TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT
or
The Speediest Car on the Road
by
VICTOR APPLETON
THE TOM SWIFT SERIES
TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE
Or Fun and Adventure on the Road
TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-BOAT
Or the Rivals of Lake Carlopa
TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP
Or the Stirring Cruise of the Red Cloud
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT
Or Under the Ocean for Sunken Treasure
TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT
Or the Speediest Car on the Road
Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I TOM HOPES FOR A PRIZE
II MR. DAMON'S STEERING
III THE MOTOR-CYCLE WINS
IV TALE OF A NEW BANK
V A MIDNIGHT ENCOUNTER
VI BUILDING THE CAR
VII TOM IS CAPTURED
VIII A BLINDING FLASH
IX TOM IS RESCUED
X TOM HAS A FALL
XI CROSSED WIRES
XII THE TRYOUT
XIII TOWED BY A MULE
XIV A GREAT RUN
XV ANDY FOGER'S BLACK EYE
XVI TROUBLE AT THE BANK
XVII A RUN ON THE BANK
XVIII AFTER THE CASH
XIX STOPPED ON THE ROAD
XX ON TIME
XXI OFF TO THE BIG RACE
XXII IN A DITCH
XIII THE POWER GONE
XIV ON THE TRACK
XXV WINNING THE PRIZE
TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT
CHAPTER I TOM HOPES FOR A PRIZE
"Father," exclaimed Tom Swift, looking up from a paper he was
reading, "I think I can win that prize!"
"What prize is that?" inquired the aged inventor, gazing away
from a drawing of a complicated machine, and pausing in his task
of making some intricate calculations. "You don't mean to say,
Tom, that you're going to have a try for a government prize for a
submarine, after all."
"No, not a submarine prize, dad," and the youth laughed.
"Though our Advance would take the prize away from almost any
other under-water boat, I imagine. No, it's another prize I'm
thinking about."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I see by this paper that the Touring Club of America has
offered three thousand dollars for the speediest electric car.
The tests are to come off this fall, on a new and specially built
track on Long Island, and it's to be an endurance contest for
twenty-four hours, or a race for distance, they haven't yet
decided. But I'm going to have a try for it, dad, and, besides
winning the prize, I think I'll take Andy Foger down a peg.
"What's Andy been doing now?"
"Oh, nothing more than usual. He's always mean, and looking
for a chance to make trouble for me, but I didn't refer to
anything special He has a new auto, you know, and he boasts that
it's the fastest one in this country. I'll show him that it
isn't, for I'm going to win this prize with the speediest car on
the road."
"But, Tom, you haven't any automobile, you know," and Mr. Swift
looked anxiously at his son, who was smiling confidently. "You
can't be going to make your motor-cycle into an auto; are you?"
"No, dad."
"Then how are you going to take part in the prize contest?
Besides, electric cars, as far as I know, aren't specially
speedy."
"I know it, and one reason why this club has arranged the
contest is to improve the quality of electric automobiles. I'm
going to build an electric runabout, dad."
"An electric runabout? But it will have to be operated with a
storage battery, Tom, and you haven't - "
"I guess you're going to say I haven't any storage battery,
dad," interrupted Mr. Swift's son. "Well, I haven't yet, but I'm
going to have one. I've been working on - "
"Oh, ho!" exclaimed the aged inventor with a laugh. "So that's
what you've been tinkering over these last few weeks, eh, Tom? I
suspected it was some new invention, but I didn't suppose it was
that. Well, how are you coming on with it?"
"Pretty good, I think. I've got a new idea for a battery, and I
made an experimental one. I gave it some pretty severe tests, and
it worked fine."
"But you haven't tried it out in a car yet, over rough roads,
and under severe conditions have you?"
"No, I haven't had a chance. In fact, when I invented the
battery I had no idea of using it on a car I thought it might
answer for commercial purposes, or for storing a current
generated by windmills. But when I read that account in the
papers of the Touring Club, offering a prize for the best
electric car, it occurred to me that I might put my battery into
an auto, and win."
"Hum," remarked Mr. Swift musingly. "I don't take much stock in
electric autos, Tom. Gasolene seems to be the best, or perhaps
steam, generated by gasolene. I'm afraid you'll be disappointed.
All the electric runabouts I ever saw, while they were very nice
cars, didn't seem able to go so very fast, or very far."
"That's true, but it's because they didn't have the right kind
of a battery. You know an electric locomotive can make pretty
good speed, Dad. Over a hundred miles an hour in tests."
