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Tom Swift and His Motor Boat by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER I A MOTOR-BOAT AUCTION
"Where are you going, Tom?" asked Mr. Barton Swift of his son as the young man
was slowly pushing his motor-cycle out of the yard toward the country road.
"You look as though you had some object in view."
"So I have, dad. I'm going over to Lanton."
"To Lanton?
What for?" "I want to have a look at that motor-boat."
"Which boat is that, Tom? I don't recall your speaking about a boat
over at Lanton.
What do you want to look at it for?" "It's the motor-boat those fellows had who
tried to get away with your turbine model invention, dad.
The one they used at the old General Harkness mansion, in the woods near the
lake, and the same boat that fellow used when he got away from me the day I was
chasing him here."
"Oh, yes, I remember now. But what is the boat doing over at Lanton?"
"That's where it belongs. It's the property of Mr. Bently Hastings.
The thieves stole it from him, and when they ran away from the old mansion, the
time Mr. Damon and I raided the place, they left the boat on the lake.
I turned it over to the county authorities, and they found out it belonged to Mr.
Hastings.
He has it back now, but I understand it's somewhat damaged, and he wants to get rid
of it.
He's going to sell it at auction to-day, and I thought I'd go over and take a look
at it. You see--"
"Yes, I see, Tom," exclaimed Mr. Swift with a laugh.
"I see what you're aiming at. You want a motor-boat, and you're going all
around Robin Hood's barn to get at it."
"No, dad, I only--" "Oh, I know you, Tom, my lad!" interrupted
the inventor, shaking his finger at his son, who seemed somewhat confused.
"You have a nice rowing skiff and a sailboat, yet you are hankering for a
motor-boat. Come now, own up.
Aren't you?"
"Well, dad, a motor-boat certainly would go fine on Lake Carlopa.
There's plenty of room to speed her, and I wonder there aren't more of them.
I was going to see what Mr. Hastings' boat would sell for, but I didn't exactly think
of buying it' Still--" "But you wouldn't buy a damaged boat, would
you?"
"It isn't much damaged," and in his eagerness the young inventor (for Tom Swift
had taken out several patents) stood his motor-cycle up against the fence and came
closer to his father.
"It's only slightly damaged," he went on. "I can easily fix it.
I looked it all over before I gave it in charge of the authorities, and it's
certainly a fine boat.
It's worth nine hundred dollars--or it was when it was new."
"That's a good deal of money for a boat," and Mr. Swift looked serious, for though he
was well off, he was inclined to be conservative.
"Oh, I shouldn't think of paying that much.
In fact, dad, I really had no idea of bidding at the auction.
I only thought I'd go over and get an idea of what the boat might sell for.
Perhaps some day--"
Tom paused. Since his father had begun to question him
some new plans had come into the lad's head.
He looked at his parent and saw a smile beginning to work around the corners of Mr.
Swift's lips. There was also a humorous look in the eyes
of the older inventor.
He understood boys fairly well, even if he only had one, and he knew Tom perfectly.
"Would you really like to make a bid on that boat Tom?" he asked.
"Would I, dad?
Well--" The youth did not finish, but his father knew what he meant.
"I suppose a motor-boat would be a nice thing to have on Lake Carlopa," went on Mr.
Swift musingly.
"You and I could take frequent trips in it. It isn't like a motor-cycle, only useful
for one. What do you suppose the boat will go for,
Tom?"
"I hardly know. Not a high price, I believe, for motor-
boats are so new on our lake that few persons will take a chance on them.
But if Mr. Hastings is getting another, he will not be so particular about insisting
on a high price for the old one.
Then, too, the fact that it is damaged will help to keep the price down, though I know
I can easily put it in good shape. I would like to make a bid, if you think
it's all right."
"Well, I guess you may, Tom, if you really want it.
You have money of your own and a motor-boat is not a bad investment.
What do you think ought to be the limit?"
"Would you consider a hundred and fifty dollars too high?"
Mr. Swift looked at Tom critically.
He was plainly going over several matters in his mind, and not the least of them was
the pluck his son had shown in getting back some valuable papers and a model from a
gang of thieves.
The lad certainly was entitled to some reward, and to allow him to get a boat
might properly be part of it.
"I think you could safely go as high as two hundred dollars, Tom," said Mr. Swift at
length.
"That would be my limit on a damaged boat for it might be better to pay a little more
and get a new one. However, use your own judgment, but don't
go over two hundred.
So the thieves who made so much trouble for me stole that boat from Mr. Hastings, eh?"
"Yes, and they didn't take much care of it either.
They damaged the engine, but the hull is in good shape.
I'm ever so glad you'll let me bid on it. I'll start right off.
The auction is at ten o'clock and I haven't more than time to get there."
"Now be careful how you bid.
Don't raise your own figures, as I've sometimes seen women, and men too, do in
their excitement. Somebody may go over your head; and if he
does, let them.
If you get the boat I'll be very glad on your account.
But don't bring any of Anson Morse's gang back in it with you.
I've seen enough of them."
"I'll not dad!" cried Tom as he trundled his motor-cycle out of the gate and into
the country road that led to the village of Shopton, where he lived, and to Lanton,
where the auction was to be held.
The young inventor had not gone far before he turned back, leaving his machine
standing on the side path.
"What's the matter?" asked his father, who had started toward one of several machine
shops on the premises--shops where Mr. Swift and his son did inventive work.
"Guess I'd better get a blank check and some money," replied Tom as he entered the
house. "I'll need to pay a deposit if I secure the
boat."
"That's so. Well, good luck," and with his mind busy on
a plan for a new kind of storage battery, the inventor went on to his workroom.
Tom got some cash and his checkbook from a small safe he owned and was soon speeding
over the road to Lanton, his motor-cycle making quite a cloud of dust.
While he is thus hurrying along to the auction I will tell you something about
him.
Tom Swift, son of Barton Swift, lived with his father and a motherly housekeeper, Mrs.
Baggert, in a large house on the outskirts of the town of Shopton, in New York State.
Mr. Swift had acquired considerable wealth from his many inventions and patents, but
he did not give up working out his ideas simply because he had plenty of money.
Tom followed in the footsteps of his parent and had already taken out several patents.
Shortly before this story opens the youth had become possessed of a motor-cycle in a
peculiar fashion.
As told in the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His Motor-cycle,"
Tom was riding to the town of Mansburg on an errand for his father one day when he
was nearly run down by a motorcyclist.
A little later the same motorcyclist, who was a Mr. Wakefield Damon, of Waterfield,
collided with a tree near Tom's home and was severely cut and bruised, the machine
being broken.
Tom and his father cared for the injured rider, and Mr. Damon, who was an eccentric
individual, was so disheartened by his attempts to ride the motor-cycle that he
sold it to Tom for fifty dollars, though it had cost much more.
About the same time that Tom bought the motor-cycle a firm of rascally lawyers,
Smeak & Katch by name, had, in conjunction with several men, made an attempt to get
control of an invention of a turbine motor perfected by Mr. Swift.
The men, who were Ferguson Appleson, Anson Morse, Wilson Featherton, alias Simpson,
and Jake Burke, alias Happy Harry, who sometimes disguised himself as a ***,
tried several times to steal the model.
Their anxiety to get it was due to the fact that they had invested a large sum in a
turbine motor invented by another man, but their motor would not work and they sought
to steal Mr. Swift's.
Tom was sent to Albany on his motor-cycle to deliver the model and some valuable
papers to Mr. Crawford, of the law firm of Reid & Crawford, of Washington, attorneys
for Mr. Swift.
Mr. Crawford had an errand in Albany and had agreed to meet Tom there with the
model.
But, on the way, Tom was attacked by the gang of unscrupulous men and the model was
stolen. He was assaulted and carried far away in an
automobile.
In an attempt to capture the gang in a deserted mansion, in the woods on the shore
of Lake Carlopa, Tom was aided by Mr. Damon, of whom he had purchased the motor-
cycle.
The men escaped, however, and nothing could be done to punish them.
Tom was thinking of the exciting scenes he had passed through about a month previous
as he spun along the road leading to Lanton.
"I hope I don't meet Happy Harry or any of his gang to-day," mused the lad as he
turned on a little more power to enable his machine to mount a hill.
"I don't believe they'll attend the auction, though.
It would be too risky for them."
As Tom swung along at a rapid pace he heard, behind him, the puffing of an
automobile, with the muffler cut out. He turned and cast a hasty glance behind.
"I hope that ain't Andy Foger or any of his cronies," he said to himself.
"He might try to run me down just for spite.
He generally rushes along with the muffler open so as to attract attention and make
folks think he has a racing car."
It was not Andy, however, as Tom saw a little later, as a man passed him in a big
touring car.
Andy Foger, as my readers will recollect, was a red-haired, squinty-eyed lad with
plenty of money and not much else.
He and his cronies, including Sam Snedecker, nearly ran Tom down one day,
when the latter was on his bicycle, as told in the first volume of this series.
Andy had been off on a tour with his chums during the time when Tom was having such
strenuous adventures and had recently returned.
"If I can only get that boat," mused Tom as he swung back into the middle of the road
after the auto had passed him, "I certainly will have lots of fun.
I'll make a week's tour of Lake Carlopa and take dad and Ned Newton with me."
Ned was Tom's most particular chum, but as young Newton was employed in the Shopton
bank, the lad did not have much time for pleasure.
Lake Carlopa was a large body of water, and it would take a moderately powered boat
several days to make a complete circuit of the shore, so cut up into bays and inlets
was it.
In about an hour Tom was at Lanton, and as he neared the home of Mr. Hastings, which
was on the shore of the lake, he saw quite a throng going down toward the boathouse.
"There'll be some lively bidding," thought Tom as he got off his machine and pushed it
ahead of him through the drive and down toward the river.
"I hope they don't go above two hundred dollars, though."
"Get out the way there!" called a sudden voice, and looking back, Tom saw that an
automobile had crept up silently behind him.
In it were Andy Foger and Sam Snedecker.
"Why don't you get out the way?" petulantly demanded the red-haired lad.
"Because I don't choose to," replied Tom calmly, knowing that Andy would never dare
to speed up his machine on the slope leading down to the lake.
"Go ahead, bump him!" the young inventor heard Sam whisper.
"You'd better try it, if you want to get the best trouncing you ever had!" cried Tom
hotly.
"Hu! I s'pose you think you're going to bid on the boat?" sneered Andy.
"Is there any law against it?" asked Tom. "Hu! Well, you'll not get it.
I'm going to take that boat," retorted the squint-eyed bully.
"Dad gave me the money to get it." "All right," answered Tom non-committally.
"Go ahead.
It's a free country." He stood his motor-cycle up against a tree
and went toward a group of persons who were surrounding the auctioneer.
The time had arrived to start the sale.
As Tom edged in closer he brushed against a man who looked at him sharply.
The lad was just wondering if he had ever seen the individual before, as there seemed
to be something strangely familiar about him, when the man turned quickly away, as
if afraid of being recognized.
"That's odd," thought Tom, but he had no further time for speculation, as the
auctioneer was mounting on a soapbox and had begun to address the gathering.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Boat by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER II SOME LIVELY BIDDING
"Attention, people!" cried the auctioneer. "Give me your attention for a few minutes,
and we will proceed with the business in hand.
As you all know, I am about to dispose of a fine motor-boat, the property of Mr. Bently
Hastings.
The reason for disposing of it at auction is known to most of you, but for the
benefit of those who do not, I will briefly state them.
The boat was stolen by a gang of thieves and recovered recently through the efforts
of a young man, Thomas Swift, son of Barton Swift, our fellow-townsman, of Shopton."
At that moment the auctioneer, Jacob Wood, caught sight of Tom in the press, and,
looking directly at the lad, continued:
"I understand that young Mr. Swift is here to-day, and I hope he intends to bid on
this boat. If he does, the bidding will be lively, for
Tom Swift is a lively young man.
I wish I could say that some of the men who stole the boat were here to-day."
The auctioneer paused and there were some murmurs from those in the throng as to why
such a wish should be uttered.
Tom felt some one moving near him, and, looking around, he saw the same man with
whom he had come in contact before.
The person seemed desirous of getting out on the edge of the crowd, and Tom felt a
return of his vague suspicions.
He looked closely at the fellow, but could trace no resemblance to any of the men who
had so daringly stolen his father's model.
"The reason I wish they were here to-day," went on Mr. Wood, "is that the men did some
slight damage to the boat, and if they were here to-day we would make them pay for it.
However, the damage is slight and can easily be repaired.
I mention that, as Mr. Hastings desired me to.
Now we will proceed with the bidding, and I will say that an opportunity will first be
given all to examine the boat.
Perhaps Tom Swift will give us his opinion on the state it is in as we know he is well
qualified to talk about machinery." All eyes were turned on Tom, for many knew
him.
"Humph! I guess I know as much about boats and
motors as he does," sneered Andy Foger. "He isn't the only one in this crowd!
Why didn't the auctioneer ask me?"
"Keep quiet," begged Sam Snedecker. "People are laughing at you, Andy."
"I don't care if they are," muttered the sandy haired youth.
"Tom Swift needn't think he's everything."
