tom's unexpected

fall into the brook that the young inventor decided on the first

important test of his new device. He was going to try the motor,

running it with his storage battery. Some of the connections were

already in place, the wires being fastened to the side of the

shop, where they were attached to switches. Tom did not go over

these, taking it for granted that they were all right. He soon

had the motor, which he was to install in his car, wired to the

battery, and then he attached a gauge, to ascertain, by

comparison, how many miles he could hope to travel on one

charging of the storage battery.

 

"Guess I'll call Dad and Mr. Sharp in to see how it works,

before I turn on the current," he said to himself. He was about

to summon his parent and the aeronaut from an adjoining shop,

where they were working over a new form of dynamo, when the lad

caught sight of the watch charm he had left on his desk, in plain

sight.

 

"Better put that away," he remarked. "Dad or Mr. Sharp might

see it, and ask questions. Then I'd have to explain, and I don't

want to, not until I get further toward the bottom of this

thing."

 

He put the charm away, and then summoned his father and the

balloonist.

 

"You're going to see a fine experiment," declared Tom. "I'm

going to turn on the full strength of my battery."

 

"Are you sure it's all right, Tom?" asked his father. "You

can't be too careful when you're dealing with electricity of high

voltage, and great ampere strength.

 

"Oh, it's all right, Dad," his son assured him "Now watch my

motor hum."

 

He walked over to a big copper switch, and grasped the black

rubber handle to pull it over which would send the current from

the storage battery into the combination of wheels and gears that

he hoped, ultimately, would propel his electric automobile along

the highways, or on a track, at the rate of a hundred miles an

hour.

 

"Here she goes!" cried Tom. For an instant he hesitated and

then pulled the switch. At the same time his hand rested on

another wire, stretched across a bench.

 

No sooner had the switch closed than there was a blinding

flash, a report as of a gun being fired, and Tom's body seemed to

straighten out. Then a blue flame appeared to encircle him and he

dropped to the floor of the shop, an inert mass.

 

"He's killed!" cried Mr. Swift, springing forward.

 

"Careful!" cautioned the balloonist. "He's been shocked! Don't

touch him until I turn off the current!"  As he pulled out the

switch, the aeronaut gave a glance at the apparatus.

 

"There's something wrong here!" he cried. "The wires have been

crossed! That's what shocked Tom, but he never made the wrong

connections! He's too good an electrician! There's been some one

in this shop, changing the wires!"

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XII             THE TRY OUT

 

 

Once the current was cut off it was safe to approach the body

of the young inventor. Mr Sharp stooped over and lifted Tom's

form from the floor, for Mr. Swift was too excited and trembled

too much to be of any service. Our hero was as one dead. His body

was limp, after that first rigid stretching out, as the current

ran through him; his eyes were closed, and his face was very

pale.

 

"Is--is there any hope?" faltered Mr. Swift.

 

"I think so," replied the balloonist. "He is still breathing-

faintly. We must summon a doctor at once. Will you telephone for

one, while I carry him in the house?"

 

As Mr. Sharp emerged from the shop, bearing Tom's body, an

automobile drew up in front of the place.

 

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed a voice. "Tom's hurt! How did it

happen? Bless my very existence!"

 

"Oh, Mr. Damon, you're just in time!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp,

"Tom's had a bad shock. Will you go for a doctor in your auto?"

 

"Better than that! Let me take Tom in the car to Dr.

Whiteside's office," proposed the eccentric man. "It will be

better that way."

 

"Yes, yes," agreed Mr. Swift eagerly. "Put Tom in the auto!"

 

"If only it doesn't break down," added Mr. Damon fervently.

"Bless my spark plug, but it would be just my luck!"

 

But they started off all right, Mr. Swift riding in front with

Mr. Damon, and Mr. Sharp supporting Tom in the tonneau. Only a

little fluttering of the eyelids, and a slow, faint breathing

told that Tom Swift still lived.

 

Mr. Damon never guided a car better than he did his auto that

day. Several speed laws were broken, but no one appeared to stop

them, and, in record time they had the young inventor at the

physician's house. Fortunately Dr. Whiteside was at home, and,

under his skillful treatment Tom was soon out of danger. His

heart action was properly started, and then it was only a

question of time. As the doctor had plenty of room it was decided

to let the lad remain that night, and Tom was soon installed in a

spare bedroom, with the doctor's pretty daughter to wait on him

occasionally.

 

"Oh, I'm all right," the youth insisted, when Miss Whiteside

told him it was time for his medicine. "I'm all right."

 

"You're not!" she declared. "I ought to know, for I'm going to

be a nurse, some day, and help papa. Now take this or I'll have

to hold your nose, as they do the baby's," and she held out a

spoonful of unpleasant looking mixture, extending her dainty

forefinger and thumb of her other hand, as if to administer dire

punishment to Tom, if he did not obey.

 

"Well, I give in to superior strength," he said with a laugh,

as he noted, with approval, the laughing face of his nurse.

 

Then he fell into a deep sleep, and was so much better the next

morning that he could be taken home in Mr. Damon's auto.

 

"But mind, no hard work for three or four days," insisted the

physician. "I want your heart to get in shape for that big race

you were telling me about. The shock was a severe strain to it."

 

Tom promised, reluctantly, and, though he did no work, his

first act, on reaching home, was to go out to the shop, to

inspect the battery and motor. To his surprise the motor was

running for the lad had established the connection, in spite of

his shock and his father and Mr. Sharp had decided to let the

machinery run until he came back.

 

"And look at the record it's made!" cried Tom delightedly as he

glanced at the gauge "Better than I figured on. That battery is a

wonder. I'll have the fastest electric runabout you ever saw."

 

"If the wires don't get crossed again," put in Mr. Sharp.

"You'd better make an examination, Tom," and, for the first time,

the young inventor learned how he had been shocked.

 

"Crossed wires! I should say they were crossed!" he exclaimed

as he looked at the switches and copper conductors. "Somebody has

been tampering with them. No wonder I was shocked!"

 

"Who did it?" asked Mr. Sharp.

 

Tom considered for a moment, before answering. Then he said:

 

"I believe it was Addison Berg. He must have wanted to do some

damage, to get even with us for getting that treasure away from

him."

 

"Berg?" questioned the balloonist, and Tom told of the night he

had been tripped into the brook, and exhibited the watch charm he

had secured. Mr. Sharp recognized it at once. A further

examination confirmed the belief that the submarine agent had

sneaked into Tom's workshop, and had altered the wires.

 

"They were all right when I came out of the shop that night,"

declared Tom. "I left the old connections just as I thought I had

arranged them, and only added the new ones, when I went to try my

battery. The old connections were crossed, but I didn't notice

it. Then when I turned on the current I got the shock. I don't

s'pose Berg thought I'd be so nearly killed. Probably he wanted

to burn out my motor, and spoil it. If it was Andy Foger I could

understand it, but a man like Berg--"

 

"He's probably wild with anger because his submarine got the

worst of it in the race for the gold," interrupted the

balloonist. "Well, we'll have to be on our guard, that's all.

What was the matter with Eradicate, that he didn't see him enter

the shop?"

 

"Rad went to a colored dance that night," said Tom. "I let him

off. But after this I'll have the shop guarded night and day. My

motor might have been ruined, if that first charge hadn't gone

through my body instead of into the machinery."  The improper

connections were soon removed and others substituted.

 

It was agreed between Tom and Mr. Sharp that they would say

nothing regarding Mr. Berg to Mr. Swift. The aeronaut caused

cautious inquiries to be made, and learned that the agent had

been discharged by the submarine firm, because of some wrong-

doing in connection with the craft Wonder, and it was surmised

that the agent believed Tom to be at the bottom of his troubles.

 

In a few days the young inventor was himself again, and as

further trials of his battery showed it to be even better than

its owner hoped, arrangements were made for testing it in the car

on the road.

 

The runabout was nearly finished, but it lacked a coat of

varnish, and some minor details, when Tom, assisted by his

father, Mr Sharp and Mr. Jackson, one morning, about a week

later, installed the motor and battery units. It did not take

long to gear up the machinery, connect the battery and, though

the car was rather a crude looking affair, Tom decided to give it

a try-out

 

"Want to come along, Dad?" he asked, as he tightened up some

binding posts, and looked to see that the steering wheel,

starting and reverse levers worked properly, and that the side

chains were well lubricated.

 

"Not the first time," replied his father. "Let's see how it

runs with you, first."

 

"Oh, I want some sort of a load in it," went on the lad. "It

won't be a good test unless I have a couple of others besides

myself. How about you, Mr. Damon?" for the old gentleman was

spending a few days at the Swift homestead.

 

"Bless my shoe buttons! I'll come!" was the ready answer.

"After the experience I've been through in the airship and

submarine, nothing can scare me. Lead on, I'll follow!"

 

"I don't suppose you'll hang back after that; will you, Mr.

Sharp?" asked the lad, with a laugh.

 

"I don't dare to, for the sake of my reputation," was the

reply, for the balloonist who had made many ascensions, and

dropped thousands of feet in parachutes, was naturally a brave

man.

 

So he and Mr. Damon climbed into the rear seats of the odd-

looking electric car, while Tom took his place at the steering

wheel.

 

"Are you all ready?" he asked.

 

"Let her go!" fired back Mr. Sharp.

 

"Bless my galvanometer, don't go too fast on the start,"

cautioned Mr. Damon, nervously.

 

"I'll not," agreed the young inventor. "I want to get it warmed

up before I try any speeding."

 

He turned on the current. There was a low, humming purr, which

gradually increased to a whine, and the car moved slowly forward.

It rolled along the gravel driveway to the road, Tom listening to

every sound of the machinery, as a mother listens to the

breathing of a child.

 

"She's moving!" he cried.

 

"But not much faster than a wheelbarrow," said his father, who

sometimes teased his son.

 

"Wait!" cried the youth.

 

Tom turned more current into the motor. The purring and humming

increased, and the car seemed to leap forward. It was in the road

now, and, once assured that the steering apparatus was working

well, Tom suddenly turned on much more speed.

 

So quickly did the electric auto shoot forward that Mr. Damon

and Mr. Sharp were jerked back against the cushions of the rear

seats.

 

"Here! What are you doing?" inquired Mr. Sharp.

 

"I'm going to show you a little speed," answered Tom.

 

The car was now moving rapidly, and there was a smoothness and

lightness to its progress that was absent from a gasolene auto.

There was no vibration from the motor. Faster and faster it ran,

until it was moving at a speed scarcely less than that of Mr.

Damon's car, when it was doing its best. Of course that was not

saying much, for the car owned by the odd gentleman was not a

very powerful one, but it could make fast time occasionally.

 

"Is this the best you can do?" asked Mr. Damon. "Not that it

isn't fast," he hastened to add, "and I was wondering if it was

your limit."

 

"Not half!" cried Tom, as he turned on a little more power.

"I'm not trying for a record to-day. I just want to see how the

battery and motor behaves."

 

"Pretty well, I should say," commented Mr. Sharp.

 

"I'm satisfied--so far," agreed the lad.

 

They were now moving along the highway at a good speed--moving

almost silently, too, for the motor, save for a low hum, made no

noise. So quiet was the car, in fact, that it was nearly the

cause of a disaster. Tom was so interested in the performance of

his latest invention, that, before he knew it, he had come up

behind a farmer, driving a team of skittish horses. As the big

machine went past them, giving no warning of its approach, the

steeds reared up, and would have bolted, but for the prompt

action of the driver.

 

"Hey!" he cried, angrily, as Tom speeded past, "don't you know

you got to give warnin' when you're comin' with one of them ther

gol-swizzled things! By Jehossephat I'll have th' law on ye ef ye

do thet ag'in!"

 

"I forgot to ring the bell," apologized Tom, as he sent out a

peal from the gong, and then, he let out a few more amperes, and

the speed increased.

 

"Hold on! I guess this is fast enough!" cried Mr. Damon, as his

hat blew off.

 

"Fast?" answered Tom. "This is nothing to what I'll do when I

use the full power. Then I'll--"

 

He was interrupted by a sharp report, and a vivid flash of fire

on a switch board near the steering wheel. The motor gave a sort

of groan, and stopped, the car rolling on a little way, and then

becoming stationary.

 

"Bless my collar button!" ejaculated Mr. Damon.

 

"What's the matter?" inquired Mr. Sharp.

 

"Some sort of a blow-out," answered Tom ruefully, as he shoved

the starting handle over, trying to move the car. But it would

not budge. The new auto had "gone dead" on her first tryout. The

young inventor was grievously disappointed.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIII            TOWED BY A MULE

 

 

"Bless my gizzard! Is it anything serious?" asked Mr. Damon.

"Will it blow up, or anything like that?"

 

"No," replied the lad, as he leaped out of the car, and began

to make an examination. Mr. Sharp assisted him.

 

"The motor seems to be all right," remarked the balloonist, as

he inspected it.

 

"Yes," agreed our hero, "and the batteries have plenty of power

left in them yet. The gauge shows that. I can't understand what

the trouble can be, unless--" He paused in his remark and uttered

an exclamation. "I've found it!" he cried.

 

"What?" demanded the aeronaut.

 

"Some of the fuses blew out. I turned on too much current, and

the fuses wouldn't carry it. I put them in to save the motor from

being burned out, but I didn't use heavy enough ones. I see where

my mistake was."

 

"But what does it mean?" inquired Mr. Damon.

 

"It means that we've got to walk back home," was Tom's

sorrowful answer. "The car is stalled, for I haven't any extra

fuses with me."

 

"Can't you connect up the battery by using some extra wire?"

asked Mr. Sharp. "I have some," and he drew a coil of it from his

pocket.

 

"I wouldn't dare to. It might be so heavy that it would carry

more current than the motor could stand. I don't want to burn

that out. No, I guess we'll have to walk home, or rather I will.

You two can stay here until I come back with heavier fuses. I'm

sorry."

 

Tom had hardly ceased speaking, when, from around the turn in

the road proceeded a voice, and, at the sound of it all three

started, for the voice was saying:

 

"Now it ain't no use fer yo' to act dat-a-way, Boomerang. Yo'

all ain't got no call t' git contrary now, jest when I wants t'

git home t' mah dinner. I should t'ink you'd want t' git t' de

stable, too. But ef yo' all ain't mighty keerful I'll cut down

yo' rations, dat's what I'se goin' to do. G'lang, now, dat's a

good feller. Ho! Ho! I knowed dat'd fetch yo' all. When yo' all

wiggles yo' ears dat-a-way, dat's a suah sign yo' all is gwine t'

move."