"Yes, but they don't run by storage batteries. They have a
third rail, and powerful motors," and Mr. Swift looked
quizzically at his son. He loved to argue with him, for he said
it made Tom think, and often the two would thus thresh out some
knotty point of an invention, to the interests of both.
"Of course, Dad, there is a good deal of theory in what I'm
thinking of," the lad admitted. "But it does seem to me that if
you put the right kind of a battery into an automobile, it could
scoot along pretty lively. Look what speed a trolley car can
make."
"Yes, Tom, but there again they get their power from an
overhead wire."
"Some of them don't. There's a new storage battery been
invented by a New Jersey man, which does as well as the third
rail or the overhead wire. It was after reading about his battery
that I thought of a plan for mine. It isn't anything like his;
perhaps not as good in some ways, but, for what I want, it is
better in some respects, I think. For one thing it can be
recharged very quickly."
"Now Tom, look here," said Mr. Swift earnestly, laying aside
his papers, and coming over to where his son sat. "You know I
never interfere with your inventions. In fact, the more you think
of the better I like it. The airship you helped build certainly
did all that could be desired, and - "
"That reminds me. Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon are out in it now,"
interrupted Tom. "They ought to be back soon. Yes, Dad, the
airship Red Cloud certainly scooted along."
"And the submarine, too," continued the aged inventor. "Your
ideas regarding that were of service to me, and helped in our
task of recovering the treasure, but I'm afraid you're going to
be disappointed in the storage battery. You may get it to work,
but I don't believe you can make it powerful enough to attain any
great speed. Why don't you confine yourself to making a battery
for stationary work?"
"Because, Dad, I believe I can build a speedy car, and I'm
going to try it. Besides I want to race Andy Foger, and beat him,
even if I don't win the prize. I'm going to build that car, and
it will make fast time."
"Well, go ahead, Tom," responded his father, after a pause. "Of
course you can use the shops here as much as you want, and Mr.
Sharp, Mr. Jackson, and I will help you all we can. Only don't be
disappointed, that's all."
"I won't, Dad. Suppose you come out to my shop and I'll show
you a sample battery I've been testing for the last week. I have
it geared to a small motor, and it's been running steadily for
some time. I want to see what sort of a record it's made."
Father and son crossed the yard, and entered a shop which the
lad considered exclusively his own. There he had made many
machines, and pieces of apparatus, and had invented a number of
articles which had been patented, and yielded him considerable of
an income.
"There's the battery, Dad," he said, pointing to a complicated
mechanism in one corner.
"What's that buzzing noise?" asked Mr. Swift. "That's the
little motor I run from the new cells. Look here," and Tom
switched on an electric light above the experimental battery,
from which he hoped so much. It consisted of a steel can, about
the size of the square gallon tin in which maple syrup comes, and
from it ran two wires which were attached to a small motor that
was industriously whirring away.
Tom looked at a registering gauge connected with it.
"That's pretty good," remarked the young inventor.
"What is it, Tom?" and his father peered about the shop.
"Why this motor has run an equivalent of two hundred miles on
one charging of the battery! That's much better than I expected.
I thought if I got a hundred out of it I'd be doing well. Dad, I
believe, after I improve my battery a bit, that I'll have the
very thing I want! I'll install a set of them in a car, and it
will go like the wind. I'll - " Tom's enthusiastic remarks were
suddenly interrupted by a low, rumbling sound.
"Thunder!" exclaimed Mr. Swift. "The storm is coming, and Mr.
Sharp and Mr. Damon in the airship - "
Hardly had he spoken than there sounded a crash on the roof of
the Swift house, not far away. At the same time there came cries
of distress, and the crash was repeated.
"Come on, Dad! Something has happened!" yelled Tom, dashing
from the shop, followed by his parent. They found themselves in
the midst of a rain storm, as they raced toward the house, on the
roof of which the smashing noise was again heard.
CHAPTER II MR. DAMON'S STEERING
Tom Swift was a lad of action, and his quickness in hurrying
out to investigate what had happened when he was explaining about
his new battery, was characteristic of him. Those of my readers
who know him, through having read the previous books of this
series, need not be told this, but you who, perhaps, are just
making his acquaintance, may care to know a little more about
him.
As told in my first book, "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle" the
young inventor lived with his father, Barton Swift, a widower, in
the town of Shopton, New York. Mr. Swift was also an inventor of
note.