"If you will come down to the dock," went on the auctioneer, "you can all see the
boat, and I would be glad to have young Mr. Swift give us the benefit of his advice."
The throng trooped down to the lake, and, blushing somewhat, Tom told what was the
matter with the motor and how it could be fixed.
It was noticed that there was less enthusiasm over the matter than there had
been, for certainly the engine, rusty and out of order as it was, did not present an
attractive sight.
Tom noted that the man, who had acted so strangely, did not come down to the dock.
"Guess he can't be much interested in the motor," decided Tom.
"Now then, if it's all the same to you folks, I'll proceed with the auction here,"
went on Mr. Wood. "You can all see the boat from here.
It is, as you see, a regular family launch and will carry twelve persons comfortably.
With a canopy fitted to it a person could cruise all about the lake and stay out over
night, for you could sleep on the seat cushions.
It is twenty-one feet in length and has a five-and-a-half-foot beam, the design being
what is known as a compromise stern. The motor is a double-cylinder two-cycle
one, of ten horsepower.
It has a float-feed carburetor, mechanical oiler, and the ignition system is the jump-
spark--the best for this style of motor.
The boat will make ten miles an hour, with twelve in, and, of course, more than that
with a lighter load. A good deal will depend on the way the
motor is managed.
"Now, as you know, Mr. Hastings wishes to dispose of the boat partly because he does
not wish to repair it and partly because he has a newer and larger one.
The craft, which is named CARLOPA by the way, cost originally nine hundred dollars.
It could not be purchased new to day, in many places, for a thousand.
Now what am I offered in its present condition?
Will any one make an offer? Will you give me five hundred dollars?"
The auctioneer paused and looked critically at the throng.
Several persons smiled. Tom looked worried.
He had no idea that the price would start so high.
"Well, perhaps that is a bit stiff," went on Mr. Wood.
"Shall we say four hundred dollars?
Come now, I'm sure it's worth four hundred. Who'll start it at four hundred?"
No one would, and the auctioneer descended to three hundred, then to two and finally,
as if impatient, he called out:
"Well, will any one start at fifty dollars?"
Instantly there were several cries of "I will!"
"I thought you would," went on the auctioneer.
"Now we will get down to work. I'm offered fifty dollars for this twenty-
one foot, ten horsepower family launch.
Will any one make it sixty?" "Sixty!" called out Andy Foger in a shrill
voice. Several turned to look at him.
"I didn't know he was going to bid," thought Tom.
"He may go above me.
He's got plenty of money, and, while I have too, I'm not going to pay too much for a
damaged boat."
"Sixty I'm bid, sixty--sixty!" cried Mr. Wood in a sing-song tone, "who'll make it
seventy?"
"Sixty-five!" spoke a quiet voice at Tom's elbow, and he turned to see the mysterious
man who had joined the crowd at the edge of the lake.
"Sixty-five from the gentleman in the white straw hat!" called Mr. Wood with a smile at
his wit, for there were many men wearing white straw hats, the day being a warm one
in June.
"Here, who's bidding above me?" exclaimed Andy, as if it was against the law.
"I guess you'll find a number going ahead of you, my young friend," remarked the
auctioneer.
"Will you have the goodness not to interrupt me, except when you want to bid?"
"Well, I offered sixty," said the squint- eyed bully, while his crony, Sam Snedecker,
was vainly, pulling at his sleeve.
"I know you did, and this gentleman went above you.
If you want to bid more you can do so. I'm offered sixty-five, sixty-five I'm
offered for this boat.
Will any one make it seventy-five?" Mr. Wood looked at Tom, and our hero,
thinking it was time for him to make a bid, offered seventy.
"Seventy from Tom Swift!" cried the auctioneer.
"There is a lad who knows a motor-boat from stem to stern, if those are the right
words.
I don't know much about boats except what I'm told, but Tom Swift does.
Now, if he bids, you people ought to know that it's all right.
I'm bid seventy--seventy I'm bid.
Will any one make it eighty?" "Eighty!" exclaimed Andy Foger after a
whispered conference with Sam. "I know as much about boats as Tom Swift.
I'll make it eighty."
"No side remarks. I'll do most of the talking.
You just bid, young man," remarked Mr. Wood.
"I have eighty bid for this boat--eighty dollars.
Why, my friends, I can't understand this. I ought to have it up to three hundred
dollars, at least.
But I thank you all the same. We are coming on.
I'm bid eighty--" "Ninety!" exclaimed the quiet man at Tom's
elbow.
He was continually fingering his upper lip, as though he had a mustache there, but his
face was clean-shaven. He looked around nervously as he spoke.
"Ninety!" called out the auctioneer.
"Ninety-five!" returned Tom. Andy Foger scowled at him, but the young
inventor only smiled. It was evident that the bully did not
relish being bid against.
He and his crony whispered together again. "One hundred!" called Andy, as if no one
would dare go above that. "I'm offered an even hundred," resumed Mr.
Wood.
"We are certainly coming on. A hundred I am bid, a hundred--a hundred--a
hundred--"
"And five," said the strange man hastily, and he seemed to choke as he uttered the
words.
"Oh, come now; we ought to have at least ten-dollar bids from now on," suggested Mr.
Wood. "Won't you make it a hundred and ten?"
The auctioneer looked directly at the man, who seemed to shrink back into the crowd.
He shook his head, cast a sort of despairing look at the boat and hurried
away.
"That's ***," murmured Tom. "I guess that was his limit, yet if he
wanted the boat badly that wasn't a high price."
"Who's going ahead of me?" demanded Andy in loud tones.
"Keep quiet!" urged Sam. "We may get it yet."
"Yes, don't make so many remarks," counseled the auctioneer.
"I'm bid a hundred and five. Will any one make it a hundred and twenty-
five?"
Tom wondered why the man had not remained to see if his bid was accepted, for no one
raised it at once, but he hurried off and did not look back.
Tom took a sudden resolve.
"A hundred and twenty-five!" he called out. "That's what I like to hear," exclaimed Mr.
Wood. "Now we are doing business.
A hundred and twenty-five from Tom Swift.
Will any one offer me fifty?" Andy and Sam seemed to be having some
dispute. "Let's make him quit right now," suggested
Andy in a hoarse whisper.
"You can't," declared Sam' "Yes, I can.
I'll go up to my limit right now." "And some one will go above you---maybe Tom
will," was Sam's retort.
"I don't believe he can afford to," Andy came back with.
"I'm going to call his bluffs. I believe he's only bidding to make others
think he wants it.
I don't believe he'll buy it." Tom heard what was said, but did not reply.
The auctioneer was calling monotonously: "I'm bid a hundred and twenty-five--twenty-
five.
Will any one make it fifty?" "A hundred and fifty!" sang out Andy, and
all eyes were directed toward him. "Sixty!" said Tom quietly.
"Here, you--" began the red-haired lad.
"You--" "That will do!" exclaimed the auctioneer
sternly. "I am offered a hundred and sixty.
Now who will give me an advance?
I want to get the boat up to two hundred, and then the real bidding will begin."
Tom's heart sank. He hoped it would be some time before a two
hundred dollar offer would be heard.
As for Andy Foger, he was almost speechless with rage.
He shook off the restraining arm of Sam, and, worming his way to the front of the
throng, exclaimed:
"I'll give a hundred and seventy-five dollars for that boat!"
"Good!" cried the auctioneer. "That's the way to talk.
I'm offered a hundred and seventy-five."
"Eighty," said Tom quietly, though his heart was beating fast.
"Well, of all--" began Andy, but Sam Snedecker dragged him back.
"You haven't got any more money," said the bully's crony.
"Better stop now." "I will not!
I'm going home for more," declared Andy.
"I must have that boat." "It will be sold when you get back," said
Sam.
"Haven't you got any money you can lend me?" inquired the squint-eyed one, scowling
in Tom's direction. "No, not a bit.
There, some one raised Tom's bid."
At that moment a man in the crowd offered a hundred and eighty-one dollars.
"Small amounts thankfully received," said Mr. Wood with a laugh.
Then the bidding became lively, a number making one-dollar advances.
The price got up to one hundred and ninety- five dollars and there it hung for several
minutes, despite the eloquence of Mr. Wood, who tried by all his persuasive powers to
get a substantial advance.
But every one seemed afraid to bid. As for the young inventor, he was in a
quandary.
He could only offer five dollars more, and, if he bid it in a lump, some one might go
to two hundred and five, and he would not get the boat.
He wished he had secured permission from his father to go higher, yet he knew that
as a fair proposition two hundred dollars was about all the motor-boat in its present
condition was worth, at least to him.
Then he made a sudden resolve. He thought he might as well have the
suspense over. "Two hundred dollars!" he called boldly.
"I'm offered two hundred!" repeated Mr. Wood.
"That is something like it. Now who will raise that?"
There was a moment of silence.
Then the auctioneer swung into an enthusiastic description of the boat.
He begged for an advance, but none was made, though Tom's heart seemed in his
throat, so afraid was he that he would not get the CARLOPA.
"Two hundred--two hundred!" droned on Mr. Wood.
"I am offered two hundred. Will any of you go any higher?"
He paused a moment, and Tom's heart beat harder than ever.
"If not," resumed the speaker, "I will declare the bidding closed.
Are you all done?
Once--twice--three times. Two hundred dollars.
Going--going--gone!" He clapped his hands.
"The boat is sold to Thomas Swift for two hundred dollars.
If he'll step up I'll take his money." There was a laugh as Tom, blushingly,
advanced.
He passed Andy Foger, who had worked his way over near him.
"You got the boat," sneered the bully, "and I s'pose you think you got ahead of me."
"Keep quiet!" begged Sam.
"I won't!" exclaimed Andy. "He outbid me just out of spite, and I'll
get even with him. You see if I don't!"
Tom looked Andy Foger straight in the eyes, but did not answer, and the red-haired
youth turned aside, followed by his crony, and started toward his automobile.
"I congratulate you on your bargain," said Mr. Wood as Tom proceeded to make out a
check.
He gave little thought to the threat Andy Foger had made, but the time was coming
when he was to remember it well.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Boat by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER III A TIMELY WARNING
"Well, are you satisfied with your bargain, Tom?" asked Mr. Wood when the formalities
about transferring the ownership of the motor-boat had been completed.
"Oh, yes, I calculated to pay just what I did."
"I'm glad you're satisfied, for Mr. Hastings told me to be sure the purchaser
was satisfied.
Here he comes now. I guess he wasn't at the auction."
An elderly gentleman was approaching Mr. Wood and Tom.
Most of the throng was dispersing, but the young inventor noticed that Andy Foger and
Sam Snedecker stood to one side, regarding him closely.
"So you got my boat," remarked the former owner of the craft.
"I hope you will be able to fix it up." "Oh, I think I shall," answered the new
owner of the CARLOPA.
"If I can't, father will help me." "Yes, you have an advantage there.
Are you going to keep the same name?" and Mr. Hastings seemed quite interested in
what answer the lad would make.
"I think not," replied Tom. "It's a good name, but I want something
that tells more what a fast boat it is, for I'm going to make some changes that will
increase the speed."
"That's a good idea. Call it the Swift."
"Folks would say I was stuck up if I did that," retorted the youth quickly.
"I think I shall call it the ARROW.
That's a good, short name, and--" "It's certainly speedy," interrupted Mr.
Hastings.
"Well now, since you're not going to use the name CARLOPA, would you mind if I took
it for my new boat? I have a fancy for it."
"Not in the least," said Tom.
"Don't you want the letters from each side of the bow to put on your new craft?"
"It's very kind of you to offer them, and, since you will have no need for them, I'll
be glad to take them off."
"Come down to my boat," invited Tom, using the word "my" with a proper pride, "and
I'll take off the brass letters. I have a screw driver in my motor-cycle
tool bag."
As the former and present owners of the ARROW (which is the name by which I shall
hereafter designate Tom's motor-boat) walked down toward the dock where it was
moored the young inventor gave a startled cry.
"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Hastings. "That man!
See him at my motor-boat?" cried Tom.
He pointed to the craft in the lake. A man was in the cockpit and seemed to be
doing something to the forward bulkhead, which closed off the compartment holding
the gasoline tank.
"Who is he?" asked Mr. Hastings, while Tom started on a run toward the boat.
"I don't know.
Some man who bid on the boat at the auction, but who didn't go high enough,"
answered the lad.
As he neared the craft the man sprang out, ran along the lakeshore for a short
distance and then disappeared amid the bushes which bordered the estate of Mr.
Hastings.
Tom hurriedly entered the ARROW. "Did he do any damage?" asked Mr. Hastings.
"I guess he didn't have time," responded Tom.
"But he was tampering with the lock on the door of the forward compartment.
What's in there?" "Nothing but the gasoline tank.
I keep the bulkhead sliding door locked on general principles.
I can't imagine what the fellow would want to open it for.
There's nothing of value in there.
Perhaps he isn't right in his head. Was he a ***?"
"No, he was well dressed but he seemed very nervous during the auction, as if he was
disappointed not to have secured the boat.
Yet what could he want in that compartment? Have you the key to the lock, Mr.
Hastings?"