 

Then followed the sound of a rattletrap of a wagon approaching.

 

"Eradicate! It's Eradicate!" exclaimed Tom.

 

"And his mule, Boomerang!" added Mr. Sharp. "He's just in

time!" commented Mr. Damon with a sigh of relief, as the ancient

outfit, in charge of the aged colored man, came along. Eradicate

had been sent to Shopton to get a load of wood for Mr. Swift, and

was now returning. At the sight of the stalled auto the mule

pricked up his long ears, and threw them forward.

 

"Whoa dar, now, Boomerang!" cried Eradicate. "Doan't yo' all

commence t' gittin' skittish. Dat machine ain't gwine t' hurt

yo'. Why good  land a' massy! Ef 'tain't Mistah Swift!" cried the

colored man, as he caught sight of Tom. "What's de trouble?" he

asked.

 

"Broke down," answered the young inventor briefly. "You always

seem to come along when I'm in trouble, Rad."

 

"Dat's right," assented the darkey, with a grin. "Me an'

trouble am ole acquaintances. Sometimes she hits me a clip on de

haid, den, ag'in Boomerang, mah mule, gits it. He jest had his

trouble. Got a stone under his shoe, an' didn't want t' move. Den

when I did git him started he balked on me. But I'se all right

now. But I suah am sorry fo' you. Can't I help yo' all, Mistah

Swift?"

 

"Yes, you can, Rad," answered Tom. "Drive home as fast as you

can, and ask Dad to send back with you some of those fuses he'll

find on my work bench. He knows what I want. Hurry there and

hurry back."

 

Eradicate shook his head doubtfully.

 

"What's the matter? Don't you want to go?" asked Mr. Sharp, a

trifle nettled. "We can't get the car started until we have some

new fuses.."

 

"Oh, I wants t' go all right 'nuff, Mistah Sharp," was

Eradicate's prompt answer. "Yo' all knows I'd do anyt'ing t'

'blige yo' or Mistah Swift. But hits dish yeah mule, Boomerang. I

jest done promised him dat we were gwine home t' dinnah, an' he

'spects a manger full ob oats. Ef I got to Mistah Swift's house

wid him, I couldn't no mo' git him t' come back widout his

dinnah, dan yo' all kin git dat 'ar car t' move widout dem fusin'

t'ings yo' all talked about."

 

"Bless my necktie!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "That's all nonsense!

You don't suppose that mule understands what you say to him, do

you? How does he know you promised him his dinner?"

 

"I doan't know how he know, Mistah Damon," replied Eradicate,

"but he do know, jest de same. I know hit would be laik pullin'

teeth an' wuss too, t' git Boomerang t' start back wid dem foosd

t'ings until after he's had his dinner. Wouldn't it, Boomerang?"

 

The mule waved his long ears as if in answer.

 

"Bless my soul, I believe he does understand!" cried Mr. Damon.

 

"Of course he do," put in the colored man. "I'se awful sorry.

Now if it were afternoon I could bring back dem what-d'ye-call-

'ems in a jiffy, 'cause Boomerang allers feels good arter he has

his dinnah, but befo' dat--" and Eradicate shook his head, as if

there was no more to be said on the subject.

 

"Well," remarked Tom, sadly, "I guess there's no help for it.

We'll have to walk home, unless you two want to wait until I can

ride back with Eradicate, and come back on my motor cycle. Then

I'll have to leave the cycle here, for I can't get it in the

car."

 

"Bless my collar button!" cried Mr. Damon. "It's like the

puzzle of the fox, the goose and the bag of corn on the banks of

a stream. I guess we'd better all walk."

 

"Hold on!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp. "Is your mule good and strong,

Eradicate?"

 

"Strong? Why dish yeah mule could pull a house ober--dat is

when he's got a mind to. An' he'd do most anyt'ing now, 'ca'se

he's anxious t' git home t' his dinnah; ain't yo' all,

Boomerang?"

 

Once more the mule waved his ears, like signal flags.

 

"Then I have a proposition to make," went on the balloonist.

"Unhitch the mule from the load of wood, and hitch him to the

auto. We've got some rope along, I noticed. Then the mule can

pull us and the runabout home."

 

"Good idea!" cried Mr. Damon.

 

"Dat's de racket!" ejaculated Eradicate. "I'll jest

sequesterate dish year load ob wood side ob de road, an' hitch

Boomerang to de auto."

 

Tom said nothing for a few seconds.  He gazed sadly at his

auto, which he hoped would win the touring club's prize. It was a

bitter pill for him to swallow.

 

"Towed by a mule!" he exclaimed, shaking his head, and smiling

ruefully. "The fastest car in this country towed by a mule! It's

tough luck!"

 

"'Tain't half so bad as goin' widout yo' dinnah, Mistah Swift!"

remarked Eradicate, as he began to harness the mule to the

electric runabout.

 

Boomerang made no objection to the transfer. He looked around

once or twice as he was being made fast to the auto and, when the

word was given he stepped out as if pulling home stalled cars was

his regular business. Tom sat beside Eradicate on the front seat,

and steered, while the colored man drove the mule, and Mr. Sharp

and Mr. Damon were in the "tonneau" seats as Tom called them.

 

"I hope no one sees us," thought Tom, but he was doomed to

disappointment. When nearly home he heard an auto approaching,

and in it were Andy Foger, Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey. The

three cronies stared at the odd sight of Boomerang ambling along,

with his great ears flapping, drawing Tom's speedy new car.

 

"Ha! Ha!" laughed Andy. "So that's the motive power he's going

to use! Look at him, fellows. I thought his new electric, that

was going to beat my car, and win the prize, was to be two

hundred horse power. Instead it's one mule power! That's rich!"

and Andy's chums joined in the laugh at poor Tom.

 

The young imventor said nothing, for there was nothing he could

say. In dignified silence he passed the car containing his

enemies, they, meanwhile, jeering at him.

 

"Dat's all right," spoke Eradicate, sympathizing with his young

employer. "Maybe dey'll 'want a tow derselves some day, an' when

dey does, I'll make Boomerang pull 'em in a ditch."

 

But this was small comfort to Tom. He made up his mind, though,

that he would demonstrate that his car could do all that he had

claimed for it, and that very soon.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIV             A GREAT RUN

 

 

Boomerang did not belie the reputation Eradicate had given him

as a beast of strength. Though the electric runabout was heavy,

the mule managed to move it along the road at a fair speed, with

the four occupants. Perhaps the animal knew that at the end of

his journey a good feed awaited him. At any rate they were soon

within sight of the Swift home.

 

Mr. Damon and Mr. Sharp refrained from making any comments that

might hurt Tom's feelings, for they realized the chagrin felt by

the young inventor in having his apparatus go back on him at the

first trial. But our hero was not the kind of a lad who is

disheartened by one failure, or even half a dozen.

 

The humor of the situation appealed to him, and, as he turned

the auto into the driveway, and noticed Boomerang's long ears

waving to and fro, he laughed.

 

The lad insisted on putting new fuses in the car before he ate

his dinner, and then, satisfied that the motor was once more in

running order, he partook of a hasty meal, and began making

several changes which he had decided were desirable. He finished

them in time to go for a little run in the car all alone on a

secluded road late that afternoon.

 

Tom returned, with eyes shining, and cheeks flushed with

elation.

 

"Well, how did it go? asked his father.

 

"Fine! Better than I expected," responded his son

enthusiastically. "When it gets to running smoothly I'll pass

anything on the road."

 

"Don't be too sure," cautioned Mr. Swift, but Tom only smiled.

 

There was still much to do on the electric runabout, and Tom

spent the next few days in adjusting the light steel wind-shield,

that was to come down over the driver's seat. He also put in a

powerful electric search-light, which was run by current from the

battery, and installed a new speedometer and an instrument to

tell how much current he was using, and how much longer the

battery would run without being exhausted. This was to enable him

to know when to begin re-charging it. When the current was all

consumed it was necessary to store more in the battery. This

could be done by attaching wires from a dynamo, or, in an

emergency by tapping an electric light wire in the street. But as

the battery would enable the car to run many miles on one

charging, Tom did not think he would ever have to resort to the

emergency charging apparatus. He had a new system for this, one

that enabled him to do the work in much less than the usual time.

 

With his new car still unpainted, and rather rough and crude in

appearance, the lad started out alone one morning, his father and

Mr. Sharp having declined to accompany him, on the plea of

business to attend to, and Mr. Damon not being at the Swift

house.

 

Tom rode about for several hours, giving his car several severe

tests in the way of going up hills, and speeding on the level. He

was proceeding along a quiet country road, in a small town about

fifteen miles from Shopton, when, as he flashed past the small

railroad station, he saw a familiar figure standing on the

platform.

 

"Why, Ned!" called Tom, "what are you doing over here?"

 

"I might ask the same thing of you. Is that your new car? It

doesn't look very new."

 

"Yes, this is it. I haven't had a chance to paint and varnish

it yet. But you ought to see it go. What are doing here, though?"

 

"I came over on some bank business. A customer here had some

bonds he wanted to dispose of and I came for them. You see we're

enlarging our business since the new bank started."

 

"Has it hurt your bank any?"

 

"Not yet, but Foger and his associates are trying hard to make

us lose money. Say, did you ever see such a place as this? I've

got to wait two hours for a train back to Shopton."

 

"No you haven't."

 

"Why not? Have they changed the timetable since I came over

this morning?"

 

"No, but you can ride back with me.  I'm going, and I'll show

you what my new electric car can do."

 

"Good!" cried the young bank cashier. "You're just in time. I

was wondering how I could kill two hours, but now I'll get in

your new car and--"

 

"And maybe we'll kill a few chickens, or a dog or two when we

get her speeded up," put in Tom, with a laugh in which Ned

joined.

 

The two lads, seated in the front part of the auto, were soon

moving down the hard highway. Suddenly Tom pulled a lever and the

steel wind-shield came sliding down from the top case, meeting

the forward battery compartment, and forming a sort of slanting

roof over the heads of the two occupants.

 

"Here! What's this?" cried Ned.

 

"We're going to hit it up in a few minutes," replied the young

inventor, "and I want to reduce the wind resistance."

 

"Oh, I thought maybe we were going through a bombardment. It's

all right, go ahead, don't mind me. I'm game."

 

There was a celluloid window in the steel wind-shield, and

through this the lads could observe the road ahead of them.

 

As they swung along it, the speed increasing, Ned saw an auto

ahead of them.

 

"Whose car is that?" he asked.

 

"Don't know," replied Tom. "We'll be up to it in about half a

minute, though."

 

As the electric runabout, more dilapidated looking than ever

from the layer of dust that covered it, passed the other auto,

which was a powerful car, the solitary occupant of it, a middle-

aged man, looked to one side, and, seeing the queer machine,

remarked:

 

"You fellows are going the wrong way to the junk heap. Turn

around."

 

"Is that so?" asked Tom, his eyes flashing at the cheap wit of

the man. "Why we came out here to show you the way!"

 

"Do you want to race?" asked the man eagerly, too eagerly, Ned

thought. "I'll give you a brush, if you do, and a handicap into

the bargain."

 

"We don't need it," replied the young inventor quickly.

 

"I'll wager fifty dollars I can beat you bad on this three-mile

stretch," went on the autoist. "How about it?"

 

"I'll race you, but I don't bet," answered Tom, a bit stiffly.

 

"Oh, be a sport," urged the man.

 

Tom shook his head. He had slowed down his machine, and was

running even with the gasolene car now. He noticed that it was a

new one, of six cylinders, and looked speedy. Perhaps he was

foolish to pit his untried car against it. Yet he had confidence

in his battery and motor.

 

"Well, we'll race for the fun of it then," went on the man. "Do

you want a handicap?"

 

Tom shook his head again, and there came around his mouth a

grim look.

 

"All right," assented the other. "Only you're going to be beat

badly. I never saw an electric car yet that could do anything

except to crawl along."

 

"You're going to see one now," was all the retort Tom permitted

himself.

 

"Here we go then!" cried the man, and he gave his gear handle a

yank, and shoved over the sparking and gasolene levers.

 

His car instantly shot ahead, and went "chug chugging" down the

road in a cloud of dust. At the same moment Tom, in answer to a

look from Ned, who feared his friend was going to be left behind,

turned more power into the motor. The humming, purring sound

increased and the electric car forged ahead.

 

"Can you catch him?" asked Ned.

 

"Watch," was all Tom said.

 

The hum of the motor became a sort of whine, and the electric

rapidly acquired speed. It crept up on the gasolene car, as an

express train overtakes a freight, and the man, looking back, and

expecting to see his rival far behind was surprised to note the

queer looking vehicle lapping his rear wheels.

 

"Well, you are coming on, aren't you?" he asked. "Maybe you'll

keep up now!" He shifted the gears, using a little more gasolene.

For a moment his car opened a wide gap between it and Tom's, but

the young inventor had only begun to race. Still louder purred

the motor, and in a few minutes Tom was running on even terms

with his competitor. The man looked annoyed, and tried, by the

skilful use of gasolene and sparking levers, to leave Tom behind.

But the electric held her own.

 

"I've got to go the limit I see," remarked the man at last,

glancing sideways at the other car. "I'll tell 'em you're

coming," he added, "though I must say your electric does better

than any of its kind I ever came across."

 

"I'm not done yet," was the comment of our hero. But the man

did not hear him, for he was yanking into place the lever that

enabled him to run on direct drive for fourth speed.

 

Forward shot his car, and, for perhaps a quarter of a mile it

led. The racers were almost at the end of the three-mile level

stretch of road, and if Tom was going to win the impromptu

contest it seemed high time he began.

 

"Can you catch him?" asked Ned anxiously.

 

"Watch," was his chum's reply. "I haven't used my high speed

gear yet. I'm afraid the fuses won't stand it, but here goes for

a try, anyhow."

 

He threw over a switch, changed a lever and then, having pushed

into place the last gear, he grasped the steering wheel more

firmly.