In my initial volume of this series, Tom became possessed of a
motor-cycle in a peculiar way. It was sold to him by a Mr.
Wakefield Damon, a wealthy gentleman who was unfortunate in
riding it. On his speedy machine, which Tom improved by several
inventions, he had a number of adventures. The principal one was
being attacked by a number of bad men, known as the "Happy Harry
Gang," who wished to obtain possession of a valuable turbine
patent model belonging to Mr. Swift. Tom was taking it to a
lawyer, when he was waylaid, and chloroformed. Later he traced
the gang, and, with the assistance of Mr. Damon and Eradicate
Sampson, an aged colored man who made a living for himself and
his mule, Boomerang, by doing odd jobs, the lad found the thieves
and recovered a motor-boat which had been stolen. But the men got
away.
In the second volume, called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat,"
Tom bought at auction the boat stolen by, and recovered from, the
thieves, and proceeded to improve it. While he was taking his
father out on a cruise for Mr Swift's health, the Happy Harry
Gang made a successful attempt to steal some valuable inventions
from the Swift house. Tom started to trace them, and incidentally
he raced and beat Andy Foger, a rich bully. On their way down the
lake, after the robbery, Tom, his father and Ned Newton, Tom's
chum, saw a man hanging from the trapeze of a blazing balloon
over Lake Carlopa. The balloonist was Mr. John Sharp and he was
rescued by Tom in a thrilling fashion. In his motor-boat, Tom had
much pleasure, not the least of which was taking out a young lady
named Miss Mary Nestor, whose acquaintance he had made after
stopping her runaway horse, which his bicycle had frightened.
Tom's association with Miss Nestor soon ripened into something
deeper than mere friendship.
It developed that Mr Sharp, whom Tom had saved from the burning
balloon, was an aeronaut of note, and had once planned to build
an airship. After his recovery from his thrilling experience, he
mentioned the matter to Mr. Swift and his son, with whom he took
up his residence. This fitted right in with Tom's ideas, and soon
father, son and the balloonist were constructing the Red Cloud,
as they named their airship. It was finally completed, as related
in "Tom Swift and His Airship," made a successful trial trip, and
won a prize. It was planned to make a longer journey, and Tom,
Mr. Sharp and Mr. Damon agreed to go together. Mr. Damon was an
odd individual, who was continuously blessing some part of his
anatomy, his clothing or some inanimate object but, for all that,
he was a fine man.
The night before Tom and his friends started off in their
airship, the Shopton Bank vault was blown open and seventy-five
thousand dollars was taken. Tom and his friends did not know of
this, but, no sooner had the young inventor, Mr. Sharp and Mr.
Damon sailed away, than the police arrived at Mr. Swift's house
to arrest them. They were charged with the robbery, and with
having sailed away with the booty.
It appeared that Andy Foger said he had seen Tom hanging around
the bank the night of the robbery, with a bag of burglar tools in
his possession. Search was immediately begun for the airship, the
occupants of which were, meanwhile, speeding on.
Tom and his two friends had trouble. They were nearly burned up
in a forest fire, and were fired upon by a crowd of people with
rifles, who, reading of the bank robbery and the reward offered
for the capture of the thieves, hoped to bring down the airship.
The fact that they were fired upon caused Tom and the two
aeronauts to descend to make an investigation, and for the first
time they learned of the bank theft. How they got track of the
real robbers, took the sheriff with them in the airship, and
raided the gang will be found set down at length in the book.
Also how Tom administered well-deserved thrashing to Andy Foger.
Mr. Swift did not accompany his son in the airship, and when
asked why he did not care to make the trip, said he was working
on a new type of submarine boat, which he hoped to enter in the
government trials, to win a prize. In the fourth volume of the
series, called "Tom Swift and his Submarine," you may read how
successful Mr. Swift was.
When the submarine, called the Advance, was finished, the party
made a trip to recover three hundred thousand dollars in gold
from a sunken treasure ship, off the coast of Uruguay, South
America. They sailed beneath the seas for many miles, and were in
great peril at times. One reason for this was that a rival firm
of submarine builders got wind of the treasure, and tried to get
ahead of the Swifts in recovering it. How Tom and his friends
succeeded in their quest, how they nearly perished at the bottom
of the sea, how they were captured by a foreign war vessel, and
sentenced to death, how they fought with a school of giant sharks
and how they blew up the wreck to recover the money is all told
of in the book.