"Yes, it belongs to you now, Mr. Swift," and the former owner handed it to Tom, who
quickly unlocked the compartment. He slid back the door and peered within,
but all he saw was the big galvanized tank.
"Nothing in there he could want," commented the former owner of the craft.
"No," agreed Tom in a low voice. "I don't see what he wanted to open the
door for."
But the time was to come, and not far off, when Tom was to discover quite a mystery
connected with the forward compartment of his boat, and the solution of it was fated
to bring him into no little danger.
"It certainly is odd," went on Mr. Hastings when, after Tom had secured the screw
driver from his motor-cycle tool bag, he aided the lad in removing the letters from
the bow of the boat "Are you sure you don't know the man?"
"No, I never saw him before.
At first I thought his voice sounded like one of the members of the Happy Harry gang,
but when I looked squarely at him I could not see a bit of resemblance.
Besides, that gang would not venture again into this neighborhood."
"No, I imagine not. Perhaps he was only a curious, meddlesome
person.
I have frequently been bothered by such individuals.
They want to see all the working parts of an automobile or motor-boat, and they don't
care what damage they do by investigating."
Tom did not reply, but he was pretty certain that the man in question had more
of an object than mere curiosity in tampering with the boat.
However, he could discover no solution just then, and he proceeded with the work of
taking off the letters. "What are you going to do with your boat,
now that you have it?" asked Mr. Hastings.
"Can you run it down to your dock in the condition in which it is now?"
"No, I shall have to go back home, get some tools and fix up the motor.
It will take half a day, at least.
I will come back this afternoon and, have the boat at my house by night.
That is if I may leave it at your dock here."
"Certainly, as long as you like."
The young inventor had many things to think about as he rode toward home, and though he
was somewhat puzzled over the actions of the stranger, he forgot about that in
anticipating the pleasure he would have when the motor-boat was in running order.
"I'll take dad off on a cruise about the lake," he decided.
"He needs a rest, for he's been working hard and worrying over the theft of the
turbine motor model.
I'll take Ned Newton for some rides, too, and he can bring his camera along and get a
lot of pictures. Oh, I'll have some jolly sport this
summer!"
Tom was riding swiftly along a quiet country road and was approaching a steep
hill, which he could not see until he was close to it, owing to a sharp turn.
As he was about to swing around it and coast swiftly down the steep declivity he
was startled by hearing a voice calling to him from the bushes at the side of the
road.
"Hold on, dar I Hold on, Mistah Swift!" cried a colored man, suddenly popping into
view. "Doan't go down dat hill."
"Why, it's Eradicate Sampson!" exclaimed Tom, quickly shutting off the power and
applying the brakes. "What's the matter, Rad?
Why shouldn't I go down that hill?"
"Beca'se, Mistah Swift, dere's a pow'ful monstrous tree trunk right across de road
at a place whar yo' cain't see it till yo' gits right on top ob it.
Ef yo' done hit dat ar tree on yo' lickity- split machine, yo' suah would land in
kingdom come. Doan't go down dat hill!"
Tom leaped off his machine and approached the colored man.
Eradicate Sampson did odd jobs in the neighborhood of Shopton, and more than once
Tom had done him favors in repairing his lawn mower or his wood-sawing machine.
In turn Eradicate had given Tom a valuable clue as to the hiding place of the model
thieves. "How'd the log get across the road, Rad?"
asked Tom.
"I dunno, Mistah Swift. I see it when I come along wid mah mule,
Boomerang, an' I tried t' git it outer de way, but I couldn't.
Den I left Boomerang an' mah wagon at de foot ob de hill an' I come up heah t' git a
long pole t' pry de log outer de way. I didn't t'ink nobody would come along,
case dis road ain't much trabeled."
"I took it for a short cut," said the lad. "Come on, let's take a look at the log."
Leaving his machine at the top of the slope, the young inventor accompanied the
colored man 'down the hill.
At the foot of it, well hidden from sight of any one who might come riding down, was
a big log. It was all the way across the road.
"That never fell there," exclaimed Tom in some excitement.
"That never rolled off a load of logs, even if there had been one along, which there
wasn't.
That log was put there!" "Does yo' t'ink dat, Mistah Swift?" asked
Eradicate, his eyes getting big. "I certainly do, and, if you hadn't warned
me, I might have been killed."
"Oh, I heard yo' lickity-split machine chug-chuggin' along when I were in de
bushes, lookin' for a pryin' pole, an' I hurried out to warn yo.
I knowed I could leave Boomerang safe, 'case he's asleep."
"I'm glad you did warn me," went on the youth solemnly.
Then, as he went closer to the log, he uttered an exclamation.
"That has been dragged here by an automobile!" he cried.
"It's been done on purpose to injure some one.
Come on, Rad, let's see if we can't find out who did it."
Something on the ground caught Tom's eye.
He stooped and picked up a nickle-plated wrench.
"This may come in handy as evidence," he murmured.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Boat by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER IV TOM AND ANDY CLASH
Even a casual observer could have told that an auto had had some part in dragging the
log to the place where it blockaded the road.
In the dust were many marks of the big rubber tires and even the imprint of a
rope, which had been used to tow the tree trunk.
"What fo' yo' t'ink any one put dat log dere?" asked the colored man as he followed
Tom.
Boomerang, the mule, so called because Eradicate said you never could tell what he
was going to do, opened his eyes lazily and closed them again.
"I don't know why, Rad, unless they wanted to wreck an automobile or a wagon.
Maybe tramps did it for spite." "Maybe some one done it to make yo' hab
trouble, Mistah Swift."
"No, I hardly think so. I don't know of any one who would want to
make trouble for me, and how would they know I was coming this way--"
Tom suddenly checked himself.
The memory of the scene at the auction came back to him and he recalled what Andy Foger
had said about "'getting even." "Which way did dat auto go?" resumed
Eradicate.
"It came from down the road," answered Tom, not completing the sentence he had left
unfinished. "They dragged the log up to the foot of the
hill and left it.
Then the auto went down this way." It was comparatively easy, for a lad of
such sharp observation as was Tom, to trace the movements of the vehicle.
"Den if it's down heah, maybe we cotch 'em," suggested the colored man.
The young inventor did not answer at once. He was hurrying along, his eyes on the
telltale marks.
He had proceeded some distance from the place where the log was when he uttered a
cry.
At the same moment he hurried from the road toward a thick clump of bushes that were in
the ditch alongside of the highway. Reaching them, he parted the leaves and
called:
"Here's the auto, Rad!" The colored man ran up, his eyes wider open
than ever. There, hidden amid the bushes, was a large
touring car.
"Whose am dat?" asked Eradicate. Tom did not answer.
He penetrated the underbrush, noting where the broken branches had been bent upright
after the forced entrance of the car, the better to hide it.
The young inventor was, seeking some clew to discover the owner of the machine.
To this end he climbed up in the tonneau and was looking about when some one burst
in through the screen of bushes and a voice cried: "Here, you get out of my car!"
"Oh, is it your car, Andy Foger?" asked Tom calmly as he recognized his squint-eyed
rival. "I was just beginning to think it was.
Allow me to return your wrench," and he held out the one he had picked up near the
log.
"The next time you drag trees across the road," went on the lad in the tonneau,
facing the angry and dismayed Andy, "I'd advise you to post a notice at the top of
the hill, so persons riding down will not be injured."
"Notice--road--hill--logs!" stammered Andy, turning red under his freckles.
"That's what I said," replied Tom coolly.
"I--I didn't have anything to do with putting a log across any road," mumbled the
bully. "I--I've been off toward the creek."
"Have you?" asked Tom with a peculiar smile.
"I thought you might have been looking for the wrench you dropped near the log.
You should be more careful and so should Sam Snedecker, who's hiding outside the
bushes," went on our hero, for he had caught sight of the form of Andy's crony.
"I--I told him not to do it!" exclaimed Sam as he came from his hiding place.
"Shut up!" exclaimed Andy desperately. "Oh, I think I know your secret," continued
the young inventor.
"You wanted to get even with me for outbidding you on the motor-boat.
You watched which road I took, and then, in your auto, you came a shorter way, ahead of
me.
You hauled the log across the foot of the hill, hoping, I suppose, that my machine
would be broken. But, let me tell you, it was a risky trick.
Not only might I have been killed, but so would whoever else who happened to drive
down the slope over the log, whether in a wagon or automobile.
Fortunately Eradicate discovered it in time and warned me.
I ought to have you arrested, but you're not worth it.
A good thrashing is what such sneaks as you deserve!"
"You haven't got any evidence against us," sneered Andy confidently, his old bravado
coming back.
"I have all I want," replied Tom. "You needn't worry.
I'm not going to tell the police. But you've got to do one thing or I'll make
you sorry you ever tried this trick.
Eradicate will help me, so don't think you're going to escape."
"You get out of my automobile!" demanded Andy.
"I'll have you arrested if you don't."
"I'll get out because I'm ready to, but not on account of your threats," retorted Mr.
Swift's son. "Here's your wrench.
Now I want you and Sam to start up this machine and haul that log out of the way."
"S'pose I won't do it?" snapped Andy. "Then I'll cause your arrest, besides
thrashing you into the bargain!
You can take your choice of removing the log so travelers can pass or having a good
hiding, you and Sam. Eradicate, you take Sam and I'll tackle
Andy."
"Don't you dare touch me!" cried the bully, but there was a whine in his tones.
"You let me alone or I'll tell my father!" added Sam.
"I--I didn't have nothin' to do with it, anyhow.
I told Andy it would make trouble, but he made me help him."
"Say, what's the matter with you?" demanded Andy indignantly of his crony.
"Do you want to--" "I wish I'd never come with you," went on
Sam, who was beginning to be frightened.
"Come now. Start up that machine and haul the log out
of the way," demanded Tom again. "I won't do it!" retorted the red-haired
lad impudently.
"Yes, you will," insisted our hero, and he took a step toward the bully.
They were out of the clump of bushes now and in the roadside ditch.
"You let me alone," almost screamed Andy, and in his baffled rage he rushed at Tom,
aiming a blow.
The young inventor quickly stepped to one side, and, as the bully passed him, Tom
sent out a neat left-hander. Andy Foger went down in a heap on the
grass.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Boat by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER V A TEST OF SPEED
Whether Tom or Andy was the most surprised at the happening would be hard to say.
The former had not meant to hit so hard and he certainly did not intend to knock the
squint-eyed youth down.
The latter's fall was due, as much as anything, to his senseless, rushing tactics
and to the fact that he slipped on the green grass.
The bully was up in a moment, however, but he knew better than to try conclusions with
Tom again. Instead he stood out of reach and
spluttered:
"You just wait, Tom Swift! You just wait!"
"Well, I'm waiting," responded the other calmly.
"I'll get even with you," went on Andy.
"You think you're smart because you got ahead of me, but I'll get square!"
"Look here!" burst out the young inventor determinedly, taking a step toward his
antagonist, at which Andy quickly retreated, "I don't want any more of that
talk from you, Andy Foger.
That's twice you've made threats against me to-day.
You put that log across the road, and if you try anything like it for your second
attempt I'll make you wish you hadn't.
That applies to you, too, Sam," he added, glancing at the other lad.
"I--I ain't gone' to do nothin'," declared Sam.
"I told Andy not to put that tree--"
"Keep still, can't you!" shouted the bully. "Come on.
We'll get even with him, that's all," he muttered as he went back into the bushes
where the auto was.
Andy cranked up and he and his crony getting into the car were about to start
off. "Hold on!" cried Tom.
"You'll take that log from across the road or I'll have you arrested for obstructing
traffic, and that's a serious offense." "I'm goin' to take it away!" growled Andy.
"Give a fellow a show can't you?"
He cast an ugly look at Tom, but the latter only smiled.
It was no easy task for Sam and Andy to pull the log out of the way, as they could
hardly lift it to slip the rope under.
But they finally managed it, and, by the power of the car, hauled it to one side.
Then they speed off.
"I 'clar t' gracious, dem young fellers am most as mean an' contrary as mah mule
Boomerang am sometimes," observed Eradicate.
"Only Boomerang ain't quite so mean as dat."
"I should hope not, Rad," observed Tom. "I'm ever so much obliged for your warning.
I guess I'll be getting, home now.
Come around next week; we have some work for you."
"'Deed an' I will," replied the colored man.
"I'll come around an' eradicate all de dirt on yo' place, Mistah Swift.
Yais, sah, I's Eradicate by name, and dat's my perfession--eradicatin' dirt.
Much obleeged, I'll call around.
Giddap, Boomerang!"
The mule lazily flicked his ears, but did not stir, and Tom, knowing the process of
arousing the animal would take some time, hurried up the hill to where he had left
his motor-cycle.
Eradicate was still engaged on the task of trying to arouse his steed to a sense of
its duty when the young inventor flashed by on his way home.
"So now you own a broken motor-boat," observed Mr. Swift when Tom had related the
circumstances of the auction. "Well, now you have it, what are you going
to do with it?"
"Fix it, first of all," replied his son. "It needs considerable tinkering up, but
nothing but what I can do, if you'll help me."
"Of course I will.