 

There was need of it, for, in an instant, the electric

runabout, with the motors fairly roaring, swept up the road,

after the gasolene car that was almost hidden from sight in a

cloud of dust. Faster and faster went Tom's car. The young

inventor was listening with critical ear to the song of the

machinery. He wanted to learn if it was running sweet and true,

for that is how a careful mechanic tests his apparatus. Foot by

foot the distance between the two cars lessened. Now the electric

was lapping the rear wheels of the gasolene machine, but the

driver did not know it. His whole attention was on the road ahead

of him.

 

"Half a mile more!" cried Ned, naming the distance which yet

remained of the straight stretch. "Can you do it, Tom?"

 

His chum nodded. He shoved the controller handle over to the

last notch, and then waited an anxious second. Would the fuse

carry the extra load? It seemed so, for there was a slight

increase of power.

 

An instant later Tom gave a sudden twist to the steering wheel.

It was well that he did, for he was passing the gasolene car

dangerously close. Then he was ahead of it, and in a second he

was three lengths in advance.

 

Desperately the man opened his muffler, and sought to gain by

this advantage, but though his car gave off explosions like a

battery of guns in action, he could not gain on Tom. The electric

shot around a curve in the road, winner of the impromptu race by

an eighth of a mile.

 

"Well," asked Tom of his chum, as he slowed down, for the road

now was not so good, "did I do it?"

 

"You certainly did. Whew! But we did scoot along?"

 

"Eighty miles an hour there one spell," went on the young

inventor, glancing at a gauge. "But I've got to do better than

that to win the big race."

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XV              ANDY FOGER'S BLACK EYE

 

 

Around the bend came the six-cylinder touring car. The driver,

with a surprised look on his face, was slacking up. He ran his

machine up alongside of Tom's.

 

"Say," he asked, in dazed tones, "did you take a short cut, or

anything like that to get ahead of me?"

 

"No," answered the youth.

 

"And you didn't jump me in the air?"

 

"No," was Tom's answer, smilingly given.

 

"Well, all I've got to say is that you've got a wonderful car

there, Mr.--er--er--"  He paused suggestively.

 

"Swift is my name," our hero answered. "Thomas Swift, of

Shopton."

 

"Ah, I've heard of you. My name is Layton --Paul Layton. I'm

from Netherton. Let's see, you built an airship, didn't you?"

 

"I helped," Tom admitted modestly.

 

"Well, you beat me fair and square, and if I do say it myself

I've got a fairly speedy car. Took two firsts at the Indianapolis

meet last month. But you certainly scooted ahead of me. Where did

you buy that electric, if I may ask?"

 

"I made it."

 

"I might have known," admitted the man. "But are you going to

put them on the market? If you are I'd like to get one. I want

the fastest car going, and you seem to have it."

 

"I hadn't thought of manufacturing them for sale," said the

young inventor. "If I do, I'll let you know."

 

"I wish you would. My! I had no idea you could beat me, but you

did--fair and square."

 

There was some more talk, and then Mr. Layton started on, after

exacting from Tom a further promise to let him know if any

electrics were to be made for sale.

 

"You certainly have a wonderful car," complimented Ned, as he

and his chum took a short cut to Shopton.

 

"Well, I'm not quite satisfied with it," declared Tom.

 

"Why not?"

 

"Well, I've set a hundred miles an hour as my limit. I didn't

make but eighty to-day. I've got to have more speed if I go up

against the crowd that will race for the touring club's prize."

 

"Can you make a hundred miles?"

 

"I think so. I've got to change my gears, though, and use

heavier fuses. I was afraid every second that one of the fuses

would melt, and leave me stranded. But they stood pretty well. Of

course, when the car, geared as it is now, has been run a little

longer it will go faster, but it won't come up to a hundred miles

an hour. That's what I want, and that's what I'm going to get,"

and the lad looked very determined.

 

Ned was taken to the bank, and, as Tom turned his machine

around, to go home, he saw, standing on the steps of the new

bank, which was almost across the street from the old one, Andy

Foger, and the bully's father. The red-haired lad laughed at

Tom's rough looking car, and said something to his parent, but

Mr. Foger did not notice Tom. Not that this caused our hero any

uneasiness, however.

 

But, as he swung away from the bank, he saw, coming up the

street a figure that instantly attracted his attention. It was

that of Mr. Berg, and Tom at once recalled the night he had

pursued the submarine agent, and torn loose his watch charm. Mr.

Berg was evidently going to enter the new bank, for, at the sight

of the former agent, Mr. Foger descended the steps, and went to

meet him.

 

Tom, however, had decided upon a plan of action. He steered his

machine in toward the curb, ran up the steel wind-shield, and

called:

 

"Mr. Berg!"

 

"Eh? What's that?" asked the agent, in some surprise. Then, as

he caught sight of Tom, and recognized him, he added: "I'm very

busy now, my young friend. You'll have to excuse me."

 

"I won't detain you a moment," went on Tom, casually. "I have

something of yours that I wish to return to you."

 

"Something of mine?" Mr. Berg was evidently puzzled. He

approached the electric car, in spite of the fact that Mr. Foger

was calling him. "Something of mine? What is it?"

 

"This!" exclaimed Tom suddenly, extending the compass watch

charm, which he always carried with him of late.

 

"That! Where did you get that. I lost it--"

 

Mr. Berg paused in some confusion.

 

"I grabbed it off your watch chain the night you were hiding in

our shrubbery, and tripped me into the brook," answered the lad,

looking the man squarely in the eye.

 

"Hiding? Tripped you? Grabbed that off my chain--" stammered

Mr. Berg. He had taken the charm up in his fingers, but now he

quickly dropped it back into Tom's hand. "I guess you're

mistaken," he added quickly. "That's not mine. I never had one--

I--er--that's not mine--at least--Oh, you'll have to excuse me,

young man, I'm in a hurry, and I have an important engagement!"

and with that Mr. Berg wheeled off, and joined Mr. Foger, who

stood on the sidewalk, waiting for him.

 

"I thought sure it was yours," said Tom, easily. "Perhaps Mr.

Foger will keep it in one of the safety-deposit boxes of his

bank, until the owner claims it," and he looked at the banker.

 

"What's that?" asked Andy's father.

 

"This watch charm which I grabbed off Mr. Berg's chain the

night he was sneaking around our house, and crossed the electric

wires," went on the lad.

 

"Don't listen to him. He doesn't know what he is saying!"

exclaimed the former submarine boat agent. "It's not my charm.

He's crazy!"

 

"Oh, am I?" thought Tom, with a grim look on his face. "Well,

we'll see about that, Mr. Berg," and, putting the charm back in

his pocket, Tom swung his machine toward home, while the agent

and the banker entered the new institution.

 

"So they're getting chummy," mused Tom. "Andy and Berg were

friends when Andy shut me up in the submarine tank, and now Berg

comes here to do business, and Foger and his associates are

trying to put the old bank out of business. I wonder if there's

any connection there? I must keep my eyes open. Berg is an

unscrupulous man, and so is Andy's father, to say nothing of the

red-haired bully himself. He had nerve to deny that was his

charm. Well, maybe I'll catch him some day."

 

Tom spent a busy week making new adjustments to his electric

car, changing the gear and providing for heavier fuses. He was

planning for another trip on the road, as the time for the great

race was drawing near, and he wanted the mechanism to be in

perfect shape.

 

One evening, as he was preparing for a short night trip to

Mansburg, where he had promised to call for Miss Nestor, Tom left

his machine standing in the road in front of the house, while he

went back to get a robe, as it threatened to be chilly.

 

As he came back to enter the car, he saw some one standing near

it.

 

"Is that you, Ned?" he called. "Come, take a spin."

 

Hardly had he spoken than there sounded from the machine a

whirr that told of the current being turned on.

 

"Don't do that!" cried Tom, knowing at once that it could not

be Ned, who never meddled with the machinery.

 

A blinding flash and a loud report followed, and Tom saw some

one leap from his car, and try to run away. But the figure

stumbled, and, a moment later the young inventor was upon him,

grappling with him.

 

"Here! Let me go!" cried a voice, and Tom uttered an

exclamation of surprise.

 

"Andy Foger!" he cried. "I've caught you! You tried to damage

my car!"

 

"Yes, and I'm hurt, too!" whined Andy. "My father will sue you

for damages if I die."

 

"No danger of that; you're too mean," murmured Tom, as he

maintained a tight grip on the bully.

 

"You let me go!" demanded Andy, squirming to get away.

 

"Wait until I see what damage you've done,'~ retorted the young

inventor. "The worst, though, would be the blowing out of a fuse,

for I had the gear disconnected. You wait a minute now. Maybe

it's you who'll have to pay damages."

 

"You let me go!" fairly screamed Andy, and he aimed a blow at

Tom. It caught our hero on the chest and Tom's fighting blood was

up in an instant. He drew back his left hand, and delivered a

blow that landed fairly on Andy's right eye. The bully staggered

and went down in the dust.

 

"There!" cried Tom, righteously angry. "That will teach you not

to try to damage my car, and then hit me into the bargain! Now

clear out, before I give you some more!"

 

Whining and blubbering Andy arose to his feet.

 

"You just wait. I'll get square with you for this," he

threatened.

 

"You can accept part of that as pay for what you did in the tar

and feathering game," added Tom. Then, as Andy moved in front of

one of the electric side lamps on the car, Tom uttered a whistle

of surprise. For both of Andy's eyes were bruised and swollen,

though Tom had only hit him once.

 

"Look at me!" cried the bully, more squint-eyed than ever.

"Look at me! You hit me in one eye, and that explosion hit me in

the other! My father will sue you for this."

 

As he hurried off down the road Tom understood. Andy coming

along, had seen Tom's car standing there, and, thinking to do

some mischief, had climbed in, and turned on the power. Perhaps

he hoped it would run into the roadside ditch and be smashed. But

as the gear was out, turning on the electric current had a

different effect. As the bully pulled the handle over too

quickly, throwing almost the entire force of the battery into the

wires at once, the load was too heavy for them. A safety fuse

blew out, causing the flare and the explosion, and a piece of the

soft lead-like metal had hit the red-haired lad in the eye. Tom's

fist had completed the work on the other optic, and for several

days thereafter Andy Foger remained in seclusion. When he did go

out there were many embarrassing questions put to him, as to when

he had had the fight. Andy didn't care to answer. As for Tom, it

did not take long to put a new fuse in his car, and he greatly

enjoyed his ride with Miss Nestor that night.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVI             TROUBLE AT THE BANK

 

 

Coming in rather late from his trip to Mansburg, and thinking

of some things he and Miss Nestor had talked about, Tom was

rather surprised, on reaching the house, to see a light in his

father's particular room, where the aged inventor did his reading

and his planning of new devices.

 

"Dad's up rather late," said Tom to himself. "I wonder if he's

studying over some new machine."

 

The lad ran his auto into the temporary garage he had built for

it, and connected the wires of a burglar alarm he had arranged,

to give warning in case any of his enemies should seek to damage

the car.

 

Tom encountered Garret Jackson, the aged inventor who was going

his rounds, seeing that everything was all right about the

various shops.

 

"Anybody with my father, Garret?" asked the lad. "I see he's

still up."

 

"Yes," was the rather unexpected reply. "Mr. Damon is with him.

They've been in your father's room all the evening--ever since

you went away in the car."

 

"Anything the matter?" inquired the young inventor, a bit

anxious, as he thought of the Happy Harry gang.

 

"Well, I don't know," and the engineer seemed puzzled. "They

called me in once to know if everything was all right outside,

and to inquire if you were back. I saw, then, that they were busy

figuring over something, but I didn't take much notice. Only I

heard Mr. Damon say: 'There's going to be trouble if we can't

realize on those bonds,' and then I came away."

 

"Is that all he said?" asked Tom.

 

"No, he said 'Bless my buttons,' or something like that; but he

blesses so many things I didn't pay much attention."

 

"That's right," agreed the lad. "But I wonder what the trouble

is about? I must go see."

 

As he passed along the hall, out of which his father's combined

study and library opened, the aged inventor came to the door.

 

"Is that you, Tom?" he asked.

 

"Yes, Dad."

 

"Come in here, if you haven't anything else to do. Mr. Damon is

here."

 

Tom needed but a single glance at the faces of his father and

Mr. Damon to see that something was troubling the two. The table

in front of them was littered with papers covered with rows of

figures.

 

"What's the matter?" asked Tom.

 

"Well, I suppose I ought not to let it bother me, but it does,"

replied his father.

 

"Something wrong with your patents, Dad? Has the crowd of bad

men been bothering you again?"

 

"No, it isn't that. It's trouble at the bank, Tom."

 

"Has it been robbed again?" asked the lad quickly. "If it has I

can prove an alibi," and he smiled at the recollection of the

time he and Mr. Damon had been accused of looting the vault, as

told in "Tom Swift and His Airship."

 

"No, it hasn't been robbed in just that way," put in Mr. Damon.

"But, bless my shoe laces, it's almost as bad! You see, Tom,

since Mr. Foger started the new bank he's done his best to

cripple the one in which your father and I are interested. I may

say we are very vitally interested in it, for, since the

withdrawal of Foger and his associates, your father and I have

been elected directors."

 

"I didn't know that," remarked the lad.

 

"No, I didn't tell you, because you were so busy on your

electric car," rejoined Mr. Swift. "But Mr. Damon and I, being

both large depositors, were asked to assume office, and, as I was

not very busy on patent affairs, I consented."

 

"But what is the trouble?" inquired Tom.

 

"I'm coming to it," resumed Mr. Damon. "Bless my check book,

I'm coming to it! You see we have lost several good customers, by

reason of Foger opening the new bank. That wouldn't have mattered

so much, as between your father and myself, and one or two

others, we have enough capital to carry on the business of the

bank. But there is a more serious matter. We hold a number of

very good securities, but they are of a class hard to realize

cash for, on short notice. In other words they are not active

bonds, though they are issued by reliable concerns. Then, too,

the bank has lost considerable money by not doing as much

business as it formerly did. In short we don't know just what to

do, Tom, and your father and I were discussing it, when you came

in."

 

"Do you need more money?" asked Tom. "I have some, that is my

share from the submarine treasure, and some I have allowed to

accumulate as royalties from my patents. It's about ten thousand

dollars, and you're welcome to it."