On their return to civilization with the gold, Mr. Swift, Tom,
and their friends deposited the money in the Shopton Bank, where
Ned Newton worked. Ned was a bright lad, but had not been
advanced as rapidly as he deserved, and Tom knew this. He asked
his father to speak to the president, Mr. Pendergast, in Ned's
behalf, and, as a result the lad was made assistant cashier, for
the request of a man who controlled a three hundred thousand
dollar deposit was not to be despised.
In building the submarine Tom and his father rented a large
cottage on the New Jersey seacoast, but, on returning from their
treasure-quest they went back to Shopton, leaving the submarine
at the boathouse of the shore cottage, which was near the city of
Atlantis. That was in the fall of the year, and all that winter
the young inventor had been busy on many things, not the least of
which was his storage battery. It was now spring, and seeing the
item in the paper, about the touring club prize for an electric
auto, had given him a new idea.
But all thoughts of electric cars, and everything else, were
driven from the mind of the young man, when, with his father, he
rushed out to see the cause of the crash on the roof of the Swift
homestead.
"There's something up there, Tom," called his father, as he
splashed on through the rain.
"That's right," added his son. "And somebody, too, to judge by
the fuss they're making."
"Maybe the house has been struck by lightning!" suggested the
aged inventor.
"No, the storm isn't severe enough for that; and, besides, if
the house had been struck you'd hear Mrs. Baggert yelling, Dad.
She - "
At that moment a woman's voice cried out:
"Mr. Swift! Tom! Where are you? Something dreadful has
happened!"
"There she goes!" remarked Mr. Swift, as he splashed into a mud
puddle.
"Bless my deflection rudder!" suddenly cried a voice from the
flat roof of the Swift house. "Hello! I say, is anyone down
there?"
"Yes, we are," answered Tom. "Is that you, Mr. Damon?"
"Bless my collar button! It certainly is."
"Where's Mr. Sharp? I don't hear him."
"Oh, I'm here all right," answered the balloonist. "I'm trying
to get the airship clear of the chimney. Mr. Damon - "
"Yes, I steered wrong!" interrupted the odd man. "Bless my
liver pin, but it was so dark I couldn't see, and when that clap
of thunder came I shifted the deflection rudder instead of the
lateral one, and tried to knock over your chimney."
"Are either of you hurt?" asked Mr. Swift anxiously.
"No, not at all," replied Mr. Sharp. "We were moving slowly,
ready for a landing."
"Is the airship damaged?" inquired Tom.
"I don't know. Not much, I guess," was the answer of the
aeronaut. "I've stopped the engine, and I don't like to start it
again until I can see what shape we're in."
"I'll come up, with Mr. Jackson," called Tom, and he hastily
summoned Garret Jackson, an engineer, who had been in the service
of Mr. Swift for many years. Together they proceeded to the roof
by a stairway that led to a scuttle.
"Is anyone killed?" asked Mrs. Baggert, as Tom hurried up the
stairs. "Don't tell me there is, Tom!"
"Well, I don't have to tell you, for no one is," replied the
young inventor with a laugh. "It's all right. The airship tried
to collide with the chimney, that's all."
He was soon on the large, flat roof of the dwelling, and, with
the aid of lanterns he, the engineer, and Mr. Sharp made a hasty
examination.
"Anything wrong?" inquired Mr. Damon, looking out from the
cabin of the Red Cloud where he had taken refuge after the crash,
and to get out of the wet.
"Not much," answered Tom. "One of the forward planes is
smashed, but we can rise by means of the gas, and float down. Is
all clear, Mr. Sharp?"
"All clear," replied the balloonist, for the airship had now
been wheeled back from the entanglement with the chimney.
"Then here we go!" cried Tom, as he and the aeronaut entered
the craft, while Mr. Jackson descended through the scuttle.
There came a fiercer burst to the storm, and, amid a series of
dazzling lightning flashes and the muttering of thunder, the
airship rose from the roof. Tom switched on the search-light,
and, starting the big propellers, guided the craft skillfully
toward the big shed where it was housed when not in use.
With the grace of a bird it turned about in the air, and
settled to the ground. It was the work of but a few minutes to
run it into the shed. Then they all started for the house.
"Bless my umbrella! How it rains!" cried Mr. Damon, as he
splashed on through numerous puddles. "We got back just in time,
Mr. Sharp."
"Where did you go?" asked the lad.
"Why we took a flight of about fifty miles and stopped at my
house in Waterfield for supper. Were you anxious about us?"
"A little when it began to storm," replied Tom.
