"That's the way to do it! Whoop her up, Andy! Shove the spark leverover, and turn on more gasolene! We'll make a record this trip."
Two lads in the tonneau of a touring car, that was whirling along acountry road, leaned forward to speak to the one at the steeringwheel. The latter was a red-haired youth, with somewhat squintyeyes, and not a very pleasant face, but his companions seemed toregard him with much favor. Perhaps it was because they were ridingin his automobile.
"Whoop her up, Andy!" added the lad on the seat beside the driver."This is immense!"
"I rather thought you'd like it," remarked Andy Foger, as he turnedthe car to avoid a stone in the road. "I'll make things hum aroundShopton!"
"You have made them hum already, Andy," commented the lad besidehim. "My ears are ringing. Wow! There goes my cap!"
As the boy spoke, the breeze, created by the speed at which the carwas traveling, lifted off his cap, and sent it whirling to the rear.
Andy Foger turned for an instant's glance behind. Then he opened thethrottle still wider, and exclaimed:
"Let it go, Sam. We can get another. I want to see what time I canmake to Mansburg! I want to break a record, if I can."
"Look out, or you'll break something else!" cried a lad on the rearseat. "There's a fellow on a bicycle just ahead of us. Take care,Andy!"
"Let him look out for himself," retorted Foger, as he bent lowerover the steering wheel, for the car was now going at a terrificrate. The youth on the bicycle was riding slowly along, and did notsee the approaching automobile until it was nearly upon him. Then,with a mean grin, Andy Foger pressed the rubber bulb of the hornwith sudden energy, sending out a series of alarming blasts.
"It's Tom Swift!" cried Sam Snedecker. "Look out, or you'll run himdown!"
"Let him keep out of my way," retorted Andy savagely.
The youth on the wheel, with a sudden spurt of speed, tried to crossthe highway. He did manage to do it, but by such a narrow marginthat in very terror Andy Foger shut off the power, jammed down thebrakes and steered to one side. So suddenly was he obliged to swerveover that the ponderous machine skidded and went into the ditch atthe side of the road, where it brought up, tilting to one side.
Tom Swift, his face rather pale from his narrow escape, leaped fromhis bicycle, and stood regarding the automobile. As for theoccupants of that machine, from Andy Foger, the owner, to the threecronies who were riding with him, they all looked very muchastonished.
"Are we--is it damaged any, Andy?" asked Sam Snedecker.
"I hope not," growled Andy. "If my car's hurt it's Tom Swift'sfault!"
He leaped from his seat and made a hurried inspection of themachine. He found nothing the matter, though it was more from goodluck than good management. Then Andy turned and looked savagely atTom Swift. The latter, standing his wheel up against the fence,walked forward.
"What do you mean by getting in the way like that?" demanded Andywith a scowl. "Don't you see that you nearly upset me?"
"Well, I like your nerve, Andy Foger!" cried Tom. "What do you meanby nearly running me down? Why didn't you sound your horn? Youautomobilists take too much for granted! You were going faster thanthe legal rate, anyhow!"
"I was, eh?" sneered Andy.
"Yes, you were, and you know it. I'm the one to make a kick, notyou. You came pretty near hitting me. Me getting in your way! Iguess I've got some rights on the road!"
"Aw, go on!" growled Andy, for he could think of nothing else tosay. "Bicycles are a back number, anyhow."
"It isn't so very long ago that you had one," retorted Tom. "Firstyou fellows know, you'll be pulled in for speeding."
"I guess we had better go slower, Andy," advised Sam in a low voice."I don't want to be arrested."
"Leave this to me," retorted Andy. "I'm running this tour. The nexttime you get in my way I'll run you down!" he threatened Tom. "Comeon, fellows, we're late now, and can't make a record run, all onaccount of him," and Andy got back into the car, followed by hiscronies, who had hurriedly alighted after their thrilling stop.
"If you try anything like this again you'll wish you hadn't,"declared Tom, and he watched the automobile party ride off.
"Oh, forget it!" snapped back Andy, and he laughed, his companionsjoining.