 

"Thank you, Tom," spoke his father. "We may use your cash, but

we'll need a great deal more than that."

 

"But why?" asked the lad. "I don't understand. If you have good

bonds, can't you dispose of them, and get the money?"

 

"We could, Tom, yes, if we had time," replied Mr. Damon. "But

to throw the bonds on the market at short notice would mean that

we would not get a good price for them. We would lose

considerable."

 

"But why do it in a hurry?"

 

"Because there is need of hurry," responded Mr. Swift.

 

"That's it," joined in Mr. Damon. "We have to have cash in a

hurry, Tom, to meet pressing demands, and we don't just see our

way clear to get it. I am trying to raise it on some private

securities I own, but I can't get an answer within several days.

Meanwhile the bank may fail, because of lack of funds. Of course

no one would lose anything, ultimately, as we could go into the

hands of a receiver, and, eventually pay dollar for dollar. Your

father and I, and some of the other directors, might lose a

little, but the depositors would not. But your father and I don't

like the idea of failing. It's something I've never done, and I'm

too old to start in now, bless my cash ledger if I'm not!"

 

"And for the sake of my reputation in this community I don't

want to see the bank close its doors," added Mr. Swift. "It would

give Foger too good a chance to crow over us."

 

"And you need cash in a hurry," went on Tom. "How much?"

 

"Fifty thousand dollars at least," replied Mr. Damon.

 

"And if you don't get it?"

 

The eccentric man shrugged his shoulders.

 

"Well," remarked Mr. Swift musingly, "I don't see that we need

worry you about it, Tom. Perhaps--"

 

Mr. Swift was interrupted by a ring at the front door. The

three looked at each other. It was late for a caller, and Mrs.

Baggert had gone to bed.

 

"I'll answer it," volunteered Tom. He switched on the electric

light in the hall, and opened the door. He was confronted by Mr.

Pendergast, the president of the bank.

 

"Is your father in?" asked Mr. Pendergast, and he seemed to be

much agitated.

 

"Yes, he is," replied the lad. "Come this way, please."

 

"I want to see him on important business," went on the

president, as he followed the young inventor. "I'm afraid I have

bad news for him and Mr. Damon. Bad news, Tom, bad news," and the

aged banker's voice trembled. Tom, with a chill of apprehension

seeming to clutch his heart, threw open the library door.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVII            A RUN ON THE BANK

 

 

"Why, Mr. Pendergast!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, rising quickly as

Tom ushered in the aged president. "Whatever is the matter? You

here at this hour? Bless my trial balance! Is anything wrong?

 

"I'm afraid there is," answered the bank head. "I have just

received word which made it necessary for me to see you both at

once. I'm glad you're here, Mr. Damon."

 

He sank wearily into a chair which Tom placed for him, and Mr.

Swift asked:

 

"Have you been able to raise any cash, Mr. Pendergast?"

 

"No, I am sorry to say I have not, but I did not come here to

tell you that. I have bad news for you. As soon as we open our

doors in the morning, there will be a run on the bank." "A run on

the bank?" repeated Mr. Swift.

 

"The moment we begin business in the morning," went on Mr.

Pendergast.

 

"Bless my soul, then don't begin business!" cried Mr. Damon.

 

"We must," insisted Mr. Pendergast. "To keep the doors closed

would be a confession at once that we have failed. No, it is

better to open them, and stand the run as long as we can. When we

have exhausted our cash--" he paused.

 

"Well?" asked Mr. Damon.

 

"Then we'll fail--that's all."

 

"But we mustn't let the bank fail!" cried Mr. Swift. "I am

willing to put some of my personal fortune into the bank capital

in order to save it. So is my son here."

 

"That's right," chimed in Tom heartily. "All I've got. I'm not

going to let Andy Foger get ahead of us; nor his father either."

 

"I'll help to the limit of my ability," added Mr. Damon.

 

"I appreciate all that," continued the president. "But the

unfortunate part of it is that we need cash. You gentlemen, like

myself, probably, have your money tied up in stocks and bonds. It

is hard to get cash quickly, and we must have cash as soon as we

open in the morning, to pay the depositors who will come flocking

to the doors. We must prepare for a run on the bank."

 

"How do you know there will be a run?" asked the young

inventor.

 

"I received word this evening, just before I came here,"

replied Mr. Pendergast. "A poor widow, who has a small amount in

the bank, called on me and said she had been advised to withdraw

all her cash. She said she preferred to see me about it first, as

she did not like to lose her interest. She said a number of her

acquaintances, some of whom are quite heavy depositors, had also

been warned that the bank was unsound, and that they ought to

take out their savings and deposits at once."

 

"Did she say who had thus warned her?" inquired Mr. Swift.

 

"She did," was the reply, "and that shows me that there is a

conspiracy on foot to ruin our bank. She stated that Mr. Foger

had told her our institution was unsound."

 

"Mr. Foger!" cried Mr. Damon. "So this is one of his tricks to

bolster up his new bank! He hopes the people who withdraw their

money from our bank will deposit with him. I see his game. He's a

scoundrel, and if it's possible I'm going to sue him for damages

after this thing is over."

 

"Did he warn the others?" inquired the aged inventor.

 

"Not all of them," answered the president. "Some received

letters from a man signing himself Addison Berg, warning them

that our bank, was likely to fail any day."

 

"Addison Berg!" exclaimed Tom. "That must have been the

important business he had with Mr. Foger, the day I showed him

the watch charm! They were plotting the ruin of our bank then,"

and he told his father about his disastrous pursuit of the

submarine agent.

 

"Very likely Foger is working with Berg," admitted Mr. Damon.

"We will attend to them later. The question is, what can we do to

save the bank?"

 

"Get cash, and plenty of it," advised Mr. Pendergast. "Suppose

we go over the whole situation again?" and they fell to talking

stocks: bonds, securities, mortgages and interest, until the

youth, interested as he was in the situation, could follow it no

longer.

 

"Better go to bed, Tom," advised his father. "You can't help us

any, and we have many details to go over."

 

The lad reluctantly consented, and he was soon dreaming that he

was in his electric auto, trying to pull up a thousand pound lump

of gold from the bottom of the sea. He awoke to find the

bedclothes in a lump on his chest, and, removing them, fell into

a deep slumber.

 

When the young inventor awoke the next morning, Mrs. Baggert

told him that his father and Mr. Damon had risen nearly an hour

before, had partaken of a hearty breakfast, and departed.

 

"They told me to tell you they were at the bank," said the

housekeeper.

 

"Did Mr. Pendergast stay all night?" inquired Tom.

 

"I heard some one go away about two o'clock this morning,"

replied the housekeeper. "I don't know who it was."

 

"They must have had a long session," thought Tom, as he began

on his bacon, eggs and coffee. "I'll take a run down to the bank

in my electric in a little while."

 

The car was still in rather crude shape, outwardly, but the

mechanism was now almost perfect. Tom charged the batteries well

before starting put.

 

The youth had no sooner come in sight of the old Shopton bank,

to distinguish it from the Second National, which Mr. Foger had

started, than he was aware that something unusual had occurred.

There was quite a crowd about it, and more persons were

constantly arriving to swell the throng.

 

"What's the matter?" asked Tom, of one of the few police

officers of which Shopton boasted, though the lad did not need to

be told.

 

"Run on the bank," was the brief answer. "It's failed."

 

Tom felt a pang of disappointment. Somehow, he had hoped that

his father and his friends might have been able to stave off

ruin. As he approached nearer Tom was made aware that the crowd

was in an ugly mood.

 

"Why don't they open the doors and give us our money?" cried

one excited woman. "It's ours! I worked hard for mine, an' now

they want to keep it from us. I wish I'd put it in the new bank."

 

"Yes, that's the best place," added another. "That Mr. Foger

has lots of money."

 

"I can see the hand of Andy's father, and that of Mr. Berg, at

work here," thought Tom, "They have spread rumors of the bank's

trouble, and hope to profit by it. I wish I could find a way to

beat them at their own game."

 

As the minutes passed, and the bank was not opened, the ugly

temper of the crowd increased. The few police could do nothing

with the mob, and several, bolder than the rest, advocated

battering down the doors. Some went up the steps and began to

pound on the portals. Tom looked for a sight of his father or Mr.

Damon, but could not see either.

 

It was not the regular hour for opening the bank, but when the

police reminded the people of this they only laughed.

 

"I guess they ain't going to open anyhow!" shouted a man.

"They've got our money, and they're going to keep it. What

difference is an hour, anyway?"

 

"Yes, if they have the money, why don't they open, and not wait

until ten o'clock?" cried another. "I've got a hundred and five

dollars in there, and I want it!"

 

More excited persons were arriving every minute. The crowd

surged this way, and that. Many looked anxiously at the clock in

the tower of the town hall. The gilded hands pointed to a few

minutes of ten. Would the bank open its doors when the hour

boomed out? Many were anxiously asking this question.

 

Tom sat in his electric car, near the front of the bank. The

interest of the crowd, which under ordinary circumstances would

have been centered in the queer vehicle, was not drawn toward it.

The people were all thinking of their money.

 

Suddenly one of the two doors of the bank slowly opened. There

was a yell from the crowd, and a rush to get in. But the police

managed to hold the leaders back, and then Tom saw that it was

Ned Newton, who stood in the partly-opened portal. He held up his

hand to indicate silence, and a hush fell over the mob.

 

"The bank is open for business," Ned announced, "but there must

be no rush. The building is not large enough to accommodate you

all. If you form a line, you will be admitted in turn. The bank

hopes to pay you all."

 

"Hopes!" cried a woman scornfully. "We can't eat hopes, young

man, nor yet pay the rent with it. Hopes indeed!"

 

But Ned had said all he cared to, and, with rather a white

face, he went back inside. The one door remained open and, with a

policeman on either side, a line of anxious depositors was slowly

formed. Tom watched them crowding and surging forward, all eager

to be first to get their cash out, lest there be not enough for

all. As he watched, the young inventor was aware that some was

signaling to him from the big window of the bank. He looked more

closely and saw Ned Newton beckoning to him, and the young

cashier was motioning Tom to go around to the rear, where a door

of the bank opened on a small alley. Wondering what was wanted,

Tom slowly ran his machine down the side street, and up the

alley. No one paid any attention to him.

 

A porter admitted the lad, and he made his way to the private

offices, where he knew his father and Mr. Damon would be. In the

corridors he could hear the murmur of the throng and the chink of

money, as the tellers paid it out.

 

"Well, Tom, this is bad business," remarked Mr. Swift, as he

saw his son. The lad noticed that Mr. Damon was in the telephone

booth.

 

"Yes, Dad," admitted Tom. "It's a run, all right. What are you

going to do?"

 

"The best we can. Pay out all the cash we have, and hope that

before that time, the people will come to their senses. The bank

is all right if they would only wait. But I'm afraid they won't

and, after we pay out all the cash we have, we'll have to close

the doors. Then there's sure to be an unpleasant scene, and maybe

some of the more hot-headed ones will advocate violence. We have

given orders to the tellers to pay out as slowly as possible, so

as to enable us to gain some time."

 

"And all you need is money; is that it, Dad?"

 

"That's it, Tom, but we have exhausted every possibility. Mr.

Damon is trying a forlorn hope now, but, even if he is

successful--"

 

Before Mr. Swift had ceased speaking, Mr. Damon fairly burst

from the telephone booth. He was much excited.

 

"I've got it! I've got it!" he cried.

 

"What?" asked Mr. Swift and Tom in the same breath.

 

"The cash, or, what's just as good, the promise of it. I called

up Mr. Chase, of the Clayton National Bank, and he has agreed to

take the railroad securities I offered him as collateral, and let

me have sixty thousand dollars on them! That will give us cash

enough to weather the storm. Hurrah! We're all right now. Bless

my check book!"

 

"The Clayton National Bank," remarked Mr. Swift, and his voice

was hopeless. "It's forty miles away, Mr. Damon, and no railroad

around here runs anywhere near it. No one could get there and

back with the cash to-day, in time to save us from ruin. It's

impossible! Our last chance is gone."

 

"How far did you say it was, Dad?" asked Tom quickly.

 

"Forty miles there, over forty, I guess, and not very good

roads. We would need to have the cash here before three o'clock

to be of any service to us. No, it's out of the question. The

bank will have to fail!"

 

"No!" cried the young inventor, and his voice rang out through

the room. "I'll get the cash for you!"

 

"How?" gasped Mr. Damon. "You can't get there and back in

time?"

 

"Yes, I can!" cried Tom. "In my electric runabout! I can make

it go a hundred miles an hour, if necessary! Probably I'll have

to run slow over the bad roads; but I can do it! I know I can.

I'll get the sixty thousand dollars for you!"

 

For a moment there was silence. Then Mr. Damon cried:

 

"Good! And I'll go with you and deliver the securities to Mr.

Chase. Come on, Tom Swift! Bless my collar button, but maybe we

can yet save the old bank after all!"

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVIII                   AFTER THE CASH

 

 

Tom's proposal as a way out of the difficulty, and the prompt

seconding of it by Mr. Damon, seemed to deprive the other bank

officials, Mr. Swift included, of the power of speech for a few

moments. Then, as there came to the room where the scene had

taken place, the sound of the mob outside, clamoring for cash,

Mr. Pendergast, the president, remarked in a low voice:

 

"It seems to be the only way. Do you think you can do it, Tom

Swift?"

 

"I'm sure of it, as far as my electric car is concerned,"

replied the young inventor. "If we get the cash I'll have it back

here on time. The runabout is all ready for a fast trip."

 

"Then don't lose any time, Tom," advised his father. "Every

minute counts."

 

"Yes," added Mr. Damon. "Come on. I've got the securities in my

valise, and we can bring the cash back in the same satchel. Come

on, Tom."

 

The eccentric character caught up his valise, and started from

the room. Tom followed.

 

"Now, my son, be careful," advised his father. "You know the

need of haste, but don't take unnecessary risks. You'd better go

out the back way, as the crowd is easily excited."

 

Little more was said. Mr. Swift clasped his son's hand in a

firm pressure, and the bank president nervously bade the lad

good-by. Then, slipping out of the bank, by the rear entrance,

the porter closing the door after them, Tom and Mr. Damon took

their places in the electric machine.