"Anything new since we left?" asked Mr. Sharp, for it was the
custom of himself, or some of his friends, to take little trips
in the airship. They thought no more of it than many do of going
for a short spin in an automobile.
"Yes, there is something new," said Mr. Swift, as the party,
all drenched now, reached the broad veranda.
"Bless my gaiters!" cried Mr. Damon. "What is it? I hope the
Happy Harry gang hasn't robbed you again; nor Berg and his men
tried to take that treasure away from us, after we worked so hard
to get it from the wreck."
"No, it isn't that," replied Mr. Swift. "The truth is that Tom
thinks he has invented a storage battery that will revolutionize
matters. He's going to build an electric automobile, he says."
"I am," declared the lad, as the others looked at him, "and it
will be the speediest one you ever saw, too!"
CHAPTER III THE MOTORCYCLE WINS
"Well, Tom," remarked Mr. Sharp, after a pause following the
lad's announcement. "I didn't know you had any ambitions in that
line. Tell us more about the battery. What system do you use;
lead plates and sulphuric acid?"
"Oh, that's out of date long ago," declared the lad.
"Well, I don't know much about electricity," admitted the
aeronaut. "I'll take my chances in an airship or a balloon, but
when it comes to electricity I'm down and out."
"So am I," admitted Mr. Damon. "Bless my gizzard, it's all I
can do to put a new spark plug in my automobile. Where is your
new battery, Tom?"
"Out in my shop, running yet if it hasn't been frightened by
the airship smash," replied the lad, somewhat proudly. "It's an
oxide of nickel battery, with steel and oxide of iron negative
electrodes."
"What solution do you use, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "I didn't get
that far in questioning you before the crash came," he added.
"Well I have, in the experimental battery, a solution of
potassium hydrate," replied the lad, "but I think I'm going to
change it, and add some lithium hydrate to it. I think that will
make it stronger."
"Bless my watch chain!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "It's all Greek to
me. Suppose you let us see it, Tom? I like to see wheels go
'round, but I'm not much of a hand for chemical terms."
"If you're sure you're not hurt by the airship smash, I will,"
declared the lad.
"Oh, we're not hurt a bit," insisted Mr. Sharp. "As I said we
were moving slow, for I knew it was about time to land. Mr. Damon
was steering - "
"Yes I thought I'd try my hand at it, as it seemed so easy,"
interrupted the eccentric man. "But never again - not for mine! I
couldn't see the house, and, before I knew it we were right over
the roof. Then the chimney seemed to stick itself up suddenly in
front of us, and - well, you know the rest. I'm willing to pay for
any damage I caused."
"Oh, not at all!" replied Tom. "It's easy enough to put on a
new plane, or, for that matter, we can operate the Red Cloud
without it. But come on, I'll show you my sample battery."
"Here, take umbrellas!" Mrs. Baggert called after them as they
started toward the shop, for it was still raining.
"We don't mind getting wet," replied the young inventor. "It's
in the interests of science."
"Maybe it is. You don't mind a wetting, but I mind you coming
in and dripping water all over the carpets!" retorted the
housekeeper.
"Bless my overshoes, I'm afraid we have wet the carpets a
trifle now," admitted Mr. Damon ruefully, as he looked down at a
puddle, which had formed where he had been standing.
"That's the reason I want you to take umbrellas this trip,"
insisted Mrs. Baggert.
They complied, and were soon in the shop, where Tom explained
his battery. The small motor was still running and had, as the
lad had said, gone the equivalent of over two hundred miles.
"If a small battery does as well as that, what will a larger
one do?" asked Mr. Damon.
"Much better, I hope," replied the youth. "But Dad doesn't seem
to have much faith in them."
"Well," admitted Mr. Swift, "I must say I am skeptical. Still,
I acknowledge Tom has done some pretty good work along electrical
lines. He helped me with the positive and negative plates on the
submarine, and, maybe - well, we'll wait and see," he concluded.
"If you build a car I hope you give me a ride in it," said Mr.
Damon. "I've ridden fast in the air, and swiftly on top of, and
under, the water. Now I'd like to ride rapidly on top of the
earth. The gasolene auto doesn't go very fast."
"I'll give you a ride that will make your hair stand up!"
prophesied Tom, and the time was to come when he would make good
that prediction.
The little party in the machine shop talked at some length
about Tom's battery. He showed them how it was constructed, and
gave them some of his ideas regarding the new type of auto he
planned to build.