Do you think you can get any speed out of it?"
"Well, I'm not so anxious for speed. I want a good, comfortable boat, and the
ARROW will be that.
I've named it, you see. I'm going back to Lanton this afternoon,
take some tools along, and repair it so I can run the boat over to here.
Then I'll get at it and fix it up.
I've got a plan for you, dad." "What is it?" asked the inventor, his
rather tired face lighting up with interest.
"I'm going to take you on a vacation trip."
"A vacation trip?" "Yes, you need a rest.
You've been working, too hard over that gyroscope invention."
"Yes, Tom, I think I have," admitted Mr. Swift.
"But I am very much interested in it, and I think I can get it to work.
If I do it will make a great difference in the control of aeroplanes.
It will make them more stable and able to fly in almost any wind.
But I certainly have puzzled my brains over some features of it.
However, I don't quite see what you mean." "You need a rest, dad," said Mr. Swift's
son kindly.
"I want you to forget all about patents, invention, machinery and even the gyroscope
for a week or two.
When I get my motor-boat in shape I'm going to take you and Ned Newton up the lake for
a cruise. We can camp out, or, if we had to, we could
sleep in the boat.
I'm going to put a canopy on it and arrange some bunks.
It will do you good and perhaps new ideas for your gyroscope may come to you after a
rest."
"Perhaps they will, Tom. I am certainly tired enough to need a
vacation. It's very kind of you to think of me in
connection with your boat.
But if you're going to get it this afternoon you'd better start if you expect
to get back by night. I think Mrs. Baggert has dinner ready."
After the meal Tom selected a number of tools from his own particular machine shop
and carried them down to the dock on the lake, where his two small boats were tied.
"Aren't you going back on your motor- cycle?" asked his father.
"No, Dad, I'm going to row over to Lanton, and, if I can get the ARROW fixed, I'll tow
my rowboat back."
"Very well, then you won't be in any danger from Andy Foger.
I must speak to his father about him." "No, dad, don't," exclaimed the young
inventor quickly.
"I can fight my own battles with Andy. I don't fancy he will bother me again right
away."
Tom found it more of a task than he had anticipated to get the motor in shape to
run the ARROW back under her own power.
The magneto was out of order and the batteries needed renewing, while the spark
coil had short-circuited and took considerable time to adjust.
But by using some new dry cells, which Mr. Hastings gave him, and cutting out the
magneto, or small dynamo which produces the spark that exploded the gasoline in the
cylinders, Tom soon had a fine, "fat" hot spark from the auxiliary ignition system.
Then, adjusting the timer and throttle on the engine and seeing that the gasoline
tank was filled, the lad started up his motor.
Mr. Hastings helped him, but after a few turns of the flywheel there were no
explosions.
Finally, after the carburetor (which is the device where gasoline is mixed with air to
produce an explosive mixture) had been adjusted, the motor started off as if it
had intended to do so all the while and was only taking its time about it.
"The machine doesn't run as smooth as it ought to," commented Mr. Hastings.
"No, it needs a thorough overhauling," agreed the owner of the ARROW.
"I'll get at it to-morrow," and with that he swung out into the lake, towing his
rowboat after him.
"A motor-boat of my own!" exulted Tom as he twirled the steering wheel and noted how
readily the craft answered her helm. "This is great!"
He steered down the lake and then, turning around, went up it a mile or more before
heading for his own dock, as he wanted to see how the engine behaved.
"With some changes and adjustments I can make this a speedy boat," thought Tom.
"I'll get right at it.
I shouldn't wonder if I could make a good showing against Mr. Hastings' new CARLOPA,
though his boat's got four cylinders and mine has but two."
The lad was proceeding leisurely along the lakeshore, near his home, with the motor
throttled down to test it at low speed, when he heard some one shout.
Looking toward the bank, Tom saw a man waving his hands.
"I wonder what he wants?" thought our hero as he put the wheel over to send his craft
to shore.
He heard a moment later, for the man on the bank cried:
"I say, my young friend, do you know anything about automobiles?
Of course you do or you wouldn't be running a motor-boat.
Bless my very existence, but I'm in trouble!
My machine has stopped on a lonely road and I can't seem to get it started.
I happened to hear your boat and I came here to hail you.
Bless my coat-pockets but I am in trouble!
Can you help me? Bless my soul and gizzard!"
"Mr. Damon!" exclaimed Tom, shutting off the power, for he was now near shore.
"Of course I'll help you, Mr. Damon," for the young inventor had recognized the
eccentric man of whom he had purchased the motor-cycle and who had helped him in
rounding up the thieves.
"Why, bless my shoe-laces, if it isn't Tom Swift!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, who seemed
very fond of calling down blessings upon himself or upon articles of his dress or
person.
"Yes! I'm here," admitted Tom with a laugh. "And in a motor-boat, too!
Bless my pocketbook, but did that run away with some one who sold it to you cheap?"
"No, not exactly," and the lad explained how he had come into possession of it.
By this time he was ashore and had tied the ARROW to an overhanging tree.
Then Tom proceeded to where Mr. Damon had left his stalled automobile.
The eccentric man was wealthy and his physician had instructed him to ride about
in the car for his health.
Tom soon located the trouble. The carburetor had become clogged, and it
was soon in working order again.
"Well, now that you have a boat, I don't suppose you will be riding about the
country so much," commented Mr. Damon as he got into his car.
"Bless my spark-plug!
But if you ever get over to Waterfield, where I live, come and see me.
It's handy to get to by water." "I'll come some day," promised the lad.
"Bless my hat band, but I hope so," went on the eccentric individual as he prepared to
start his car.
Tom completed the remainder of the trip to his house without incident and his father
came down to the dock to see the motor- boat.
He agreed with his son that it was a bargain and that it could easily be put in
fine shape. The youth spent all the next day and part
of the following working on the craft.
He overhauled the ignition system, which was the jump-spark style, cleaned the
magneto and adjusted the gasoline and compression taps so that they fitted
better.
Then he readjusted the rudder lines, tightening them on the steering wheel, and
looked over the piping from the gasoline tank.
The tank was in the forward compartment, and, upon inspecting this, the lad
concluded to change the plan by which the big galvanized iron box was held in place.
He took out the old wooden braces and set them closer together, putting in a few new
ones.
"The tank will not vibrate so when I'm going at full speed," he explained to his
father.
"Is that where the strange man was tampering with the lock the day of the
auction?" asked Mr. Swift. "Yes, but I don't see what he could want in
this compartment, do you dad?"
The inventor got into the boat and looked carefully into the rather dark space where
the tank fitted.
He went over every inch of it, and, pointing to one of the thick wooden blocks
that supported the tank, asked: "Did you bore that hole in there, Tom?"
"No, it was there before I touched the braces.
But it isn't a hole, or rather, someone bored it and stopped it up again.
It doesn't weaken the brace any."
"No, I suppose not. I was just wondering whether that was one
of the new blocks or an old one." "Oh, an old one.
I'm going to paint them, too, so in case the water leaks in or the gasoline leaks
out the wood won't be affected. A gasoline tank should vibrate as little as
possible, if you don't want it to leak.
I guess I'll paint the whole interior of this compartment white, then I can see away
into the far corners of it." "I think that's a good idea," commented Mr.
Swift.
It was four days after his purchase of the boat before Tom was ready to make a long
trip in it.
Up to that time he had gone on short spins not far from the dock, in order to test the
engine adjustment.
The lad found it was working very well, but he decided with a new kind of spark plugs
for the two cylinders that he could get more speed out of it.
Finally the forward compartment was painted and a general overhauling given the hull
and Tom was ready to put, his boat to a good test.
"Come on, Ned," he said to his chum early one evening after Mr. Swift had said he was
too tired to go out on a trial run. "We'll see what the ARROW will do now."
From the time Tom started up the motor it was evident that the boat was going through
the water at a rapid rate. For a mile or more the two lads speeded
along, enjoying it hugely.
Then Ned exclaimed: "Something's coming behind us."
Tom turned his head and looked. Then he called out:
"It's Mr. Hastings in his new CARLOPA.
I wonder if he wants a race?" "Guess he'd have it all his own way,"
suggested Ned. "Oh, I don't know.
I can get a little more speed out of my boat."
Tom waited until the former owner of the ARROW was up to him.
"Want a race?" asked Mr. Hastings good- naturedly.
"Sure!" agreed Tom, and he shoved the timer ahead to produce quicker explosions.
The ARROW seemed to leap forward and for a moment was ahead of the CARLOPA, but with a
motion of his hand to the spark lever Mr. Hastings also increased his speed.
For a moment the two boats were on even terms and then the larger and newer one
forged ahead. Tom had expected it, but he was a little
disappointed.
"That's doing first rate," complimented Mr. Hastings as he passed them.
"Better than I was ever able to make her do even when she was new, Tom."
This made the present owner of the ARROW feel somewhat consoled.
He and Ned ran on for a few miles, the CARLOPA in the meanwhile disappearing from
view around a bend.
Then Tom and his chum turned around and made for the Swift dock.
"She certainly is a dandy!" declared Ned. "I wish I had one like it."
"Oh, I intend that you shall have plenty of rides in this," went on his friend.
"When you get your vacation, you and dad and I are going on a tour," and he
explained his plan, which, it is needless to say, met with Ned's hearty approval.
Just before going to bed, some hours later, Tom decided to go down to the dock to make
sure he had shut off the gasoline *** leading from the tank of his boat to the
motor.
It was a calm, early summer night, with a new moon giving a little light, and the lad
went down to the lake in his slippers. As he neared the boathouse he heard a
noise.
"Water rat," he murmured, "or maybe muskrats.
I must set some traps."
As Tom entered the boathouse he started back in alarm, for a bright light flashed
up, almost in his eyes.
"Who's here?" he cried, and at that moment someone sprang out of his motor-boat,
scrambled into a rowing craft which the youth could dimly make out in front of the
dock and began to pull away quickly.
"Hold on there!" cried the young inventor. "Who are you?
What do you want? Come back here!"
The person in the 'coat returned no answer.
With his heart doing beats over-time Tom lighted a lantern and made a hasty
examination of the ARROW.
It did not appear to have been harmed, but a glance showed that the door of the
gasoline compartment had been unlocked and was open.
Tom jumped down into his craft.
"Some one has been at that compartment again!" he murmured.
"I wonder if it was the same man who acted so suspiciously at the auction?
What can his object be, anyhow?"
The next moment he uttered an exclamation of startled surprise and picked up
something from the bottom of the boat. It was a bunch of keys, with a tag
attached, bearing the owner's name.
"Andy Foger!" murmured Tom. "So this is, how he was trying to get even!
Maybe he started to put a hole in the tank or in my boat."
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Boat by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER VI TOWING SOME GIRLS
With a sense of anger mingled with an apprehension lest some harm should have
been done to his craft, the owner of the ARROW went carefully over it.
He could find nothing wrong.
The engine was all right and all that appeared to have been accomplished by the
unbidden visitor was the opening of the locked forward compartment.
That this had been done by one of the many keys on Andy Foger's ring was evident.
"Now what could have been his object?" mused Tom.
"I should think if he wanted to put a hole in the boat he would have done it
amidships, where the water would have a better chance to come in, or perhaps he
wanted to flood it with gasoline and--"
The idea of fire was in Tom's mind, and he did not finish his half-completed thought.
"That may have been it," he resumed after a hasty examination of the gasoline tank, to
make sure there were no leaks in it.
"To get even with me for outbidding him on the boat, Andy may have wanted to destroy
the ARROW. Well, of all the mean tricks, that's about
the limit!
But wait until I see him. I've got evidence against him," and Tom
looked at the key ring. "I could almost have him arrested for
this."
Going outside the boathouse, Tom stood on the edge of the dock and peered into the
darkness.
He could hear the faint sound of someone rowing across the lake, but there was no
light. "He had one of those electric flash
lanterns," decided Tom.
"If I hadn't found his keys, I might have thought it was Happy Harry instead of
Andy."
The young inventor went back into the house after carefully locking the boat
compartment and detaching from the engine an electrical device, without which the
motor in the ARROW could not be started.
"That will prevent them from running away with my boat, anyhow," decided Tom.
"And I'll tell Garret Jackson to keep a sharp watch to-night."
Jackson was the engineer at Mr. Swift's workshop.
Tom told his father of the happening and Mr. Swift was properly indignant.
He wanted to go at once to see Mr. Foger and complain of Andy's act, but Tom
counseled waiting. "I'll attend to Andy myself," said the
young inventor.
"He's getting desperate, I guess, or he wouldn't try to set the place on fire.
But wait until I show him these keys."
Bright and early the next morning the owner of the motor-boat was down to the dock
inspecting it.
The engineer, who had been on watch part of the night, reported that there had been no
disturbance, and Tom found everything all right.
"I wonder if I'd better go over and accuse Andy now or wait until I see him and spring
this evidence on him?" thought our hero. Then he decided it would be better to wait.
He took the ARROW out after breakfast, his father going on a short spin with him.
"But I must go back now and work on my gyroscope invention," said Mr. Swift when
about two hours had been spent on the lake.