 

"Just imagine you're racing for that three-thousand-dollar

prize, offered by the Touring Club of America, Tom," observed Mr.

Damon, as he deposited the valise at his feet.

 

"I don't have to do that," replied the youth. "I'm trying for a

bigger prize than that. I want to save the bank, and defeat the

schemes of the Fogers--father and son."

 

Tom turned on the power, and the machine rolled out on the main

street. As it turned the corner, leaving the impatient crowd of

depositors, now larger than ever, behind, Mr. Damon glanced over

at the new bank, and, as he did so, he called to Tom:

 

"There are the Fogers now."

 

The young inventor looked, and saw Andy and his father on the

steps of the new institution.

 

At the sight of the electric car, speeding along, Andy turned

and spoke to his parent. What he said seemed to impress Mr.

Foger, for he started, and looked more intently at Tom and Mr.

Damon. Then, as Tom watched, he saw the two excitedly conversing,

and a moment later Andy ran off in the direction in which Sam

Snedecker and Pete Bailey lived.

 

"I wonder if he's up to any tricks?" thought Tom, as he turned

on more power. "Well, if he is, I'll soon be where he can't reach

me."

 

The young inventor did not dare send his car at full speed

through the streets of the town, and it was not until several

minutes had passed that they could go at more than the ordinary

rate. But once the open country was reached Tom "opened her up

full," and the song the motor sung was one of power. The vehicle

quickly gathered headway and was soon fairly whizzing along.

 

"If we keep this up we'll be there and back in good time,"

remarked Mr. Damon.

 

"Yes, but we can't do it," replied his companion. "The road to

Clayton is a poor one, and we'll soon be on it. Then we'll have

to go slow. But I'll make all the time I can until then."

 

So, for several miles more they crept along, at times having to

reduce to almost a walking pace, because of bad roads. Mr. Damon

looked at his watch almost every other minute.

 

"Eleven o'clock," he remarked, as they passed a milestone, "and

we're not half way there. Bless my gizzard, but I'm afraid we

won't make it, Tom. We left about ten, and we ought to be back by

two o'clock to do any good. That's four hours, and it will take

some time to transfer the securities, and get the cash. Every

minute counts."

 

"I know it," answered Tom, "and I'm going to count every

minute."

 

With eager eyes he watched every inch of the road, to steer to

the best advantage. His hands gripped the wheel until his

knuckles showed white with the strain, and, every now and then

his right hand adjusted the speed lever or the controller handle,

while his foot was on the emergency brake, ready to stop the car

at the first sign of danger.

 

And there was danger, not infrequently, for the road was up and

down hill, over frail bridges, and along steep cliffs. It was no

pleasure tour they were on.

 

When a little over half the distance had been made they came to

a better road, and Tom was able to use full speed ahead. Then the

electric went so fast that, had it not been for the steel wind-

shield in front, Mr. Damon, at any rate, would have been short of

breath.

 

"This is going some!" he cried to Tom. The lad nodded grimly,

and shoved the controller handle over to the last notch. Then

came a bad stretch and they had to slow down again. As they were

about out of it there came a little flash of fire and the motor

stopped.

 

"Bless my overshoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's that; a fuse

blown out?"

 

"No," replied Tom, with a puzzled air. "But something has gone

wrong."  Hastily he got out, and made an examination. He found it

was only one of the unimportant wires which had short-circuited,

and it was soon adjusted. But they had lost five precious

minutes. Tom tried to make up for lost time, but came to a hill a

little later, and this reduced their speed.

 

"Do you think we can make it before twelve?" asked Mr. Damon

anxiously. "We've got to, if we're to get back before three,

Tom."

 

"I'll try," was the calm answer, and Tom's jaw was shut still

more tightly. Once again came more favorable roads and pushing

the car to the limit the occupants were rejoiced, a little later,

as they topped a hill, to come in sight of a fairly large city.

 

"There's Clayton!" cried Mr. Damon.

 

Ten minutes later they were rolling through the main street,

and as they stopped in front of the bank, the noon whistles blew

shrill and noisily.

 

"You did it, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, springing out with the

valise of securities. "Now be ready for the return trip. I'll be

with you as soon as possible."

 

He went up the bank steps three at a time, like some boy

instead of an elderly man. Tom looked after him for a second and

then got down to oil up his car, and make some adjustments that

had rattled loose from the rough road. Unmindful of the curious

throng that gathered he crawled under the machine with his oil-

can.

 

He had finished his work, and was back in his seat, ready to

start, but Mr. Damon had not reappeared.

 

"It's taking him a good while to get that cash," thought Tom.

"Maybe the securities were no good."

 

But, a few minutes later, Mr. Damon came hurrying from the

bank. The valise he carried seemed much heavier than when he went

in.

 

"It's all right, Tom," he said. "I've got it. Now for the trip

home, and I hope we don't have any accidents. It took longer than

I thought to check over the bonds and receipt for them. But I've

got the cash. Now to save the bank!"

 

He took his place beside the young inventor, holding the valise

between his knees, while Tom turned on the power and sent his car

dashing down the street, and toward the road that led to Shopton.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIX             STOPPED ON THE ROAD

 

 

"Did Mr. Chase make any objection to giving you the cash?"

asked Tom, as he shoved the controller over another notch, and

caused the motor to make a higher note in its song of speed.

 

"Oh, no, he was very nice about it," replied Mr. Damon. "He

said he hoped our bank would pull through. Said if we needed more

cash we could have it."

 

It was nearly one o'clock, and they had the worst part of the

journey yet to go. Thirty miles of stiff roads lay between them

and Shopton, the last five and the first five being fairly good,

with, here and there, soft spots.

 

Up hill and down went the electric auto. At every opportunity

Tom let out all the speed he could draw from the motor, but there

were many times when he had to slow down. He had just made the

ascent of a steep hill, and was turning into a fairly good road,

skirting the edge of a steep cliff, when there came a sharp

report.

 

"Bless my soul! That's a fuse, I'm sure of it!" cried Mr.

Damon.

 

"No," announced Tom, as he quickly shut off the power. "It's a

puncture. One of the inner tubes of the tire has been pierced. I

was afraid of that tube."

 

"What have you got to do; put on a new tire?" asked Mr. Damon.

 

"No, I'm going to put on a new wheel. I carry two spare ones

with tires all ready inflated. It won't take long."

 

But the process of changing wheels consumed more time than Tom

anticipated for the nut was stuck, and he and Mr. Damon had to

exert all their strength before they could loosen it. When the

new wheel was in place ten minutes had been lost.

 

"Hold on now, I'm going to speed her!" cried Tom, when they

were once more in their seats, and speed the machine he did. The

road was rough, but despite this the lad turned on almost full

power. Over the bumps they went, around curves and into rain-

washed ruts careening from side to side, and throwing Mr. Damon

about, as he expressed it afterward, "like a bean inside of a

football."  As for the young inventor his grasp of the steering

wheel, and the manner in which he could brace himself against the

foot pedals, held him more firmly in place. On and on they

rushed, covering mile after mile, and approaching Shopton where

so much depended on their arrival.

 

Good and bad stretches of the road alternated, but now that Tom

had seen of what mettle his car was made, he did not spare it as

much as he had on the first trip. He saw that his machine would

stand hard knocks, and the way the battery and motor was behaving

was a joy to him. He knew that if he could make that eighty-mile

run in safety he stood a good chance of winning the prize, for no

harder test could have been devised.

 

But the race was still far from won. There was a particularly

unsafe stretch of road yet to be covered, and then would come a

smooth highway into Shopton.

 

"Ten miles more," observed Mr  Damon, snapping shut his big

gold watch. "Ten miles more, and it's a quarter of two now. We

ought to be there at a quarter after, and that will be in good

time, eh, Tom?"

 

"I think so, but I don't know about this piece of road we're

coming to. It seems worse than when we passed over it this

morning."

 

As he spoke the auto began to slow up, for the wheels had

struck some heavy sand, and it was necessary to reduce the

current. Tom turned back the controller handle, but watched with

eager eyes for a sign that the roadbed was harder, so that he

could increase speed.

 

As the car turned around a curve, passing through a lonely

stretch of country, with woods on either side of the highway, Tom

glancing up, uttered a cry of astonishment.

 

"What's the matter; something gone wrong?" asked his companion.

 

For answer Tom pointed. There, just ahead of them, was a big

load of hay, and it was evident that the driver, was in no

particular hurry.

 

"We can't pass that without getting in over. our hubs!" cried

Tom. "If we turn out the side ditches are so soft that we'll need

help to pull out, and the road is so narrow for several miles

that we'll have to trail along behind that fellow."

 

"Bless my check book!" cried Mr. Damon. "Are we going to lose,

after all, on account of a load of hay? No, I'll buy it from him

first, at double the market price, tip it over, set fire to it,

toss it in the ditch, and then we can go past!"

 

"Maybe that will answer," retorted Tom, smiling grimly.

 

He put on a little more speed, and was soon close up behind the

load of hay, ringing his electric bell as a warning.

 

"I say!" called Mr. Damon to the unseen driver, "can't you turn

out and let us pass?"

 

"Ha! Hum! Wa'al I guess not!" came the answer, in unmistakable

farmer's accents. "You automobile fellers is too gol-hanged

smart, racin' along th' roads. I've got just as good a right here

as you fellers have, by heck!" The driver did not show himself.

 

"We know that," responded Tom, as quickly as he could, for he

did not want to anger the man. "But our machine is so heavy that

if we turn into the ditch I'm afraid we'll be mired."

 

"Huh! So'll I," was the retort from the unseen driver.. "Think

I want t' spile my load of hay?"

 

"But you have wide tires on, and you wouldn't sink in far,"

answered the young inventor. "Besides, it's very necessary that

we get past. A great deal depends on our speed."

 

"So it does on mine," was the reply. "Ef I git t' market late

I'll have t' stay all night, an' spend money on a hotel bill."

 

"I'll pay it! I'll pay your bill if you'll only pull out!"

cried Mr. Damon. "I'll give you a hundred dollars

 

He suddenly ceased speaking. From the bushes along the road

sprang several ragged, masked figures. Each one, aiming his

weapon at Tom, said in a low voice, that could not have been

heard by the driver of the hay wagon:

 

"Slow up your machine, young feller! We want to speak with you,

and don't you make a loud noise, or it won't be healthy for you!"

 

"Why of all the-!" began Mr. Damon, but another of the footpads

leveling his weapon at the eccentric man growled:

 

"Dry up, if you don't want to get shot!"

 

Mr. Damon subsided. Discretion was very plainly the better part

of valor. Tom had shut off the current. The load of hay continued

on ahead. Tom thought perhaps the driver of it might have been in

collusion with the thieves, to cause the auto to slow up.

 

"What do you want with us?" asked the young inventor, trying to

speak calmly, but finding it a hard task, with a revolver pointed

at him.

 

"You know what we want," exclaimed the leader, in a low voice.

"We want that cash you got from the bank, and we're going to have

it! Come, now, shell out!" and he advanced toward the automobile.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XX                      ON TIME

 

 

Close around the electric auto crowded the members of the hold-

up gang. Their eyes seemed to glare through the holes in their

black masks. Instantly Tom thought of the other occasion when he

was halted by masked figures. Could these, by any possibility, be

the same individuals? Was this a trick of Andy Foger and his

cronies?

 

Tom tried to pierce through the disguises. Clearly the persons

were men--not boys--and they wore the ragged clothes of tramps.

Also, there was an air of dogged determination about them.

 

"Well, are you going to shell out?" asked the leader, taking a

step nearer, "or will we have to take it?"

 

"Bless my very existence! You don't mean to say that you're

going to take the money--I mean how do you know we have any

money?" and Mr. Damon hastily corrected himself. "What right have

you to stop us in this way? Don't you know that every minute

counts? We are in a hurry."

 

"I know it," spoke the leading masked figure with a laugh. "I

know you have considerable money in that shebang, and I know what

you hope to do with it, prevent the run on the Shopton National

Bank. But we need that money as much as some other people and,

what's more, we're going to have it! Come on, shell out!"

 

"Oh, why didn't we bring a gun!" lamented Mr. Damon in a low

voice to Tom. "Isn't there anything we can do? Can't you give

them an electric shock, Tom?"

 

"I'm afraid not. If it wasn't for that hay wagon we could turn

on the current and make a run for it. But we'd only go into the

ditch if we tried to pass now."

 

The load of hay was down the road, but as Tom looked he noticed

a curious thing. It seemed to be nearer than it was when the

attack of the masked men came. The wagon actually seemed to have

backed up. Once more the thought came to the lad that possibly

the load of fodder might be one of the factors on which the

thieves counted. They might have used it to make the auto halt,

and the man, or men, on it were probably in collusion with the

footpads. There was no doubt about it, the load of hay was coming

nearer, backing up instead of moving away. Tom couldn't

understand it. He gave a swift glance at the robbers. They had

not appeared to notice this, or, if they had, they gave no sign.

-

 

"Then we can't do anything," murmured Mr. Damon.

 

"I don't see that we can," replied the young inventor in a low

voice.

 

"And the money we worked so hard to get won't do the bank any

good," and Mr. Damon sighed.

 

"It's tough luck," agreed Tom.

 

"Come now, fork over that cash!" called the leader, advancing

still closer. "None of that talk between you there. If you think

you can work some trick on us you're mistaken. We're desperate

men, and we're well armed. The first show of resistance you make,

and we shoot--get that, fellows?" he added to his followers, and

they nodded grimly.

 

"Well," remarked Mr. Damon with an air of submission, "I only

want to warn you that you are acting illegally, and that you are

perpetrating a desperate crime."

 

"Oh, we know that all right," answered one of the men, and Tom

gave a start. He was sure he had heard that voice before. He

tried to remember it--tried to penetrate the disguise --but he

could not.

 

"I'll give you ten seconds more to hand over that bag of

money," went on the leader. "If you don't, we'll take it and some

of you may get hurt in the process."

 

There seemed nothing else to do. With a white face, but with

anger showing in his eyes Mr. Damon reached down to get the

valise. Tom had retained his grip of the steering wheel, and the

starting lever. He hoped, at the last minute, he might see a

chance to dash away, and escape, but that load of hay was in the

path. He noted that it was now quite near, but the thieves paid

no attention to it.