Tom Swift said nothing in reply. Slowly he remounted his wheel androde off, but his thoughts toward Andy Foger were not very pleasantones. Andy was the son of a wealthy man of the town, and his goodfortune in the matter of money seemed to have spoiled him, for hewas a bully and a coward. Several times he and Tom Swift hadclashed, for Andy was overbearing. But this was the first time Andyhad shown such a vindictive spirit.
"He thinks he can run over everything since he got his new auto,"commented Tom aloud as he rode on. "He'll have a smash-up some day,if he isn't careful. He's too fond of speeding. I wonder where heand his crowd are going?"
Musing over his narrow escape Tom rode on, and was soon at his home,where he lived with his widowed father, Barton Swift, a wealthyinventor, and the latter's housekeeper, Mrs. Baggert. Approaching amachine shop, one of several built near his house by Mr. Swift, inwhich he conducted experiments and constructed apparatus. Tom wasmet by his parent.
"What's the matter, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "You look as if somethinghad happened."
"Something very nearly did," answered the youth, and related hisexperience on the road.
"Humph," remarked the inventor; "your little pleasure-jaunt mighthave ended disastrously. I suppose Andy and his chums are off ontheir trip. I remember Mr. Foger speaking to me about it the otherday. He said Andy and some companions were going on a tour, to begone a week or more. Well, I'm glad it was no worse. But have youanything special to do, Tom?"
"No; I was just riding for pleasure, and if you want me to doanything, I'm ready."
"Then I wish you'd take this letter to Mansburg for me. I want itregistered, and I don't wish to mail it in the Shopton post-office.It's too important, for it's about a valuable invention."
"The new turbine motor, dad?"
"That's it. And on your way I wish you'd stop in Merton's machineshop and get some bolts he's making for me."
"I will. Is that the letter?" and Tom extended his hand for amissive his father held.
"Yes. Please be careful of it. It's to my lawyers in Washingtonregarding the final steps in getting a patent for the turbine.That's why I'm so particular about not wanting it mailed here.Several times before I have posted letters here, only to have theinformation contained in them leak out before my attorneys receivedthem. I do not want that to happen in this case. Another thing;don't speak about my new invention in Merton's shop when you stopfor the bolts."
"Why, do you think he gave out information concerning your work?"
"Well, not exactly. He might not mean to, but he told me the otherday that some strangers were making inquiries of him, about whetherhe ever did any work for me."
"What did he tell them?"
"He said that he occasionally did, but that most of my inventivework was done in my own shops, here. He wanted to know why the menwere asking such questions, and one of them said they expected toopen a machine shop soon, and wanted to ascertain if they mightfigure on getting any of my trade. But I don't believe that wastheir object."
"What do you think it was?"
"I don't know, exactly, but I was somewhat alarmed when I heard thisfrom Merton. So I am going to take no risks. That's why I send thisletter to Mansburg. Don't lose it, and don't forget about the bolts.Here is a blue-print of them, so you can see if they come up to thespecifications."
Tom rode off on his wheel, and was soon spinning down the road.
"I wonder if I'll meet Andy Foger and his cronies again?" hethought. "Not very likely to, I guess, if they're off on a tour.Well, I'm just as well satisfied. He and I always seem to get intotrouble when we meet." Tom was not destined to meet Andy again thatday, but the time was to come when the red-haired bully was to causeTom Swift no little trouble, and get him into danger besides. So Tomrode along, thinking over what his father had said to him about theletter he carried.
Mr. Barton Swift was a natural inventor. From a boy he had beeninterested in things mechanical, and one of his first efforts hadbeen to arrange a system of pulleys, belts and gears so that thewindmill would operate the churn in the old farmhouse where he wasborn. The fact that the mill went so fast that it broke the churnall to pieces did not discourage him, and he at once set to work,changing the gears. His father had to buy a new churn, but the younginventor made his plan work on the second trial, and thereafter hismother found butter-making easy.