"I am making good progress with it." "You need a vacation," decided Tom, "I'll
be ready to take you and Ned in about two weeks.
He will have two weeks off then and, we'll have some glorious times together."
That afternoon Tom put some new style spark plugs in the cylinders of his motor and
found that he had considerably increased the revolutions of the engine, due to a
better explosion being obtained.
He also made some minor adjustments and the next day he went out alone for a long run.
Heading up the lake, Tom was soon in sight of a popular excursion resort that was
frequently visited by church and Sunday- school organizations in the vicinity of
Shopton.
The lad saw a number of rowing craft and a small motor-boat circling around opposite
the resort and remarked: "There must be a picnic at the grove to-day.
Guess I'll run up and take a look."
The lad was soon in the midst of quite a flotilla of rowboats, most of them manned
by pretty girls or in charge of boys who were giving sisters (their own or some
other chap's) a trip on the water.
Tom throttled his boat down to slow speed and looked with pleasure on the pretty
scene.
His boat attracted considerable attention, for motor craft were not numerous on Lake
Carlopa.
As our hero passed a boat, containing three very pretty young ladies, Tom heard one of
them exclaim: "There he is now!
That's Tom Swift."
Something in the tones of the voice attracted his attention.
He turned and saw a brown-eyed girl smiling at him.
She bowed and asked, blushing the while:
"Well, have you caught any more runaway horses lately?"
"Runaway horses--why--what?
Oh, it's Miss Nestor!" exclaimed the lad, recognizing the young lady whose steed he
had frightened one day when he was on his bicycle.
As told in the first volume of this series, the horse had run away, being alarmed at
the flashing of Tom's wheel, and Miss Mary Nestor, of Mansburg, was in grave danger.
"So you've given up the bicycle for the motor-boat," went on the young lady.
"Yes," replied Tom with a smile, shutting off the power, "and I haven't had a chance
to save any girls since I've had it."
The two boats had drifted close together, and Miss Nestor introduced her two
companions to Tom. "Don't you want to come in and take a
ride?" he asked.
"Is it safe?" asked Jennie Haddon, one of the trio.
"Of course it is, Jennie, or he wouldn't be out in it," said Miss Nestor hastily.
"Come on, let's get in.
I'm just dying for a motor-boat ride." "What will we do with our boat?" asked
Katie Carson. "Oh, I can tow that," replied the youth.
"Get right in and I'll take you all around the lake."
"Not too far," stipulated the girl who had figured in the runaway.
"We must be back for lunch, which will be served in about an hour.
Our church and Sunday-school are having a picnic."
"Maybe Mr. Swift will come and have some lunch with us," suggested Miss Carson,
blushing prettily.
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," answered Tom, and then he laughed at his
formal reply, the girls joining in. "We'd be glad to have you," added Miss
Haddon.
"Oh!" she suddenly screamed, "the boat's tipping over!"
"Oh, no," Tom hastened to assure her, coming, to the side to help her in.
"It just tilts a bit, with the weight of so many on one side.
It couldn't capsize if it tried."
In another moment the three were in the roomy cockpit and Tom had made the empty
rowboat fast to the stern.
He was about to start up when from another boat, containing two little girls and two
slightly larger boys, came a plaintive cry: "Oh, mister, give us a ride!"
"Sure!" agreed Tom pleasantly.
"Just fasten your boat to the other rowboat and I'll tow you."
One of the boys did this, and then, with three pretty girls as his companions in the
ARROW and towing the two boats, Tom started off.
The girls were very much interested in the craft and asked all sorts of questions
about how the engine operated.
Tom explained as clearly as he could how the gasoline exploded in the cylinders,
about the electric spark and about the propeller.
Then, when he had finished, Miss Haddon remarked naively:
"Oh, Mr. Swift, you've explained it beautifully, and I'm sure if our teacher in
school made things as clear as you have that I could get along fine.
I understand all about it, except I don't see what makes the engine go."
"Oh," said Tom faintly, and he wondering what would be the best remark to make under
the circumstances, when Miss Nestor created a diversion by looking at her watch and
exclaiming:
"Oh, girls, it's lunch time! We must go ashore.
Will you kindly put about, Mr. Swift--I hope that is the proper term--and--land us-
-is that right?" and she looked archly at Tom.
"That's perfectly right," he admitted with a laugh and a glance into the girl's brown
eyes. "I'll put you ashore at once," and he
headed for a small dock.
"And come yourself to take lunch with us, added Miss Haddon.
"I'm afraid I might be in the way," stammered Tom.
"I--I have a pretty good appetite, and--"
"I suppose you think that girls on a picnic don't take much lunch," finished Miss
Nestor.
"But I assure you that we have plenty, and that you will be very welcome," she added
warmly.
"Yes, and I'd like to have him explain over again how the engine works," went on Miss
Haddon. "I am so interested."
Tom helped the girls out, receiving their thanks as well as those of the children in
the second boat.
But as he walked with the young ladies through the grove the young inventor
registered a mental vow that he would steer clear of explaining again how a gasoline
engine worked.
"Now come right over this way to our table," invited Miss Nestor.
"I want you to meet papa and mamma." Tom followed her.
As he stepped from behind a clump of trees he saw, standing not far away, a figure
that seemed strangely familiar. A moment later the figure turned and Tom
saw Andy Foger confronting him.
At the sight of our hero the bully turned red and walked quickly away, while Tom's
fingers touched the ring of keys in his pocket.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Boat by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER VII A BRUSH WITH ANDY
So unexpected was his encounter with Andy that the young inventor hardly knew how to
act, especially since he was a guest of the young ladies.
Tom did not want to do or say anything to embarrass them or make a scene, yet he did
want to have a talk, and a very serious talk, with Andy Foger.
Miss Nestor must have noticed Tom's sudden start at his glimpse of Andy, for she
asked: "Did you see some one you knew, Mr. Swift?"
"Yes," replied Tom, "I did--er--that is--" He paused in some confusion.
"Perhaps you'd like---that is prefer--to go with them instead of taking lunch with
girls who don't know anything about engines?" she persisted.
"Oh, no indeed," Tom hastened to assure her.
"He--that is--the person I saw wouldn't care to have me lunch with him," and the
youth smiled grimly.
"Would you like to bring him over to our table?" inquired Miss Carson.
"We have plenty for him."
"No, I think that would hardly do," continued the lad, who tried not to smile
at the picture of the red-haired and squint-eyed Andy Foger making one of a
party with the girls.
The young ladies fortunately had not noticed the bully, who was out of view by
this time.
Tom was presented to Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, who told him how glad they were to meet the
young man who had been instrumental in saving their daughter from injury, if not
death.
Tom was a bit embarrassed, but bore the praise as well as he could, and he was very
glad when a diversion, in the shape of lunch, occurred.
After a meal on tables under the trees in the grove Tom took the girls and some of
their friends out in his motor-boat again. They covered several miles around the lake
before returning to the picnic ground.
As Tom was starting toward home in his boat, wondering what had become of Andy and
trying to think of a reason why the bully should attend anything as "tame" as a
church picnic, the object of his thoughts
came strolling through the trees down to the shore of the lake.
The moment he saw Tom the red-haired lad started back, but the young inventor,
leaping out of his boat, called out:
"Hold on there, Andy Foger, I want to see you!" and there was menace in Tom's tone.
"But, I don't want to see you!" retorted the other sulkily.
"I've got no use for you."
"No more have I for you," was Tom's quick reply.
"But I want to return you these keys. You dropped them in my boat the other night
when you tried to set it afire.
If I ever catch you--" "My keys!
Your boat!
On fire!" gasped Andy, so plainly astonished that Tom knew his surprise was
genuine. "Yes, your keys.
You were a little too quick for me or I'd have caught you at it.
The next time you pick a lock don't leave your keys behind you," and he held out the
jingling ring.
Andy Foger advanced slowly. He took the bunch of keys and looked at the
tag. "They are mine," he said slowly, as if
there was some doubt about it.
"Of course they are," declared Tom. "I found them where you dropped them--in my
boat." "Do you mean over at the auction?"
"No, I mean down in my boathouse, where you sneaked in the other night and tried to do
some damage. "The other night!" cried Andy.
"I never was near your boathouse any night and I never lost my keys there!
I lost these the day of the auction, on Mr. Hastings' ground, and I've been looking for
them ever since."
"Didn't you sneak in my boathouse the other night and try to do some mischief?
Didn't you drop them then?" "No, I didn't," retorted Andy earnestly.
"I lost those keys at the auction, and I can prove it to you.
Look, I advertised for them in the weekly Gazette."
The red-haired lad pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket and showed Tom an
advertisement offering a reward of two dollars for a bunch of keys on a ring,
supposed to have been lost at the auction on Mr. Hastings' grounds in Lanton.
The finder was to return them to Andy Foger.
"Does that look as if I lost the keys in your boathouse?" demanded the bully
sneeringly. "I wouldn't have advertised them that way
if I'd been trying to keep my visit quiet.
Besides, I can prove that I was out of town several nights.
I was over to an entertainment in Mansburg one night and I didn't get home until two
o'clock in the morning, because my machine broke down.
Ask Ned Newton.
He saw me at the entertainment." Andy's manner was so earnest that Tom could
not help believing him. Then there was the evidence of the
advertisement.
Clearly the squint-eyed youth had not been the mysterious visitor to the boathouse and
had not unlocked the forward compartment. But if it was not he, who could it have
been and how did the keys get there?
These were questions which racked Tom's brain.
"You can ask Ned Newton," repeated Andy. "He'll prove that I couldn't have been near
your place, if you don't believe me."
"Oh, I believe you all right," answered Tom, for there could be no doubting Andy's
manner, even though he and the young inventor were not on good terms.
"But how did your keys get in my boat?"
"I don't know, unless you found them, kept them and dropped them there," was the
insolent answer. "You know better than that," exclaimed Tom.
"Well, I owe you a reward of two dollars for giving them back to me," continued the
bully patronizingly. "Here it is," and he hauled out some bills.
"I don't want your money!" fired back Tom.
"But I'd like to know who it was that was in my boat."
"And I'd like to know who it was took my keys," and Andy stuffed the money back in
his pocket.
Tom did not answer. He was puzzling over a *** matter and he
wanted to be alone and think. He turned aside from the red-haired lad and
walked toward his motor-boat.
"I'll give you a surprise in a few days," Andy called after him, but Tom did not turn
his head nor did he inquire what the surprise might be.
Mr. Swift was somewhat puzzled when his son related the outcome of the key incident.
He agreed with Tom that some one might have found the ring and kept it, and that the
same person might have been the one whom Tom had surprised in the boathouse.
"But it's idle to speculate on it," commented the inventor.
"Andy might have induced some of his chums to act for him in harming your boat, and
the key advertisement might have been only a ruse."
"I hardly think so," answered his son, shaking his head.
"It strikes me as being very curious, and I'm going to see if I can't get at the
bottom of it."
But a week or more passed and Tom had no clew.
In the meanwhile he was working away at his motor-boat, installing several
improvements.
One of these was a better pump, which circulated the water around the cylinders,
and another was a new system of lubrication under forced feed.
"This ought to give me a little more speed," reasoned Tom, who was not yet
satisfied with his craft. "Guess I'll take it out for a spin."
He was alone in the ARROW, taking a long course up the lake when, as he passed a
wooded point that concealed from view a sort of bay, he heard the puffing of
another motor-boat.
"Maybe that's Mr. Hastings," thought Tom. "If I raced with him now, I think the ARROW
could give a better account of herself." The young inventor looked at the boat as it
came into view.
It needed but a glance to show that it was not the CARLOPA.
Then, as it came nearer, Tom saw a familiar figure in it--a red-haired, squint-eyed
chap.
"Andy Foger!" exclaimed Tom. "He's got a motor-boat!
This is the surprise he spoke of." The boat was rapidly approaching him, and
he saw that it was painted a vivid red.
Then he could make out the name on the bow, RED STREAK.
Andy was sending the craft toward him at a fast rate.
"You needn't think you're the only one on this lake who has a gasoline boat!" called
Andy boastfully. "This is my new one and the fastest thing
afloat around here.
I can go all around you. Do you want to race?"
It was a "dare," and Tom never took such things when he could reasonably enter a
contest.
He swung his boat around so as to shoot alongside of Andy and answered:
"Yes, I'll race you. Where to?"
"Down opposite Kolb's dock and back to this point," was the answer.
"I'll give you a start, as my engine has three cylinders.
This is a racing boat."
"I don't need any start," declared Tom. "I'll race you on even terms.
Go ahead!" Both lads adjusted their timers to get more
speed.
The water began to curl away from the sharp prows, the motors exploded faster and
faster. The race was on between the ARROW and the
RED STREAK.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Boat by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER VIII OFF ON A TRIP
Glancing with critical eyes at the craft of his rival, Tom saw that Andy Foger had a
very fine boat.
The young inventor also realized that if he was to come anywhere near winning the race
he would have to get the utmost speed out of his engine, for the new boat the bully
had was designed primarily, for racing,
while Tom's was an all-around pleasure craft, though capable of something in the
speed line.
"I'll be giving you a tow in a few minutes, as soon as my engine gets warmed up!"
sneered Andy.