 

Tom might have reversed the power, and sent his machine

backward, but he could not see to steer it if he went in that

direction, and he would soon have gone into the ditch. There was

nothing to do save to hand over the cash, it seemed.

 

Mr. Damon had the bag raised from the car, and the leader of

the thieves was reaching up for it, when there came a sudden

interruption.

 

From the load of hay there sounded a fusillade of pistol shots,

cracking out with viciousness. This was instantly followed by the

appearance of three men who came running from around the load of

hay, down the road toward the thieves. Each man carried a

pitchfork, and as they ran, one of the trio shouted:

 

"Right at 'em, boys! Jab your hay forks clean through the

scoundrels! By Heck, I guess we'll show 'em we know how t' tackle

a hold-up gang as well as the next fellow! Right at 'em now!

Charge 'em! Stick your forks right through 'em!"  Again there

sounded a fusillade of pistol shots.

 

The thieves turned as one man, and glanced at the relief so

unexpectedly approaching. They gave one look at the three

determined looking farmers, with their sharp, glittering

pitchforks, and then, without a word, they turned and fled,

leaping into the bushes that lined the roadway. The underbrush

closed after them and they were hidden from sight.

 

On came the three farmers, waving their effective weapons, the

pistol shots still ringing out from the load of hay. Tom could

not understand it, and could see no one firing--could detect no

smoke.

 

"Are they gone? Did they rob ye?" asked the foremost of the

trio, a burly, grizzled farmer. Bust my buttons, but I guess we

skeered 'em all right!"

 

"Bless my shoe buttons, but you certainly have!" cried Mr.

Damon, descending from the automobile, and wringing the hand of

the farmer, while Tom, thrust the bag of money under his legs and

waited further developments. The pistol shots rang out until one

of the men called:

 

"That'll do, Bub! We've skeered 'em like Mrs. Zenoby's pet cat!

You needn't crack that whip any more."

 

"Whip!" cried Tom. "Was that a whip?"

 

"That's what it was," explained the leading farmer. "Bub

Armstrong, my nephew, can crack it to beat th' band," and as if

in proof of this there emerged from behind the load of hay a

small lad, carrying a large whip, to which he gave a few trial

cracks, like pistol shots, as if to show his ability.

 

"It's all right, Bub," his uncle assured him. "We made 'em

run."

 

"But I don't exactly understand," spoke Mr. Damon. "I thought

you were in league with those thieves, stopping us as you did

with your big load."

 

"So did I," admitted Tom.

 

"Ha! Ha!" laughed the farmer. "That's a pretty good joke.

Excuse me for laughin'. My name's Lyon, Jethro Lyon, of Salina

Township, an' these is my two sons, Ade and Burt. You see we're

on our way to Shopton, an' my nephew, Bub, he went along. We

thought you was some of them sassy automobile fellers at first

when you hollered to us you wanted to pass. Then when we looked

back, we seen them burglars goin' t' rob you, at least that's

what we suspicioned," and he paused suggestively.

 

"That was it," Tom said.

 

"Wa'al, when we seen that, we held a sort of consultation on

thet load of hay, where they couldn't see us. It was so big you

know," he needlessly explained. "Wa'al, we calcalated we could

help you, so I jest quietly backed up, until we was near enough.

I told Bub to take the long whip, an' crack it for all he was

wuth, so's it would sound like reinforcements approachin' with

guns, an' he done it."

 

"He certainly done it," added Burt.

 

"Wa'al," resumed Mr. Lyon, "then me an my sons we jest slipped

down off the front seat, an' come a runnin' with our pitchforks.

I reckoned them burglars would run when they see us an' heard us,

an' they done so."

 

"Yep, they done so," added Ade, like an echo.

 

"I can't tell you how much obliged we are to you," said Mr.

Damon. "We have sixty thousand dollars in this valise, and they

would have had it in another minute, and the bank would have

failed."

 

"Sixty thousand dollars!" gasped Mr. Lyon, and his sons and

nephew echoed the words. Mr. Damon briefly explained about the

money, and he and the young inventor again thanked their

rescuers, who had so unexpectedly, and in such a novel manner,

put the thieves to flight.

 

"An' you've got t' git t' Shopton before three o'clock with

thet cash?" asked Mr. Lyon.

 

"That's what we hoped to do," replied Tom "but I'm afraid we

won't now. It's half past two, and

 

"Don't say another word," interrupted Mr. Lyon. "I know what ye

mean. My hay's in the road. But don't let that worry ye none.

I'll pull out of your road in a jiffy, an' if we do go down in

th' ditch, why we can throw off part of th' load, lighten th'

wagon, an' pull out again. You've got t' hustle if ye git t'

Shopton by three o'clock."

 

"I can do it with a clear road," declared Tom, confidently.

 

"Then ye'll have th' clear road," Mr. Lyon assured him. "Come

boys, let's git th' hay t' one side."

 

The farmers pulled into the ditch. As they had feared the wagon

went in almost to the hubs, but they did not mind, and, even as

Tom and Mr. Damon shot past them, they fell to work tossing off

part of the fodder, to lighten the wagon. The young inventor and

his companion waved a grateful farewell to them as they fairly

tore past, for Tom had turned on almost the full current.

 

"Do you suppose that was the Happy Harry gang, or some members

of it who were not captured and sent to jail?" asked Mr. Damon.

 

"I don't believe so," answered the lad, shaking his head.

"Maybe they didn't really want to rob us. Perhaps they only

wanted to delay us so we wouldn't get to the bank on time."

 

"Bless my top knot, you may be right!" cried Mr. Damon.

 

Further conversation became difficult, as they struck a rough

part of the road, where the vehicle swayed and jolted to an

alarming degree. But Tom never slackened pace. On and on they

rushed, Mr. Damon frequently looking at his watch.

 

"We've got twenty minutes left," he remarked as they came out

on the smooth stretch of road, that led directly into Shopton.

 

Then Tom turned all the reserve power into the motor. The

machinery almost groaned as the current surged into the wires,

but it took up the load, and the electric car, swaying more than

ever, dashed ahead with its burden of wealth.

 

Now they were in the town, now speeding down the street leading

to the bank. One or two policemen shouted after them, for they

were violating the speed laws, but it was no time to stop for

that. On and on they dashed.

 

They came in sight of the bank. A long line of persons was

still in front. They seemed more excited than in the morning, for

the hour of three was approaching, and they feared the bank would

close its doors, never to open them again.

 

"The run is still on," observed Mr. Damon.

 

"But it will soon be over," predicted Tom.

 

Some news of the errand of the automobile must have penetrated

the crowd, for as Tom swung past the front entrance to the bank,

to go up the rear alley, he was greeted with a cheer.

 

"They're got the cash!" a man cried. "I'm satisfied now. I

don't draw out my deposit."

 

"I want to see the cash before I'll believe it," said another.

 

Tom slowed up to make the turn into the alley. As he did so he

glanced across the street to the new bank. In the window stood

Andy Foger and his father. There was a look of surprise on their

faces as they saw the arrival of the powerful car, and, Tom

fancied, also a look of chagrin.

 

Up the alley went the car, police keeping the crowd from

following. The porter was at the door. So, also, was Mr.

Pendergast and Mr. Swift, while some of the other officers were

grouped behind them.

 

"Did you get the money?" gasped the president.

 

"We did," answered Tom. "Are we on time, Dad?"

 

"Just on time, my boy! They're paying out the last of the cash

now! You're on time, thank fortune!"

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXI             OFF TO THE BIG RACE

 

 

From their task of handing out money to eager depositors, the

wearied tellers looked up as Tom and Mr. Damon entered with the

big valise crammed full of money. It was opened, and the bundles

of bills turned out on a table.

 

"Perhaps you'd better make an announcement to the crowd, Mr.

Pendergast," suggested Mr. Swift. "Tell them we now have cash

enough to meet all demands, and that the bank will be kept open

until every one is paid."

 

"I will," agreed the aged president. His announcement was

received with cheers, and had exactly the effect the inventor

hoped it would.

 

Many, learning that the bank was safe, and that they could have

their money whenever they wanted it, concluded not to withdraw

it, thus saving the interest. Scores in the waiting crowd turned

out of line and went home. Their example was contagious, and,

though many still remained to get their deposits, the run was

broken. Only part of the sixty thousand dollars Tom and Mr. Damon

had brought through after a race with time, was needed. But had

it not been for the moral effect of the cash arriving as it did,

the bank would have failed.

 

"You have a great car, Tom Swift," complimented Mr. Pendergast,

when the excitement had somewhat cooled down, and the story of

the hold-up had been told.

 

"I think so myself," agreed the young inventor modestly. "I

must get ready for the races now."

 

"And as for those farmers, I think I'll send them a reward,"

went on the president. "They deserve something for the trouble

they had with the load of hay. I certainly shall send them a

reward," which he did, and a substantial one, too.

 

Of course the hold-up was at once reported to the police after

the run had quieted down, but Chief Simonson surprised Tom by

saying that he had expected it.

 

"The gang that held you up," said the police officer, "was one

that escaped from a jail, about twenty miles away. I got a tip

after you left, that they were going to rob you, for, in some

way, they learned about the money you and Mr. Damon were to bring

from the bank. The unfortunate part of it was that the tip I got

was to the effect that the hold-up would take place just outside

of Clayton. I telephoned to the police there, just after you

left, and they said they'd send out a posse. But the gang changed

their plans; and held you up near here, where I wasn't expecting

it. But I'll get 'em yet."

 

Chief Simonson did not arrest the gang, but some other police

officers did, and they were taken back to jail. They were not

prosecuted for the attempted robbery of Tom, as it was considered

difficult to fix the guilt on them, but they received such a long

additional sentence for breaking jail, that it will be many years

before they are released.

 

When Tom reached home that night he found some mail from the

officials of the Touring Club of America. It was to the effect

that arrangements for the big contest had been completed, and

that contesting cars must be on the ground by September first.

 

"That gives me two weeks yet," thought our hero.

 

He read further of the regulations covering the race. Each car

must proceed from the home town or city of the owner, and go to

the track under its own power. This was a new regulation, it was

stated, and was adopted to better develop the industry of

building electric autos. Two passengers, or one in addition to

the driver, must be carried, it was stated, and this one would

also be expected to be in the car during the entire race.

 

Regarding the race proper it was stated that at first it had

been decided to make it a twenty-four hour endurance contest, but

that for certain reasons this was changed, as it was found that

few storage batteries could go this length of time without a

number of rechargings. Therefore the race was to be one for

distance--five hundred miles, on the new Long Island track, and

the car first covering that distance would win. Cars were allowed

to change their batteries as often as they needed to, but all

time lost would count against them. There were other rules and

regulations of minor importance.

 

"Well," remarked Tom, as he read through the circulars, "I must

get my car in shape. It will be quite a tip to Long Island, and I

think my best plan will be to go direct to the cottage we had

when we were building the submarine, and from there proceed to

the track. That will comply with the rules, I think. But who will

I get to go with me? I suppose Mr. Damon or Mr. Sharp will be

willing. I'll ask them."

 

He broached the matter to his two friends that night, and they

both agreed to go to Long Island in the car, though only Mr.

Sharp would accompany Tom in the race. The next two weeks were

busy ones for Tom. He worked night and day over his car, getting

it in shape for the big event.

 

The young inventor made some changes in his battery, and also

adopted a new gear, which would give greater speed. He also

completed the exterior of the auto, giving it several coats of

purple paint and varnish, so that when it was finished, though it

was different in shape from most autos, it was as fine an

appearing car as one could wish. He arranged to carry two extra

wheels, with tires inflated, and, under the rear seats, or

tonneau, as he called it, Tom fitted up a complete tire-repairing

outfit. Mr. Sharp agreed to ride there, and in case there was

need to use more than two spare wheels during the race, the

rubber shoes or inner tubes could be mended while the car was

swinging around the track.

 

Mr. Damon would ride in front with Tom on the cross-country

trip, and occasionally relieve him at steering, or would help to

manage the electrical connections. Spare fuses, extra parts,

wires and different things he thought he might need, the young

inventor stored in his car. He also found means to install a

small additional storage battery, to give added power in case of

emergency.

 

Tom learned from the racing officials that if he made a trip

from Shopton to the cottage on the coast, near the city of

Atlantis, and later traveled from there to the track, it would

fulfill the conditions of the contest.

 

Finally all was in readiness, and one morning, having spent the

better part of the night going over his machine, to see that he

had forgotten nothing, Tom invited Mr. Damon and Mr. Sharp to

enter, and prepare for the trip to Long Island.

 

"Well, Tom, I certainly hope you win that race," remarked Mrs.

Baggert, as she stood in the doorway, waving a farewell.

 

"If I do I'll buy you a pair of diamond earrings to match the

diamond ring I gave you from the money I got from the wreck,"

promised the lad with a laugh.

 

"An' ef yo' sees dat Andy Foger," added Eradicate Sampson,

while he rubbed the long ears of Boomerang, his mule, "ef yo'

sees him, jest run ober him once or twice fer mah sake, Mistah

Swift."

 

"I'll do it for my own, too," agreed Tom.

 

The youth shook hands with his father, who wished him good

luck, and then, after a final look at his car, he climbed to his

seat, and turned on the power. There was a low hum from the motor

and the electric started off. Would it return a winner or loser

of the big race?

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXII                    IN A DITCH

 

 

Through the streets of Shopton went Tom Swift and his friends.

News of the big contest the young inventor was about to take part

in, had circulated around town, and there were not wanting many

to wish him good luck. The lad responded smilingly to the

farewells he received. As they passed the bank, Ned Newton came

out on the steps.

 

"Wish I was going along," he called.

 

"So do I," replied Tom. "How's everything? Is the bank all

right since the run?" for he had not had time to pay much

attention to the institution since his memorable race against

time, to get the money.

 

"Stronger and better than ever," was Ned's answer, as he came

to the curb, where Tom slowed up. "I hear," he added in a

whisper, "that the other fellows are going out of business--Foger

and his crowd you know. They loaned money on unsecured notes to

make a good showing, and now they can't get it back But we're all

right. Hope you win the race."

 

"So do I."

 

"What will a certain person do while you're away?" went on Ned,

with a wink.

 

"I don't know what you mean," replied Tom, trying not to blush.