From then on Barton Swift lived in a world of inventions. Peopleused to say he would never amount to anything, that inventors neverdid, but Mr. Swift proved them all wrong by amassing a considerablefortune out of his many patents. He grew up, married and had oneson, Tom. Mrs. Barton died when Tom was three years old, and sincethen he had lived with his father and a succession of nurses andhousekeepers. The last woman to have charge of the household was aMrs. Baggert, a motherly widow, and she succeeded so well, and Tomand his father formed such an attachment for her, that she wasregarded as a fixture, and had now been in charge ten years.
Mr. Swift and his son lived in a handsome house on the outskirts ofthe village of Shopton, in New York State. The village was near alarge body of water, which I shall call Lake Carlopa, and there Tomand his father used to spend many pleasant days boating, for Tom andthe inventor were better chums than many boys are, and they wereoften seen together in a craft rowing about, or fishing. Of courseTom had some boy friends, but he went with his father more oftenthan he did with them.
Though many of Mr. Swift's inventions paid him well, he wasconstantly seeking to perfect others. To this end he had built nearhis home several machine shops, with engines, lathes and apparatusfor various kinds of work. Tom, too, had the inventive fever in hisveins, and had planned some useful implements and small machines.
Along the pleasant country roads on a fine day in April rode TomSwift on his way to Mansburg to register the letter. As he descendeda little hill he saw, some distance away, but coming toward him, agreat cloud of dust.
"Somebody must be driving a herd of cattle along the road," thoughtTom. "I hope they don't get in my way, or, rather, I hope I don'tget in theirs. Guess I'd better keep to one side, yet there isn'tany too much room."
The dust-cloud came nearer. It was so dense that whoever or whateverwas making it could not he distinguished.
"Must be a lot of cattle in that bunch," mused the young inventor,"but I shouldn't think they'd trot them so on a warm day like this.Maybe they're stampeded. If they are I've got to look out." Thisidea caused him some alarm.
He tried to peer through the dust-cloud, but could not. Nearer andnearer it came. Tom kept on, taking care to get as far to the sideof the road as he could. Then from the midst of the enveloping masscame the sound of a steady "chug-chug."
"It's a motor-cycle!" exclaimed Tom. "He must have his muffler wideopen, and that's kicking up as much dust as the wheels do. Whew! Butwhoever's on it will look like a clay image at the end of the line!"
Now that he knew it was a fellow-cyclist who was raising such adisturbance, Tom turned more toward the middle of the road. As yethe had not had a sight of the rider, but the explosions of the motorwere louder. Suddenly, when the first advancing particles of dustreached him, almost making him sneeze, Tom caught sight of therider. He was a man of middle age, and he was clinging to thehandle-bars of the machine. The motor was going at full speed.
Tom quickly turned to one side, to avoid the worst of the dust. Themotor-cyclist glanced at the youth, but this act nearly proveddisastrous for him. He took his eyes from the road ahead for just amoment, and he did not see a large stone directly in his path. Hisfront wheel hit it, and the heavy machine, which he could notcontrol very well, skidded over toward the lad on the bicycle. Themotor-cyclist bounced up in the air from the saddle, and nearly losthis hold on the handle-bars.
"Look out!" cried Tom. "You'll smash into me!"
"I'm--I'm--try--ing--not--to!" were the words that were rattled outof the middle-aged man.
Tom gave his wheel a desperate twist to get out of the way. Themotor-cyclist tried to do the same, but the machine he was onappeared to want matters its own way. He came straight for Tom, anda disastrous collision might have resulted had not another stonebeen in the way. The front wheel hit this, and was swerved to oneside. The motor-cycle flashed past Tom, just grazing his wheel, andthen was lost to sight beyond in a cloud of dust that seemed tofollow it like a halo.
"Why don't you learn to ride before you come out on the road!" criedTom somewhat angrily.
Like an echo from the dust-cloud came floating back these words:
"I'm--try--ing--to!" Then the sound of the explosions becamefainter.
"Well, he's got lots to learn yet!" exclaimed Tom. "That's twiceto-day I've nearly been run down. I expect I'd better look out for thethird time. They say that's always fatal," and the lad leaped from hiswheel. "Wonder if he bent any of my spokes?" the young inventorcontinued as he inspected his bicycle.