"Maybe," said Tom, and then he crouched down to make as little resistance as
possible to the wind. Andy, on the contrary, sat boldly upright
at the auto steering wheel of his boat.
On rushed the two motor craft, their prows exactly even and the propellers tossing up
a bulge in the water at their sterns.
Rapidly acquiring speed after the two lads had adjusted the timers on their motors,
the boats were racing side by side, seemingly on even terms.
The RED STREAK had a very sharp prow, designed to cut through the water.
It was of the type known as an automobile launch.
That is, the engine was located forward, under a sort of hood, which had two hinged
covers like a bat's wings.
The steering-wheel shaft went through the forward bulkhead, slantingly, like the
wheel of an auto, and was arranged with gasoline and sparking levers on the center
post in a similar manner.
At the right of the wheel was a reversing lever, by which the propeller blades could
be set at neutral, or arranged so as to drive the boat backward.
Altogether the RED STREAK was a very fine boat and had cost considerably more than
had Tom's, even when the latter was new.
All these things the young owner of the ARROW thought of as he steered his craft
over the course. "I hardly think I can win," Tom remarked to
himself in a whisper.
"His boat is too speedy for this one. I have a chance, though, for his engine is
new, and I don't believe he understands it as well as I do mine.
Then, too, I am sure I have a better ignition system."
But if Tom had any immediate hopes of defeating Andy, they were doomed to
disappointment, for about two minutes after the race started the RED STREAK forged
slowly ahead.
"Come on!" cried the red-haired lad. "I thought you wanted a race."
"I do," answered the young inventor. "We're a long way from the dock yet, and
we've got to come back."
"You'll be out of it by the time I get to the dock," declared Andy.
Indeed it began to look so, for the auto boat was now a full length ahead of Tom's
craft and there was open water between them.
But our hero knew a thing or two about racing, though he had not long been a
motor-boat owner.
He adjusted the automatic oiler on the cylinders to give more lubrication, as he
intended to get more speed out of his engine.
Then he opened the gasoline *** a trifle more and set his timer forward a few
notches to get an earlier spark.
He was not going to use the maximum speed just yet, but he first wanted to see how
the motor of the ARROW would behave under these conditions.
To his delight he saw his boat slowly creeping up on Andy's.
The latter, with a glance over his shoulder, saw it too, and he advanced his
spark.
His craft forged ahead, but the rate of increase was not equal to Tom's.
"If I can keep up to him I suppose I ought to be glad," thought the young inventor,
"for his boat is away ahead of mine in rating."
Through the water the sharp bows cut.
There were only a few witnesses to the race, but those who were out in boats saw a
pretty sight as the two speedy craft came on toward the dock, which was the turning
point.
Andy's boat reached it first, and swung about in a wide circle for the return.
Tom decided it was time to make his boat do its best, so he set the timer at the limit,
and the spark, coming more quickly, increased the explosions.
Up shot the ARROW and, straightening out after the turn, Tom's craft crept along
until it lapped the stern of the RED STREAK.
Andy looked back in dismay.
Then he tried to get more speed out of his engine.
He did cause the screw to revolve a little faster, and Tom noted that he was again
being left behind.
Then one of those things, which may happen at any time to a gasoline motor, happened
to Andy's. It began to miss explosions.
At first it was only occasionally, then the misses became more frequent.
The owner of the RED STREAK with one hand on the steering wheel, tried with the other
to adjust the motor to get rid of the trouble, but he only made it worse.
Andy's boat began to fall back and Tom's to creep up.
Frantically Andy worked the gasoline and sparking levers, but without avail.
At last one cylinder went completely out of service.
The two boats were now on even terms and were racing along side by side toward the
wooded, point, which marked the finish.
"I'll beat you yet!" exclaimed Andy fiercely.
"Better hurry up!" retorted Tom. But the young inventor was not to have it
all his own way.
With a freakishness equal to that with which it had ceased to explode the dead
cylinder came to life again, and the RED STREAK shot ahead.
Once more Andy's boat had the lead of a length and the finish of the race was close
at hand. The squint-eyed lad turned and shouted: "I
told you I'd beat you!
Want a tow now?" It began to look as though Tom would need
it, but he still had something in reserve. One of the improvements he had put in the
ARROW was a new auxiliary ignition system.
This he now decided to use. With a quick motion Tom threw over the
switch that put it into operation.
A hotter, "fatter" spark was at once produced, and adjusting his gasoline ***
so that a little more of the fluid would be drawn in, making a "richer" mixture, the
owner of the ARROW saw the craft shoot
forward as if, like some weary runner, new life had been infused.
In vain did Andy frantically try to get more speed out of his motor.
He cut out the muffler, and the explosions sounded loudly over the lake.
But it was no use.
A minute later the ARROW, which had slowly forged ahead, crossed the bows of the RED
STREAK opposite the finishing point, and Tom had won the race.
"Well, was that fair?" our hero called to Andy, who had quickly shut off some of his
power as he saw his rival's daring trick. "Did I beat you fair?"
"You wouldn't have beaten me if my engine hadn't gone back on me," grumbled Andy,
chagrin showing on his face. "Wait until my motor runs smoother and I'll
give you a big handicap and beat you.
My boat's faster than yours. It ought to be.
It cost fifteen hundred dollars and it's a racer."
"I guess it doesn't like racing," commented Tom as he swung the prow of his craft down
the lake toward his home. But he knew there was some truth in what
Andy had said.
The RED STREAK was a more speedy boat, and, with proper handling, could have beaten the
ARROW. That was where Tom's superior knowledge
came in useful.
"Just you wait, I'll beat you yet," called Andy, after the young inventor, but the
latter made no answer. He was satisfied.
Mr. Swift was much interested that night in his son's account of the race.
"I had no idea yours was such a speedy boat," he said.
"Well, it wasn't originally," admitted Tom, "but the improvements I put on it made it
so. But, dad, when are we going on our tour?
You look more worn out than I've seen you in some time, not excepting when the
turbine model was stolen. Are you worrying over your gyroscope
invention?"
"Somewhat, Tom. I can't seem to hit on just what I want.
It's a difficult problem." "Then I tell you what let's do, dad.
Let's drop everything in the inventive line and go off on a vacation.
I'll take you up the lake in my boat and you can spend a week at the Lakeview Hotel
It will do you good." "What will you do, Tom?"
"Oh, Ned Newton and I will cruise about and we'll take you along any time you want to
go.
We're going to camp out nights or sleep in the boat if it rains.
I've ordered a canopy with side curtains. Ned and I don't care for the hotel life in
the summer.
Will you go?" Mr. Swift considered a moment.
He did need a rest, for he had been working hard and his brain was weary with thinking
of many problems.
His son's program sounded very attractive. "I think I will accept," said the inventor
with a smile. "When can you start, Tom?"
"In about four days.
Ned Newton will get his vacation then and I'll have the canopy on.
I'll start to work at it to-morrow. Then we'll go on a trip."
Sandport was a summer resort at the extreme southern end of Lake Carlopa, and Mr. Swift
at once wrote to the Lakeview Hotel there to engage a room for himself.
In the meanwhile Tom began to put the canopy on his boat and arrange for the
trip, which would take nearly a whole day.
Ned Newton was delighted with the prospect of a camping tour and helped Tom to get
ready. They took a small tent and plenty of
supplies, with some food.
They did not need to carry many rations, as the shores of the lake were lined with
towns and villages where food could be procured.
Finally all was ready for the trip and the night before the start Ned Newton stayed at
Tom's house so as to be in readiness for going off early in the morning.
The day was all that could be desired, Tom noted, as he and his chum hurried down to
the dock before breakfast to put their blankets in the boat.
As the young inventor entered the craft he uttered an exclamation.
"What's the matter?" asked Ned. "I was sure I locked the sliding door of
that forward compartment," was the reply.
"Now it's open." He looked inside the space occupied by the
gasoline tank and cried out: "One of the braces is gone!
There's been some one at my boat in the night and they tried to damage her."
"Much harm done?" asked Ned anxiously. "No, none at all, to speak of," replied
Tom.
"I can easily put a new block under the tank.
In fact, I don't really need all I have. But why should any one take one out, and
who did it?
That's what I want to know."
The two lads looked carefully about the dock and boat for a sign of the missing
block or any clews that might show who had been tampering with the ARROW, but they
could find nothing.
"Maybe the block fell out," suggested Ned. "It couldn't," replied Tom.
"It was one of the new ones I put in myself and it was nailed fast.
You can see where it's been pried loose.
I can't understand it," and Tom thought rapidly of several mysterious occurrences
of late in which the strange man at the auction and the person he had surprised one
night in the boathouse had a part.
"Well, it needn't delay our trip," resumed the young inventor.
"Maybe there's a hoodoo around here, and it will do us good to get away a few days.
Come on, we'll have breakfast, get dad and start."
A little later the ARROW was puffing away up the lake in the direction of Sandport.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Boat by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER IX MR. SWIFT IS ALARMED
"Don't you feel better already, dad?" asked Tom that noon as they stopped under a
leaning, overhanging tree for lunch on the shore of the lake.
"I'll leave it to Ned if you don't look more contented and less worried."
"I believe he does," agreed the other lad.
"Well, I must say I certainly have enjoyed the outing so far," admitted the inventor
with a smile. "And I haven't been bothering about my
gyroscope.
I think I'll take another sandwich, Tom, and a few more olives."
"That's the way to talk!" cried the son. "Your appetite is improving, too.
If Mrs. Baggert could see you she'd say so."
"Oh, yes, Mrs. Baggert.
I do hope she and Garret will look after the house and shops well," said Mr. Swift,
and the old, worried look came like a shadow over his face.
"Now don't be thinking of that, dad," advised Tom, "Of course everything will be
all right.
Do you think some of those model thieves will return and try to get some of your
other inventions?" "I don't know, Tom.
Those men were unscrupulous scoundrels, and you can never tell what they might do to
revenge themselves on us for defeating their plans."
"Well, I guess Garret and Mrs. Baggert will look out for them," remarked his son.
"Don't worry." "Yes, it's bad for the digestion," added
Ned.
"If you don't mind, Tom, I'll have some more coffee and another sandwich myself."
"Nothing the matter with your appetite, either," commented the young inventor as he
passed the coffee pot and the plate.
They were soon on their way again, the ARROW making good time up the lake.
Tom was at the engine, making several minor adjustments to it, while Ned steered.
Mr. Swift reclined on one of the cushioned seats under the shade of the canopy.
The young owner of the ARROW looked over the stretch of water from time to time for
a possible sight of Andy Foger, but the RED STREAK was not to be seen.
The Lakeview Hotel was reached late that afternoon and the boat was tied up to the
dock, while Tom and Ned accompanied Mr. Swift to see him comfortably established in
his room.
"Won't you stay to supper with me?" invited the inventor to his son and the latter's
chum. "Or do you want to start right in on camp
life?"
"I guess we'll stay to supper and remain at the hotel to-night," decided Tom.
"We got here a little later than I expected, and Ned and I hardly have time to
go very far and establish a temporary camp.
We'll live a life of luxurious ease to- night and begin to be 'wanderlusters' and
get back to nature to-morrow."
In the morning Tom and his chum, full of enthusiasm for the pleasures before them,
started off, promising to come back to the hotel in a few days to see how Mr. Swift
felt.
The trip had already done the man good and his face wore a brighter look.
Tom and Ned, in the speedy ARROW, cruised along the lakeshores all that morning.
At noon they went ashore, made a temporary camp and arranged to spend the night there
in the tent.
After this was erected they got out their fishing tackle and passed the afternoon at
that sport, having such good luck that they provided their own supper without having to
depend on canned stuff.
They lived this life for three days, making a new camp each night, being favored with
good weather, so that they did not have to sleep in the boat to keep dry.
On the afternoon of the third day Tom, with a critical glance at the sky, remarked:
"I shouldn't be surprised if it rained to- morrow, Ned."
"Me either.
It does look sort of hazy, and the wind is in a bad quarter."
"Then what do you say to heading for the hotel?
I fancy dad will be glad to see us."
"That suits me. We can start camp life again after the
storm passes." They started for Sandport that afternoon.
When within about two miles of the hotel dock Tom saw, just ahead of them, a small
motor-boat. Ned observed it too and called out:
"S'pose that's Andy looking for another race?"
"No, the boat's too small for his. We'll put over that way and see who it is."
The other craft did not appear to be moving very rapidly and the ARROW was soon
overhauling it. As the two chums came nearer they could
hear the puffing of the motor.
Tom listened with critical ears. "That machine isn't working right," he
remarked to his chum.
At that moment there sounded a loud explosion from the other boat and at the
same time there came over the water a shrill cry of alarm.
"That's a girl in that boat!" exclaimed Ned.
"Maybe she's hurt." "No, the motor only backfired," observed
Tom.
"But we'll go over and see if we can help her.
Perhaps she doesn't understand it. Girls don't know much about machinery."
A little later the ARROW shot up alongside the other craft, which had come to a stop.
The two lads could see a girl bending over the motor, twirling the flywheel and trying
to get it started.