"Do you mean my dad or Mrs. Baggert?"

 

"Neither, you old hypocrite you! I meant Miss Mary Nestor."

 

"Oh, hadn't you heard?" inquired Tom innocently. "She is going

to Long Island to visit some friends, and she'll be at the race."

 

"You lucky dog," murmured Ned with a laugh, as he went into the

bank.

 

Once more the electric auto started off, and was soon on the

quiet country road, where Tom speeded it up moderately. He hoped

to be able to make the entire distance to the shore cottage on

the single charge of current he had put into the battery at home,

and, as there was no special need for haste, he wanted to save

his power. The machine was running smoothly, and seemed able to

make a long race against time

 

The travelers ate lunch that day at Pendleton, a town some

distance from Shopton. They had covered a substantial part of

their trip. After a brief rest they started on again. Tom had

planned to spend two days and one night on the road, hoping to be

able to reach the shore cottage on the evening of the second day.

There, after recharging the battery, he would spend a night, or

two, and proceed to the track, ready for the race.

 

They found the roads fairly good, with bad stretches here and

there, which made it necessary for them to slow down. This

delayed them, and they found the shadows lengthening, and

darkness approaching, when they were still several miles from

Burgfield, where they intended to sleep.

 

"Will it be all right to travel at night?" asked Mr. Damon, a

bit nervously.

 

"Why, are you thinking of hold-up men?" inquired Mr. Sharp.

 

"No, but I was wondering about the condition of the roads,"

replied the eccentric man. "We don't want to run into a rock, or

collide with something."

 

"I guess this will light up the road far enough in advance, so

that we can see where we are going," suggested Tom, as he

switched on the powerful electric search-light. Though it was not

dark enough to illuminate the highway to the best advantage, the

powerful gleam shone dazzlingly in front of the swiftly moving

auto.

 

"I guess that will show up every pebble in the road," commented

the balloonist. It's very powerful."

 

Tom turned off the light, as, until it was darker, he could see

to better advantage unaided by it. He slowed down the speed

somewhat, but was still going at a good rate.

 

"There's a bridge somewhere about here," remarked the lad, when

they had gone on a mile further. I remember seeing it on my road

map. It's not very strong, and we'll have to run slow over it."

 

"Bless my gizzard, I hope we don't go through it!" cried Mr.

Damon. "Is your car very heavy, Tom?"

 

"Not heavy enough to break the bridge. Ah, there it is. Guess

I'll turn on the light so we can see what we're doing."

 

Just ahead of them loomed up the super-structure of a bridge,

and Tom turned the searchlight switch. At the instant he did so,

whether he did not keep a steady hand on the steering wheel, or

whether the auto went into a rut from which it could not be

turned, did not immediately develop, but the car suddenly shot

from the straight road, and swerved to one side. There was a

lurch, and the front wheels sank down.

 

"Look out! We're going into the river!" yelled Mr. Damon.

 

Tom jammed on the brakes and shut off the current. The auto

came to a sudden stop. The young inventor turned the searchlight

downward, to illuminate the ground directly in front of the car.

 

"Are we in the river?" asked Mr. Sharp.

 

"No," replied Tom in great chagrin. "We're in a muddy ditch.

One at the side of the road. Wheels in over the hubs! There

should have been a guard rail here. We're stuck for fair!"

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXIII                   THE POWER GONE

 

 

"Bless my overshoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "Stuck in the mud, eh?"

 

"Hard and fast," added Tom, in disgust.

 

"What's to be done?" inquired Mr. Sharp.

 

"I should say we'll have to stay here until daylight, and wait

for some other auto to come along and pull us out," was Mr.

Damon's opinion. "It's might unpleasant, too, for there doesn't

seem to be any place around here where we can spend the night in

any kind of comfort. If we had the submarine or the airship, now,

it wouldn't so much matter."

 

"No, and this won't matter a great deal," remarked the young

inventor quickly. "We'll soon be out of this, but it will be hard

work."

 

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Sharp.

 

"I mean that we've got to pull ourselves out of this mud hole,"

explained the lad, as he prepared to descend. "I was afraid

something like this would happen, so I came prepared for it. I've

got ropes and pulleys with me, in the car. We'll fasten the rope

to the machine, attach one pulley to the bridge, another to the

car, and I guess we can get out of the mud. We'll try, anyhow."

 

"Well, I must say you looked pretty far ahead," complimented

Mr. Damon.

 

From a box under the tonneau Tom took out a thin but strong

rope and two compound pulleys, which would enable considerable

force to be applied. Mr. Sharp detached one of the powerful oil

lamps, and the three travelers took a look at the auto. It was

indeed deep in the mud and it seemed like a hopeless task to try

to get it out unaided. But Tom insisted that they could do it,

and the rope was soon attached, the hook of one pulley being

slipped around one of the braces of the bridge.

 

"Now, all together!" cried the lad, as he and his friends

grasped the long rope. They gave a great heave. At first it

seemed like pulling on a stone wall. The rope strained and the

pulleys creaked.

 

"I--guess--we--will--pull--the--bridge--over!" gasped Mr.

Sharp.

 

"Something's got to give way!" puffed Tom. "Now, once more! All

together!"

 

Suddenly they felt the rope moving. The pulleys creaked still

more and, by the light of the lamp, they could see that the auto

was slowly being pulled backward, out of the mud, and onto the

hard road. In a few minutes it was ready to proceed again.

 

The rope and pulleys were put away, and, after Tom had made an

examination of the car to see that it had sustained no damage,

they were off again, making good time to the hotel in Burgfield,

where they spent the night. They had an early breakfast, and, as

Tom went out to the barn to look at his car, he saw it surrounded

by a curious throng of men and boys. One of the boys was turning

some of the handles and levers.

 

"Here! Quit that!" yelled Tom, and the meddlesome lad leaped

down in fright. "Do you want to start the car and have it smash

into something?" demanded the young inventor.

 

"Aw, nothin' happened," retorted the lad. "I pulled every

handle on it, an' it didn't move.'~

 

"Good reason," murmured Tom, for he had taken the precaution to

remove a connecting plug, without which the machine could not be

started.

 

The three were soon under way again, and covered many miles

over the fine country roads, the weather conditions being

delightful. On inquiry they found that by taking an infrequently

used highway, they could save several miles. It was over an

unoccupied part of country, rather wild and desolate, but they

did not mind that.

 

They were whizzing along, talking of Tom's chances for winning

the race when, after climbing a slight grade, the auto came to a

sudden stop on the summit.

 

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Sharp. "Why are you stopping

here, Tom?"

 

"I didn't stop," was the surprising answer, and the lad shoved

the starting lever back and forth.

 

But there was no response. There was no hum from the motor. The

machine was "dead."

 

"That's queer," murmured the young inventor

 

"Maybe a fuse blew out," suggested Mr. Damon, that seeming to

be his favorite form of trouble.

 

"If it had you'd have known it," remarked Mr. Sharp.

 

"There's plenty of current in the battery, according to the

registering gauge, murmured the lad. "I can't understand it."  He

reversed the current, thinking the wires might have become

crossed, but the machine would move neither backward nor forward,

yet the dial indicated that there was enough power stored away to

send it a hundred miles or more.

 

"Perhaps the dial hand has become caught," suggested Mr. Sharp.

"That sometimes happens on a steam gauge, and indicates a high

pressure when there isn't any. Hit it slightly, and see if the

hand swings back."

 

Tom did so. At once the hand fell to zero, indicating that

there was not an ampere of current left. The battery was

exhausted, but this fact had not been indicated on the gauge.

 

"I see now!" cried Tom. "It was those fellows at the hotel

barn! They monkeyed with the mechanism, short circuited the

battery, and jammed the gauge so I couldn't tell when my power

was gone. If I had known there wasn't enough to carry us I could

have recharged the battery at the hotel. But I figured that I had

enough current for the entire trip, and so there would have been,

if it hadn't leaked away. Now we're in a pretty pickle."

 

"Bless my hat band!" cried Mr. Damon. "Does that mean we can't

move?"

 

"Guess that's about it," answered Mr. Sharp, and Tom nodded.

 

"Well, why can't we go on to some place where they sell

electricity, and get enough to take us where we want to go?"

asked the odd character, whose ideas of machinery were somewhat

hazy.

 

"The only trouble is we can't carry the heavy car with us,"

replied Tom. "It's too big to pick up and take to a charging

station."

 

"Then we've got to wait until some one comes along with a team

of horses, and tows us in," commented Mr. Sharp. "And that will

be some time, on this lonely road."

 

Tom shook his head despondently. He went all over the car

again, but was forced to the first conclusion, that the reserve

current had leaked away, in consequence of the meddling prank of

the youth at the hotel. The situation was far from pleasant, and

the delay would seriously interfere with their plans.

 

Suddenly, as Tom was pacing up and down the road, he heard from

afar, a peculiar humming sound. He paused to listen.

 

"Trolley car," observed Mr. Sharp. "Maybe one of us could go

somewhere on the trolley and get help. There it is," and he

pointed to the electric vehicle, moving along about half a mile

away, at the foot of a gentle slope.

 

At the sight of the car Tom uttered a cry. "I have it!" he

exclaimed. "None of us need go for help! It's right at hand!"

His companions looked curiously, as the young inventor pointed

triumphantly to the fast disappearing electric.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXIV                        ON THE TRACK

 

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Damon. "Will the electric trolley

pull us to a charging station?"

 

"No, we'll not need to go to a station," answered the youth.

"If we can get my car to the trolley tracks I can charge my

battery from there. And I think we can push the auto near enough.

It's down hill, and I've got a long wire so we won't have to go

too close."

 

"Good!" cried Mr. Sharp. "But attach the rope to the front of

the car, Tom. Mr. Damon and I will pull it. You'll have to ride

in it to steer it."

 

"We can take turns at riding," was Tom's answer, for he did not

want his companions to do all the work.

 

"Nonsense! You ride," said Mr. Damon. "You're lighter than we

are, and can steer better. It won't be any trouble at all to pull

this car down hill."

 

It proved to be an easy task, and in a short time the "dead"

auto was near enough to the electric line to permit Tom to run

his charging wire over to it.

 

"Why bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, looking up. "There's

no overhead trolley wire. The car must run on storage batteries."

 

"Third rail, more likely," was the opinion of Mr. Sharp and so

it proved.

 

"I can charge from either the third rail or the trolley wire,"

declared Tom, who was insulating his hands in rubber gloves, and

getting his wires ready. In a short time he had the proper

connections made, and the much-needed current was soon flowing

into the depleted battery, or batteries, for there were several

sets, though the whole source of motive power was usually

referred to as a "storage battery."

 

"How long will it take?" asked Mr. Damon.

 

"About two hours," answered the lad. "We'll probably have to

disconnect our wires several times, whenever a trolley car comes

past. By my system I can recharge the battery very quickly.

 

"Do you suppose the owners of the road will make any

objection?" asked the balloonist.

 

"I'm going to pay for the current I use," explained the young

inventor. "I have a meter which tells how much I take."

 

The hum of an approaching car was heard, and Tom took the wires

from the third rail. The car came to a stop opposite the

automobile, the passengers, as well as the crew, looking

curiously at the queer racing machine. Tom explained to the

conductor what was going on, and asked the fare-collector to

notify those in charge of the power station that all current used

would be paid for. The conductor said this would be satisfactory,

he was sure, and the car proceeded, Tom resuming the charging of

his battery.

 

Allowing plenty of reserve power to accumulate, and making sure

that the gauge would not stick again, and deceive him, the owner

of the speedy electric was soon ready to proceed again. They had

been delayed a little over three hours, for they had to make

several shifts, as the cars came past.

 

They reached their shore cottage late that night, and, after

seeing that the runabout was safely locked in the big shed where

the submarine had been built, they all went to bed, for they were

very tired.

 

Tom sent word, the next day, to the managers of the race, that

he would be on hand at the time stipulated, and announced that he

had made part of the trip, as required, under the power of the

auto itself.

 

The next day was spent in overhauling the machinery, tightening

up some loose bearings, oiling different parts, and further

charging the battery. Tires were looked to, and the ones on the

spare wheels were gone over to prepare for any emergency that

might arise when the race was started.

 

On the third day, Tom, Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon, leaving the

cottage completed the trip to Havenford, Long Island, where the

new track had been constructed.

 

They reached the place shortly before noon, and, if they had

been unaware of the location they could not have missed it, for

there were many autos speeding along the road toward the scene of

the race, which would take place the following day.

 

Several electric cars passed Tom and his friends, whizzing

swiftly by, but the young inventor was not going to show off his

speed until the time came. Besides, he did not want to run any

risks of an accident. But some of the contestants seemed anxious

for impromptu "brushes," and more than one called to our hero to

"speed up and let's see what she can do." But Tom smiled, and

shook his head.

 

There were many gasolene and some steam autos going out to the

new track, which was considered a remarkable piece of

engineering. It was in the shape of an octagon, and the turns

were considered very safe. It was a five mile track, and to

complete the race it would be necessary to make a hundred

circuits.

 

Through scores of autos Tom and his friends threaded their way,

the young inventor keeping a watchful eye on the various types of

machine with which he would soon have to compete.

 

There were many kinds. Some were larger and some smaller than

his. Many obviously carried very large batteries, but whether

they had the speed or not was another question. Some, in spurts,

seemed to Tom, to be fully as fast as his own, and he began to

have some doubts whether he would win the race.

 

"But I'm not going to give up until the five hundredth mile is

finished," he thought, grimly.

 

They were now in sight of the track, and noted many machines

speeding around it.

 

"Go on in and try your car, Tom," urged Mr. Sharp.

 

"Yes, do," added Mr. Damon. "Let's see how it travels."

 

"I will, after I notify the proper officials that I have

arrived," decided the lad.

 

The formalities were soon complied with. Tom received his entry

card, after paying the fee, made affidavit that he had completed

the entire trip from home under his own power, save for the

little stretch when the car was pulled, which did not count

against him, and was soon ready to go on the track. Only electric

cars were allowed there.

 

As the young inventor guided his latest effort in the machine

line onto the big track there were murmurs of surprise from the

throngs.

 

"That's a queer machine," said one.

 

"Yes, but it looks speedy," was another's opinion.

 

"There's the car for my money," added a third, pointing to a

big red electric which was certainly whizzing around the track.