"Can I help you?" asked Tom, shutting off the power from his craft.
The young lady glanced up. Her face was red and she seemed ill at
ease.
At the sight of the young inventor she uttered an exclamation of relief.
"Why, Mr. Swift!" she cried. "Oh, I'm in such trouble.
I can't make the machine work, and I'm afraid it's broken; it exploded."
"Miss Nestor!" blurted out Tom, more surprised evidently to see his acquaintance
of the runaway again than she was at beholding him.
"I didn't know you ran a motor-boat," he added.
"I don't," said she simply and helplessly. "That's the trouble, it won't run."
"How comes it that you are up here?" went on Tom.
"I am stopping with friends, who have a cottage near the Lakeview Hotel.
They have a motor-boat and I got *** Blythe--he's the owner of this--to show me
how to run it. I thought I knew, and I started out a
little while ago.
At first it went beautifully, but a few minutes ago it blew up, or--or something
dreadful happened." "Nothing very dreadful, I guess," Tom
assured her.
"I think I can fix it." He got into the other boat and soon saw
what the trouble was. The carburetor had gotten out of adjustment
and the gasoline was not feeding properly.
The young inventor soon had it in order, and, testing the motor, found that it
worked perfectly.
"Oh, I can't thank you enough," cried Miss Nestor with a flash from her brown eyes
that made Tom's heart beat double time.
"I was afraid I had damaged the boat, and I knew ***, who is a sort of second cousin
of mine, would never forgive me." "There's no harm done," Tom assured her.
"But you had better keep near us on your way back, that is, if you are going back."
"Oh, indeed I am.
I was frightened when I found I'd come so far away from shore, and then, when that
explosion took place--well, you can imagine how I felt.
Indeed I will keep near you.
Are you stopping near here? If you are, I wish you'd come and see me,
you and Mr. Newton," she added, for Tom had introduced his chum.
"I'll be very glad to," answered our hero, and he told how he happened to be in the
neighborhood. "I'll give you a few lessons in managing a
boat, if you like," he added.
"Oh, will you? That will be lovely!
I won't tell *** about it, and I'll surprise him some day by showing him how
well I can run his boat."
"Good idea," commented Tom.
He started the motor for Miss Nestor, having stopped it after his first test, and
then, with the DOT, which was the name of the small boat Miss Nestor was in,
following the larger ARROW, the run back to the hotel was made.
The young lady turned off near the Lakeview dock to go to the cottage where she was
stopping and the lads tied up at the hotel boathouse.
"Yes, we are in for a storm," remarked Tom as he and his chum walked up toward the
hotel. "I wonder how dad is?
I hope the outing is doing him good."
"There he comes now," observed Ned, and, looking up, Tom saw his father approaching.
The young inventor was at once struck by the expression on his parent's face.
Mr. Swift looked worried and Tom anxiously hastened forward to meet him.
"What's the matter dad?" he asked as cheerfully as he could.
"Have you been figuring over that gyroscope problem again, against my express orders?"
and he laughed a little. "No, Tom, it's not the gyroscope that's
worrying me."
"What is it then?" "Those scoundrels are around again, Tom!"
and Mr. Swift looked apprehensively about him.
"You mean the men who stole the turbine model?"
"Yes. I was walking in the woods near the hotel yesterday and I saw Anson Morse.
He did not see me, for I turned aside as quickly as I had a glimpse of him.
He was talking to another man." "What sort of a man?"
"Well, an ordinary enough individual, but I noticed that he had tattooed on the little
finger of his left hand a blue ring." "Happy Harry, the ***!" exclaimed Tom.
"What can he and Morse be doing here?"
"I don't know, Tom, but I'm worried. I wish I was back home.
I'm afraid something may happen to some of my inventions.
I want to go back to Shopton, Tom."
"Nonsense, dad. Don't worry just because you saw some of
your former enemies. Everything is all right at home.
Mrs. Baggert and Garret Jackson will look after things.
But, if you like, I, can find out for you how matters are."
"How, Tom?"
"By taking a run down there in my motor- boat.
I can do it to-morrow and get back by night, if I start early.
Then you will not worry."
"All right, Tom; I wish you would. Come up to my room and we will talk it
over.
I'd rather leave you go than telephone, as I don't like to talk of my business over
the wire if I can avoid it."
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Boat by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER X A CRY FOR HELP
"Now, dad, tell me all about it," requested Tom when he and Ned were in Mr. Swift's
apartment at the hotel, safe from the rain that was falling.
"How did you happen to see Anson Morse and Happy Harry?"
My old readers will doubtless remember that the latter was the disguised *** who was
so vindictive toward Tom, while Morse was the man who endeavored to sneak in Mr.
Swift's shop and steal a valuable invention.
"Well, Tom," proceeded the inventor, "there isn't much to tell.
I was out walking in the woods yesterday, and when I was behind a clump of bushes I
heard voices. I looked out and there I saw the two men."
"At first I thought they were trailing me, but I saw that they had not seen me, and I
didn't see how they could know I was in the neighborhood.
So I quietly made my way back to the hotel."
"Could you hear what they were saying?" "Not all, but they seemed angry over
something.
The man with the blue ring on his finger asked the other man whether Murdock had
been heard from." "Who is Murdock?"
"I don't know, unless he is another member of the gang or unless that is an assumed
name." "It may be that.
What else did you hear?"
"The man we know as Morse replied that he hadn't heard from him, but that he
suspected Murdock was playing a double game.
Then the ***--Happy Harry--asked this question: 'Have you any clew to the
sparkler?'
And Morse answered: 'No, but I think Murdock has hid it somewhere and is trying
to get away with it without giving us our share.'
Then the two men walked away, and I came back to the hotel," finished Mr. Swift.
"Sparkler," murmured Tom. "I wonder what that can be?"
"That's a slang word for diamonds," suggested Ned.
"So it is. In that case, dad, I think we have nothing
to worry about.
Those fellows must be going to commit a diamond robbery or perhaps it has already
taken place." The inventor seemed relieved at this theory
of his son.
His face brightened and he said: "If they are going to commit a robbery, Tom, we
ought to notify the police."
"But if they said that 'Murdock,' whoever he is, had the sparkler and was trying to
get away with it without giving them their share, wouldn't that indicate that the
robbery had already taken place?" asked Ned.
"That's so," agreed Tom.
"But it won't do any harm to tell the hotel detective that suspicious characters are
around, no matter if the robbery has been committed.
Then he can be on the lookout.
But I don't think we have anything to worry about, dad.
Still, if you like, I'll take a run down to the house to see that everything is all
right, though I'm sure it will be found that we have nothing to be alarmed over."
"Well, I will be more relieved if you do," said the inventor, "However, suppose we
have a good supper now and you boys can stay at the hotel to-night.
Then you and Ned can start off early in the morning."
"All right," agreed Tom, but there was a thoughtful look on his face and he appeared
to be planning something that needed careful attention to details.
After supper that night Tom took his chum to one side and asked: "Would you mind very
much if you didn't make the trip to Shopton with me?"
"No, Tom, of course not, if it will help you any.
Do you want me to stay here?" "I think it will be a good plan.
I don't like to leave dad alone if those scoundrels are around.
Of course he's able to look after himself, but sometimes he gets absent minded from
thinking too much about his inventions."
"Of course I'll stay here at the hotel. This is just as good a vacation as I could
wish." "Oh, I don't mean all the while.
Just a day or so--until I come back.
I may be here again by to-morrow night and find that my father is needlessly alarmed.
Then something may have happened at home and I would be delayed.
If I should be, I'd feel better to know that you were here."
"Then I'll stay, and if I see any of those men--"
"You'd better steer clear of them," advised Tom quickly.
"They are dangerous customers." "All right.
Then I'll go over and give Miss Nestor lessons on how to run a motor-boat," was
the smiling response. "I fancy, with what she and I know, we can
make out pretty well."
"Hold on there!" cried Tom gaily. "No trespassing, you know."
"Oh, I'll just say I'm your agent," promised Ned with a grin.
"You can't object to that."
"No, I s'pose not. Well, do the best you can.
She is certainly a nice girl." "Yes, but you do seem to turn up at most
opportune times.
Luck is certainly with you where she is concerned.
First you save her in a runaway--" "After I start the runaway," interrupted
Tom.
"Then you take her for a ride in your motor-boat, and, lastly, you come to her
relief when she is stalled in the middle of the lake.
Oh you certainly are a lucky dog!"
"Never mind, I'm giving you a show. Now let's get to bed early, as I want to
get a good start."
Tom awoke to find a nasty, drizzling rainstorm in progress, and the lake was
almost hidden from view by a swirling fog.
Still he was not to be daunted from his trip to Shopton by the weather, and, after
a substantial breakfast, he bade his father and Ned good-by and started off in the
ARROW.
The canopy he had provided was an efficient protection against the rain, a celluloid
window in the forward hanging curtains affording him a view so that he could
steer.
Through the mist puffed the boat, the motor being throttled down to medium speed, for
Tom was not as familiar with the lake as he would like to have been, and he did not
want to run aground or into another craft.
He was thinking over what his father had told him about the presence of the men and
vainly wondering what might be their reference to the "sparkler."
His thoughts also dwelt on the curious removal of the bracing block from under the
gasoline tank of his boat. "I shouldn't be surprised but what Andy
Foger did that," he mused.
"Some day he and I will have a grand fight, and then maybe he'll let me alone.
Well, I've got other things to think about now.
The hotel detective can keep a lookout for the men around the hotel, after the warning
I gave him, and I'll see that all is right at home."
The fog lifted somewhat and Tom put on more speed.
As he was steering the boat along near shore he heard, off to the woods at his
right, the report of a gun.
It came so suddenly that he jumped involuntarily.
A moment later there sounded, plainly through the damp air, a cry for help.
"Some one's hurt--shot!" cried the youth aloud.
He turned the boat in toward the bank. As he shut off the power from the motor he
heard the cry again:
"Help! Help!
Help!" "I must go ashore!" he exclaimed.
"Probably some one is badly wounded by a gun."
He paused for a moment as the fear came to him that it might be some of the patent
thieves.
Then, dismissing that idea as the ARROW's prow touched the gravel, Tom sprang out,
drew the boat up a little way, fastened the rope to a tree and hurried off into the
dripping woods in the direction of the voice that was calling for aid.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Boat by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XI A QUICK RUN
"Where are you?" cried Tom. "Are you hurt?
Where are you?"
Uttering these words after he had hurried into the woods a short distance, the young
inventor paused for an answer.
At first he could hear nothing but the drip of water from the branches of the trees;
then, as he listened intently, he became aware of a groan not far away.
"Where are you?" cried the lad again.
"I've come to help you. Where are you?"
He had lost what little fear he had had at first, that it might be one of the
unscrupulous gang, and came to the conclusion that he might safely offer to
help.
Once more the groan sounded and it was followed by a faint voice speaking:
"Here I am, under the big oak tree. Oh, whoever you are, help me quickly!
I'm bleeding to death!"
With the sound of the voice to guide him, Tom swung around.
The appeal had come from the left and, looking in that direction, he saw, through
the mist, a large oak tree.
Leaping over the underbrush toward it he caught sight of the wounded man at its
foot. Beside him lay a gun and there was a wound
in the man's right arm.
"Who shot you?" cried Tom, hurrying to the side of the man.
"Was it some of those patent thieves?"
Then, realizing that a stranger would know nothing of the men who had stolen the
model, Tom prepared to change the form of his question.
But, before he had an opportunity to do this, the man, whose eyes were closed,
opened them, and, as he got a better sight of his face, Tom uttered a cry.
"Why, it's Mr. Duncan!" exclaimed the lad.
He had recognized the rich hunter, whom he had first met in the woods that spring
shortly after Happy Harry, the ***, had disabled Tom's motor-cycle.
"Mr. Duncan," the young inventor repeated, "how did you get shot?"
"Is that you, Tom Swift?" asked the gunner. "Help me, please.
I must stop this bleeding in my arm.
I'll tell you about it afterward. Wind something around it tight--your
handkerchief will do." The man sighed weakly and his eyes closed
again.
The lad saw the blood spurting from an ugly wound.
"I must make a tourniquet," the youth exclaimed.
"That will check the bleeding until I can get him to a doctor."
With Tom to think was to act.
He took out his knife and cut off Mr. Duncan's sleeves below the injury, slashing
through coat and shirts.
Then he saw that part of a charge of shot had torn away some of the large muscular
development of the upper arm. The hunter seemed to have fainted and the
youth worked quickly.
Tying his handkerchief above the wound and inserting a small stone under the cloth, so
that the pebble would press on the main artery, Tom put a stick in the handkerchief
and began to twist it.
This had the effect of tightening the linen around the arm, and in a few seconds the
lad was glad to see that the blood had stopped spurting out with every beat of the
heart.
Giving the tourniquet a few more twists to completely stop the flow of blood, Tom
fastened the stick-lever in place by a bit of string.
"That's--that's better," murmured Mr. Duncan.
"Now if you can go for a doctor--" He had to pause for breath.
"I'll not leave you here alone while I go for a doctor," declared Tom.
"I have my motor-boat on the lake. Do you think I could get you down to it and
take you home?"
"Perhaps--maybe. I'll be stronger in a moment, now that the
bleeding has stopped. But not--not home--frighten my wife.
Take me to the sanitarium if you can-- sanitarium up the lake, a few miles from
here."
The unfortunate man, who had tried to sit upright, had to lean back against the tree
again. Tom understood what he meant in spite of
the broken sentences.
Mr. Duncan did not want to be taken home in the condition he was then in, for fear of
alarming his wife.
He wanted to be taken to the sanitarium, and Tom knew where this was, a well-known
resort for the treatment of various diseases and surgical cases.
It was about five miles away and on the opposite shore of the lake.
"Water--a drink!" murmured Mr. Duncan.
Seeing that his patient would be all right, for a few minutes at least, Tom hurried to
his motor-boat, got a cup and, filling it with water from a jug he carried, he
hastened with it to the hunter.
The fluid revived the man wonderfully and now that the bleeding had almost completely
stopped, Mr. Duncan was much stronger. "Do you think you can get to the boat, if I
help you?" asked Tom.
"Yes, I believe so. To think of meeting you again, and under
such circumstances! It is providential."
"Did someone shoot you?" inquired Tom, who could not get out of his head the notion of
the men who had once assaulted him. "No, I shot myself," answered Mr. Duncan as
he got to his feet with Tom's help.
"I was out with my gun, practicing just as I was that day when I met you in the woods.
I stooped down to crawl under a bush and the weapon went off, the muzzle being close
against my arm.
I can't understand how it happened. I fell down and called for help.
Then I guess I must have fainted, but I came to when I heard you talking to me.
I shouldn't have come out to-day as it is so wet, but I had some new shot shells I
wished to try in order to test them before the hunting season.
But if I can get to the sanitarium, I will be well taken care of.
I know one of the doctors there."
With Tom leading him and acting as a sort of support, the journey to the motor-boat
was slowly made.
Making as comfortable a bed as possible out of the seat cushions, Tom assisted Mr.
Duncan to it, and then starting the engine he sent his boat out from shore at half
speed, as the fog was still thick and he did not want to run upon a rock.
"Do you know where the sanitarium is?" asked the wounded hunter.
"About," answered Tom a little doubtfully, "but I'm afraid it's going to be hard to
locate it in this fog." "There's a compass in my coat pocket," said
Mr. Duncan.
"Take it out and I'll tell you how to steer.
You ought to carry a compass if you're going to be a sailor."
Tom was beginning to think so himself and wondered that he had not thought of it
before.
He found the one the hunter had, and placing it on the seat near him, he
carefully listened to the wounded man's directions.
Tom easily comprehended and soon had the boat headed in the proper direction.
After that it was comparatively easy to keep on the right course, even in the fog.
But there was another danger, however, and this was that he might run into another
boat.
True, there were not many on Lake Carlopa, but there were some, and one of the few
motor-boats might be out in spite of the bad weather.
"Guess I'll not run at full speed," decided Tom.
"I wouldn't like to crash into the RED STREAK.
We'd both sink."
So he did not run his motor at the limit and sat at the steering-wheel, peering
ahead into the fog for the first sight of another craft.
He turned to look at Mr. Duncan and was alarmed at the pallor of his face.
The man's eyes were closed and he was breathing in a peculiar manner.
"Mr. Duncan," cried Tom, "are you worse?"
There was no answer. Leaving the helm for a moment, Tom bent
over the injured hunter. A glance showed him what had happened.
The tourniquet had slipped and the wound was bleeding again.
Tom quickly shut off the motor, so that he might give his whole attention to the work
of tightening the handkerchief.
But something seemed to be wrong. No matter how tightly he twisted the stick
the blood did not stop flowing. The lad was frightened.
In a short time the man would bleed to death.
"I've got to get him to the sanitarium in record time!" exclaimed Tom.
"Fog or no fog, I've got to run at full speed!
I've got to chance it!"
Making the bandage as tight as he could and fastening it in place, the young inventor
sprang to the motor and set it in motion. Then he went to the wheel.
In a few minutes the ARROW was speeding through the water as it had never done
before, except when it had raced the RED STREAK.
"If I hit anything--good-by!" thought Tom grimly.
His hands were tense on the rim of the steering-wheel and he was ready in an
instant to reverse the motor as he sat there straining his eyes to see through the
curtain of mist that hung over the lake.
Now and then he glanced at the compass, to keep on the right course, and from time to
time he looked at Mr. Duncan. The hunter was still unconscious.
How Tom accomplished that trip he hardly remembered afterward.
Through the fog he shot, expecting any moment to crash into some other boat.
He did pass a rowing craft in which sat a lone fisherman.
The lad was upon him in an instant, but a turn of the wheel sent the ARROW safely
past, and the startled fisherman, whose frail craft was set to rocking violently by
the swell from the motor-boat, sent an objecting cry through the fog after Tom.
But the youth did not reply. On and on he raced, getting the last atom
of power from his motor.
He feared Mr. Duncan would be dead when he arrived, but when he saw the dock of the
sanitarium looming up out of the mist and shut off the power to slowly run up to it,
he placed his hand on the wounded man's heart and found it still beating.
"He's alive, anyhow," thought the youth, and then his craft bumped up against the
bulkhead and a man in the boathouse on the dock was sent on the run for a physician.
Mr. Duncan was quickly taken up to the sanitarium on a stretcher and Tom followed.
"You must have made a record run," observed one of the physicians a little while
afterward, when Tom was telling of his trip while waiting in the office to hear the
report on the hunter's condition.
"I guess I did," muttered the young inventor "only I didn't think so at the
time. It seemed as if we were only crawling
along."
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Boat by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XII SUSPICIOUS CHARACTERS
Under the skill of the physicians at the lake sanitarium Mr. Duncan's wound was
quickly attended to and the bleeding, which Tom had partly checked, was completely
stopped.
Some medicines having been administered, the hunter regained a little of his
strength, and, about an hour after he had been brought to the resort, he was able to
see Tom, who, at his request, was admitted to his room.
The young inventor found Mr. Duncan propped up in bed, with his injured arm bandaged.
"Is the injury a bad one?" asked Tom, entering softly.
"Not as bad as I feared," replied the hunter, while a trained nurse placed a
chair for the lad at the bedside.
"If it had not been for you, though, I'm afraid to think of what might have
happened." "I am glad I chanced to be going past when
you called," replied the lad.
"Well, you can imagine how thankful I am," resumed Mr. Duncan.
"I'll thank you more properly at another time.
I hope I didn't delay you on your trip."
"It's not of much consequence," responded the youth.
"I was only going to see that everything was all right at our house," and he
explained about his father being at the hotel and mentioned his worriment.
"I will go on now unless I can do something more for you," resumed Tom.
"I will probably stay at our house all night to-night instead of trying to get
back to Sandport."
"I'd like to send word to my wife about what has happened," said the hunter.
"If it would not be too much out of your way, I'd appreciate it if you could stop at
my home in Waterford and tell her, so she will not be alarmed at my absence."
"I'll do it," replied our hero.
"There is no special need of my hurrying. I have brought your gun and compass up from
the boat. They are down in the office."
"Will you do me a favor?" asked Mr. Duncan quickly.
"Of course." "Then please accept that gun and compass
with my compliments.
They are both of excellent make, and I don't think I shall use that gun this
season. My wife would be superstitious about it.
As for the compass, you'll need one in this fog, and I can recommend mine as being
accurate."
"Oh, I couldn't think of taking them," expostulated Tom, but his eyes sparkled in
anticipation, for he had been wishing for a gun such as Mr. Duncan owned.
He also needed a compass.
"If you don't take them I shall feel very much offended," the hunter said, "and the
nurse here will tell you that sick persons ought to be humored.
Hadn't they?" and he appealed to the pretty young woman, who was smiling at Tom.
"That's perfectly true," she said, showing her white, even teeth.
"I think, Mr. Swift, I shall have to order you to take them."
"All right," agreed Tom, "only it's too much for what I did."
"It isn't half enough," remarked Mr. Duncan solemnly.
"Just explain matters to my wife, if you will, and tell her the doctor says I can be
out in about a week.
But I'm not going hunting or practicing shots again."
A little later Tom, with the compass before him to guide him on his course through the
fog, was speeding his boat toward Waterford.
Now and then he glanced at the fine shotgun which he had so unexpectedly acquired.
"This will come in dandy this fall!" he exclaimed.
"I'll go hunting quail and partridge as well as wild ducks.
This compass is just what I need, too."
Mrs. Duncan was at first very much alarmed when Tom started to tell her of the
accident, but she soon calmed down as the lad went more into details and stated how
comparatively out of danger her husband now was.
The hunter's wife insisted that Tom remain to dinner, and as he had made up his mind
he would have to devote two days instead of one to the trip to his house, he consented.
The fog lifted that afternoon, and Tom, rejoicing in the sunlight, which drove away
the storm clouds, speeded up the ARROW until she was skimming over the lake like a
shaft from a bow.
"This is something like," he exclaimed. "I'll soon be at home, find everything all
right and telephone to dad. Then I'll sleep in my own room and start
back in the morning."
When Tom was within a few miles of his own boathouse he heard behind him the "put-put"
of a motor craft. Turning, he saw the RED STREAK fairly
flying along at some distance from him.
"Andy certainly is getting the speed out of her now," he remarked.
"He'd beat me if we were racing, but the trouble with his boat and engine is that he
can't always depend on it.
I guess he doesn't understand how to run it.
I wonder if he'll offer to race now?"
But the red-haired owner of the auto boat evidently did not intend to offer Tom a
race. The RED STREAK went on down the lake,
passing the ARROW about half a mile away.
Then the young inventor saw that Andy had two other lads in the boat with him.
"Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey, I guess," he murmured.
"Well, they're a trio pretty much alike.
The farther off they are the better I like it."
Tom once more gave his attention to his own boat.
He was going at a fair speed, but not the limit, and he counted on reaching home in
about a half hour.
Suddenly, when he was just congratulating himself on the smooth-running qualities of
his motor, which had not missed an explosion, the machinery stopped.
"Hello!" exclaimed the young inventor in some alarm.
"What's up now?" He quickly shut off the gasoline and went
back to the motor.
Now there are so many things that may happen to a gasoline engine that it would
be difficult to name them all offhand, and Tom, who had not had very much experience,
was at a loss to find what had stopped his machinery.
He tried the spark and found that by touching the wire to the top of the
cylinder, when the proper connection was, made, that he had a hot, "fat one."
The compression seemed all right and the supply pipe from the gasoline tank was in
perfect order. Still the motor would not go.
No explosion resulted when he turned the flywheel over, not even when he primed the
cylinder by putting a little gasoline in through the *** on the cylinder heads.
"That's funny," he remarked to himself as he rested from his labors and contemplated
the "dead" motor. "First time it has gone back on me."
The boat was drifting down the lake, and, at the sound of another motor craft
approaching, Tom looked up. He saw the RED STREAK, containing Andy
Foger and his cronies.
They had observed the young inventor's plight.
"Want a tow?" sneered Andy. "What'll you take for your second-hand boat
that won't run?" asked Pete Bailey.
"Better get out of the way or you might be run down," added Sam Snedecker.
Tom was too angry and chagrined to reply, and the RED STREAK swept on.
"I'll make her go, if it takes all night!" declared Tom energetically.
Once more he tried to start the motor. It coughed and sighed, as if in protest,
but would not explode.
Then Tom cried: "The spark plug! That's where the trouble is, I'll wager.
Why didn't I think of it before?"
It was the work of but a minute to unscrew the spark plugs from the tops of the
cylinders.
He found that both had such accumulations of carbon on them that no spark could ever
have reached the mixture of gasoline and air.
"I'll put new ones in," he decided, for he carried a few spare plugs for emergencies.
Inside of five minutes, with the new plugs in place, the motor was running better than
before.
"Now for home!" cried Tom, "and if I meet Andy Foger I'll race him this time."
But the RED STREAK was not in sight, and, a little later, Tom had run the ARROW into
the boathouse, locked the door and was on his way up to the mansion.
"I suppose Mrs. Baggert and Garret will be surprised to see me," he remarked.
"Maybe they'll think we don't trust them, by coming back in this fashion to see that
everything is safe.
But then, I suppose, dad is naturally nervous about some of his valuable
machinery and inventions. I think I'll find everything all right,
though."
As Tom went up the main path and swung off to a side one, which was a short cut to the
house, he saw in the dusk, for it was now early evening, a movement in the bushes
that lined the walk.
"Hello, Garret!" exclaimed the lad, taking it for granted it was the engineer employed
by Mr. Swift. There was no reply, and Tom, with a sudden
suspicion, sprang toward the bushes.
The shrubbery was more violently agitated and, as the lad reached the screen of
foliage, he saw a man spring up from the ground and take to his heels.
"Here!
Who are you? What do you want?" yelled Tom.
Hardly had he spoken when from behind a big apple tree another man sprung.
It was light enough so that the lad could see his face, and a glimpse of it caused
him to cry out: "Happy Harry, the ***!"
Before he could call again the two men had disappeared.
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