Tom noted the red car. Behind it was a green one, also moving at

a fast rate of speed.

 

"Those will be my nearest rivals," thought the lad, as he

guided his car onto the track. A moment later he was sending the

auto ahead at moderate speed, while the other contestants looked

at the new arrival, as if trying to discover whether in it they

would have a dangerous competitor.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXV             WINNING THE PRIZE

 

 

After making two circuits of the track at moderate speed, Tom

turned on more power, deciding to see how the machine would

behave on the turns, going at a fast speed. As it happened he

forged ahead just as the big red car was coming up behind him.

The driver of it took this for a challenge and threw his

controller handle forward.

 

"Come on!" he cried to our hero, when even with him.

 

Tom did not want to decline the invitation, and the impromptu

race was under way. Soon the green car came rushing up, and for

two miles the three kept almost in line. It was evident that

neither the green nor the red car drivers wanted to "open out,"

until they saw Tom do so.

 

He was willing to oblige them, and suddenly increased his

speed. They did the same, and went ahead of him. Then Tom turned

on a little more juice and got the lead, but the two men were

right after him, and they see-sawed like this for two more miles.

Then, with a cry the man in the red car, with a sudden burst of

speed, left Tom and the green car behind. The green car was soon

up to its rival, but Tom decided he would not spurt.

 

The lad and his friends spent the early part of the night in

making a final inspection of the machinery, finding it in good

order. Then, with his head filled with visions of the race on the

morrow Tom went to bed. He had made inquiries, by telephone, of

the friends of Miss Nestor, and learned that she had not arrived.

Tom felt a distinct sense of disappointment.

 

The day of the race could not have been better. It was ideal

weather, and conditions at the track were just right. Tom was up

early, and went over every inch of his car with a nervous dread

that he might find something the matter.

 

The final details of the race were completed, and the entrants

given their numbers and places. Tom drew a good position, not the

best, but he had no reason to complain. Half an hour before the

start he again telephoned to see if Miss Nestor had arrived, but

she had not, and it was with rather gloomy thoughts that the lad

entered his car, in which Mr. Sharp had already taken his place.

Mr. Damon went to the grandstand to watch the race.

 

"I wanted Mary to see me win," thought our hero, for he had

grimly set his mind on coming in ahead.

 

There was a great crowd in the grandstand and scattered about

the big track, which took in a large extent of territory. In

spite of its size--five  miles  around--it  seemed  solidly

packed for the entire length with autos, containing gay parties

who had come to see the electric contest. There was a band

playing gay airs, as Tom guided his machine through the entrance

gate, and onto the track.

 

The judges made their final inspection. There were twenty cars

entered, but it was obvious that some of them would not last

long, as their battery capacity was not large enough. Their

owners might have relied on recharging, but how they could do

this under the usual slow system, and hope to win, Tom could not

see. He hoped to run the entire distance on the single charge,

but, if by some accident part of his current should leak away,

his battery could be charged in a short time, by means of his new

system, to run for a considerable distance, or he could install a

new one already charged, for he had two sets on hand. Tom glanced

over the cars of his competitors. They were to be sent away in

batches, the affair being a handicap one, with time allowance for

the smaller powered cars. Tom noted that his car and the red and

the green ones were in the same bunch. Tom's car was purple.

 

"Are you all ready?" asked the starter of the first group of

races.

 

"Ready," was the low-voiced response.

 

"Crack!" went the pistol, and there followed the hum of the

motors as the current set the mechanism to work. Forward went the

cars, amid the crash of the band and the cheers of the crowd. The

big race was under way.

 

"Do you feel nervous, Tom?" asked Mr. Sharp.

 

"Not a bit," replied the lad.

 

Around and around the track flew the speedy electrics. It was

evident that the holding of a meet solely for cars of  this

character had brought out many new ideas that would be to the

benefit of the industry. Some cars were "freaks" and others, like

Tom's, showed a distinct advance over previous styles of

construction.

 

A five-hundred mile race around a track is rather a monotonous

affair, except for what happens, and things very soon began to

happen at this race.

 

As Tom had expected, several of the machines were forced to

withdraw. Tire troubles beset some, and others found that they

were hopelessly out of it because of low power, or lack of

battery capacity.

 

Tom determined not to let the red or the green car gain any

advantage over him, and so he watched those two vehicles

narrowly. On the other hand, the red and the green electrics were

evidently afraid of one another and of Tom.

 

They all three kept pretty much together for the first thirty

miles. By this time the race had settled down into a steady

grind. There was some excitement when the steering gear of one

car broke, and it crashed Into the fence, injuring the driver,

but the race went on.

 

The young inventor was holding his own with his two chief

rivals, and was feeling rather proud of his car, when there came

from it a report like a pistol shot.

 

"Blow out!" yelled Tom desperately, steering to one of the

several repair stations on the inner side of the track. "Be ready

with the extra wheel, Mr. Sharp!"

 

"Right you are!" cried the balloonist. The car was scarcely

stopped when he had leaped out, and had the lifting jack under

the left rear wheel, where the tire had gone to the bad. He and

Tom labored like Trojans to take off the wheel, and put on the

other. They lost five minutes, and when they got under way again

the red and the green cars were three quarters of a lap ahead.

 

"You've got to catch them!" declared Sharp firmly.

 

But the red and the green car drivers saw their advantage, and

were determined to hold it. Tom could not catch them without

going his limit, and he did not want to do this just yet.

However, he had his opportunity when about two hundred miles had

been covered. Both the red and the green cars had tire troubles,

but the red one was delayed scarcely two minutes as there was a

corps of mechanics on hand to take off the defective wheel and

put on another. Still Tom regained his lost ground, and once more

the race between those three cars was even.

 

In the rear of Tom's car Mr. Sharp was mending the blown-out

tire, though there was still one spare wheel on reserve. Tom, in

front, peered eagerly at the track. Nearly side by side raced the

red and the green cars, the latter somewhat to the rear.

 

It was at the three hundred and fiftieth mile that Tom had

another blow-out. This time it took a little longer to change the

wheel, and the red and green cars gained a full lap on him. The

track was now so dusty that it was difficult to see the

contesting cars. Many had dropped out, and more were on the verge

of giving up.

 

With the odds against him, Tom started in to regain the lost

ground. Narrowly he watched his electric power. Slowly he saw it

dropping. Would he have enough left to finish out the race? He

feared not. The hours were passing. Still there was a hundred

miles yet to go twenty circuits of the track. Some of the

spectators were getting weary and leaving. The band played

spasmodically.

 

Suddenly Tom saw the red car shoot to one side of the track,

toward a charging station; The green car followed.

 

"That's our cue!" cried the young inventor "We need a little

more 'juice' and now is the time to get it."

 

The lad ran to the shed where his charging wires were, and they

were connected in a trice. He allowed twenty-five minutes for the

charging, as he knew with his improved battery he could get

enough current in that time to finish the contest. Before the red

and green car drivers had finished installing new batteries, for

they could not recharge as quickly as could our hero, Tom was on

the track again. But, in a little while, his two rivals were

after him.

 

It was now a spectacular race. Around and around swept the

three big cars. All the others were practically out of it. The

crowd became lively airs. Mile after mile was reeled off. The day

was passing. Tired and covered with dust from the track, Tom

still sat at the steering wheel.

 

"Two laps more!" cried Mr. Sharp, as the starter's pistol gave

this warning. "Can you get away from 'em, Tom?"

 

The red and the green cars were following closely. The young

inventor looked back and nodded. He turned on more power, almost

to the limit--that he was saving for the final spurt. But after

him still came the two big cars. Suddenly the red car shot ahead,

just as the last lap was beginning. The green tried to follow,

but there was a flash of fire, a loud report, and Tom knew a fuse

had blown out. There was no time for his rival to put in a new

one. The race was now between Tom and the red car. Could the lad

catch and pass it?

 

They were now only a mile from the finish. The red car was

three lengths ahead. With a quick motion Tom turned on the last

bit of power. There seemed to come a roar from his Motor and his

car shot ahead. It was on even terms with the red car when what

Tom had been fearing for the last five minutes happened. his fuse

blew out.

 

"Too bad! It's all up with us!" cried Mr. Sharp.

 

"No!" cried Tom in a ringing voice. "I've got an emergency fuse

ready!"  He snapped a switch in place, putting into commission

another fuse. The motor that had lost speed began to pick it up

again. Tom had pulled back the controller handle, but he now

shoved it forward again, notch by notch, until it was at the

limit. He had fallen back from the red car, and the occupants of

that, with a yell of triumph, prepared to cross the line a

winner.

 

But, like a race horse that nerves himself for the last

desperate spurt, Tom's machine fairly leaped ahead. With his

hands gripping the rim of the steering wheel, until it seemed

that the bones of his fingers would protrude, Tom sent his car

straight for the finishing tape. There was a yell from the

spectators. Men were standing up, waving their hats and shouting.

Women were fairly screaming. Mr. Damon was blessing everything

within sight. Mr. Sharp, in his excitement, was pushing on the

back of the front seats as if to shove the car ahead.

 

Then, as the pistol announced the close of the race, Tom's car,

with what seemed a mighty leap, like a hunter clearing a ditch,

forged ahead, and crossed the line a length in advance of the red

car. Tom Swift had Won.

 

Amid the cheers of the crowd the lad slowed up, and, at the

direction of the judges, wheeled back to the stand, to receive

the prize. A certified check for three thousand dollars was

handed him, and he received the congratulations of the racing

officials. The driver of the red car also generously praised him.

 

"You won fair and square," he said, shaking hands with Tom.

 

The young inventor and his friends drove their car to their

shed. As Tom was descending, weary and begrimed with dust he

heard a voice asking:

 

"Mayn't I congratulate you also?"

 

He wheeled around, to confront Mary Nestor, immaculate in a

summer gown.

 

"Why--why," he stammered. "I--I thought you didn't come."

 

"Oh, yes I did," she answered, laughing. "I wouldn't have

missed it for anything. I arrived late, but I saw the whole race.

Wasn't it glorious. I'm so glad you won!"  Tom was too, now, but

he shrank back when Miss Nestor held out both daintily gloved

hands to him. His hands were covered with oil and dirt.

 

"As if I cared for my gloves!" she cried, and she took

possession of his hands, a proceeding to which Tom was nothing

loath. "Are you going to race any more?" she asked, as he walked

along by her side, away from the gathering crowd.

 

"I don't know," he replied. "My car is speedier than I thought

it was. Perhaps I may enter it in other contests."

 

But what Tom Swift did later on will be told in another volume,

to be called, "Tom Swift and His Wireless Message; or, The

Castaways of Earthquake Island"--a strange tale of ship-wreck and

mystery.

 

The run back home was made without incident, save for a broken

chain, easily repaired, the day following the race, and Tom later

received a number of invitations to give exhibitions of speed.

Several automobile manufacturers wanted to secure the rights to

his machine, but he said he desired to consider the matter before

acting. He did not forget his promise to Mrs. Baggert, regarding

the diamond earrings, and bought her the finest pair he could

find.

 

"Come on, Mr. Sharp," proposed Tom, a week or so after the big

race, "let's go for a spin in the airship. I want to see how it

feels to be among the clouds once more," and they were soon

soaring aloft.

 

The new bank, started by Mr. Foger, did not flourish long. It

closed its doors in less than six months, but the old institution

was stronger than ever. Mr. Berg disappeared, and Tom never

learned whether the agent really was the man he had chased, and

whose watch charm he tore loose, though he always had his

suspicions. Nor did it ever develop who crossed the electric

wires, so that Tom was so nearly fatally shocked. Andy Foger

disliked our hero more than ever, and on several occasions caused

him not a little trouble, but Tom was able to look after himself.

 

 

 

 

 

THE END

 

 

 

 

 

This Isn't All!

 

Would you like to know what became of the good friends you have

made in this book?

 

Would you like to read other stories continuing their adventures

and experiences, or other books quite as entertaining by the same

author?

 

On the reverse side of the wrapper which comes with this book,

you will find a wonderful list of stories which you can buy at

the same store where you got this book.

 

Don't throw away the Wrapper

 

Use it as a handy catalog of the books you want some day to have.

But in case you do mislay it, write to the Publishers for a

complete catalog.

 

 

THE TOM SWIFT SERIES

 

By VICTOR APPLETON

 

Uniform Style of Binding. Individual Colored Wrappers,

Every Volume Complete in Itself.

 

Every boy possesses some form of inventive genius. Tom Swift is

a bright, ingenious boy and his inventions and adventures make

the most interesting kind of reading.

 

TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE

TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTORBOAT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP

TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE

TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS

TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE

TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER

TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE

TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER

TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY

TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA

TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON

TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP

TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL

TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDER

TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH

TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS

TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE

TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING BOAT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT OIL GUSHER

TOM SWIFT AND HIS CHEST OF SECRETS

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRLINE EXPRESS

 

 

 

THE DON STURDY SERIES

By VICTOR APPLETON

 

Individual Colored Wrappers and Text Illustrations by

WALTER S. ROGERS

Every Volume Complete in Itself.

 

In the company with his uncles, one a mighty hunter and the other

a noted scientist, Don Sturdy travels far and wide, gaining much

useful knowledge and meeting many thrilling adventures.

 

DON STURDY ON THE DESERT OF MYSTERY;

An engrossing tale of the Sahara Desert, of encounters with

wild animals and crafty Arabs.

 

DON STURDY WITH THE BIG SNAKE HUNTERS;

Don's uncle, the hunter, took an order for some of the biggest

snakes to be found in South America--to be delivered alive!

 

DON STURDY IN THE TOMBS OF GOLD;

A fascinating tale of exploration and adventure in the Valley

of Kings in Egypt.

 

DON STURDY ACROSS THE NORTH POLE;

A great polar blizzard nearly wrecks the airship of the

explorers.

 

DON STURDY IN THE LAND OF VOLCANOES;

An absorbing tale of adventure among the volcanos of Alaska.

 

DON STURDY IN THE PORT OF LOST SHIPS;

This story is just full of exciting and fearful experiences on

the sea.

 

DON STURDY AMONG THE GORILLAS;

A thrilling story of adventure in darkest Africa. Don is

carried over a mighty waterfall into the heart of gorilla land.

 

 

End.