"Well," remarked Mr. Swift at length, "if you want to keep your
brain fresh, Tom, you must get to bed earlier than this. It's
nearly twelve o'clock."
"And I want to get up early !" exclaimed the lad. "I'm going to
start to build a larger battery to-morrow."
"And I'm going to repair the airship," added Mr. Sharp.
"Bless my night cap, I promised my wife I'd be home early
to-night, too!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I don't fancy
making the trip back to Waterfield in my auto, though. Something
will be sure to happen. I'll blow out a tire, or a spark plug
will get sooty on me and - "
"It's raining harder than ever," interrupted Tom. "Better stay
here to-night. You can telephone home." Which Mr. Damon did.
Tom was up early the next morning, in spite of the fact that he
did not go to bed in good season, and before breakfast he was
working at his new storage battery. After the meal he hurried
back to the shop, but it was not long before he came out,
wheeling his motor-cycle.
"Where are you going, Tom?" asked Mrs. Baggert.
"Oh, I've got to go to Mansburg to get some steel tubes for my
new battery," he replied. "I thought I had some large enough, but
I haven't." Mansburg was a good-sized town, near Shopton.
"Then I wish you'd bring me a bottle of stove polish,"
requested the housekeeper. "The liquid kind. I'm out of it, and
the stove is as red as a cow."
"All right," agreed the lad, as he leaped into the saddle and
pedaled off down the road. A moment later he had turned on the
power, and was speeding along the highway, which was in good
condition on account of the shower of the night before.
Tom was thinking so deeply of his new invention, and planning
what he would do when he had his electric runabout built, that,
almost before he knew it, he had reached Mansburg, purchased the
steel tubes, and the stove polish, and was on his way back again.
As he was speeding along on a level road, he heard, coming
behind him, an automobile. The lad turned to one side, but, in
spite of this the party in the car began a serenade of the
electric siren, and kept it up, making a wild discord.
"What's the matter with those fellows!" inquired Tom of
himself. "Haven't I given them enough of the road, or has their
steering gear broken?"
He looked back over his shoulder, and it needed but a glance to
show that the car was all right, as regarded the steering
apparatus. And it needed only another glance to disclose the
reason for the shrill sound of the siren.
"Andy Foger!" exclaimed Tom. "I might have known. And Sam and
Pete are with him. Well, if he wants to make me get off the road,
he'll find that I've got as much right as he has!"
He kept on a straight course, wondering if the red-haired, and
squint-eyed bully would dare try to damage the motor-cycle.
A little later Andy's car was beside Tom.
"Why don't you get out of the way," demanded Sam, who could
usually be depended on to aid Andy in all his mean tricks.
"Because I'm entitled to half the road," retorted our hero.
"Humph! A slow-moving machine like yours hasn't any right on
the road," sneered Andy, who had slowed down his car somewhat.
"I haven't, eh?" demanded Tom. "Well, if you'll get down out of
that car for a few minutes I'll soon show you what my rights
are!"
Now Andy, more than once, had come to personal encounters with
Tom, much to the anguish of the bully. He did not relish another
chastisement, but his mean spirit could not brook interference.
"Don't you want a race?" he inquired of Tom, in a sneering
tone. "I'll give you a mile start, and beat you! I've got the
fastest car built!"
"You have, eh?" asked Tom, while a grim look came over his
face. "Maybe you'll think differently some day."
"Aw, he's afraid to race; come on," suggested Pete. "Don't
bother with him, Andy."
"No, I guess it wouldn't be worth my while," was the reply of
the bully, and he threw the second gear into place, and began to
move away from the young inventor.
Tom was just as much pleased to be left alone, but he did not
want Andy Foger to think that he could have matters all his own
way. Tom's motor-cycle, since he had made some adjustments to it,
was very swift. In fact there were few autos that could beat it.
He had never tried it against Andy's new car, and he was anxious
to do so.
"I wonder if I would stand any chance, racing him?" thought the
young inventor, as he saw the car slowly pulling away from him.
"I think I'll wait until he gets some distance ahead, and then
I'll see how near I can come to him. If I get anywhere near him
I'm pretty sure I can pass him. I'll try it."
When Andy and his cronies looked back, Tom did not appear to be
doing anything save moving along at moderate speed on his
machine.
"You don't dare race!" Pete Bailey shouted to him.
"Wait," was what Tom whispered to himself.
Andy's car was now some distance ahead. The young inventor
waited a little longer, and then turned more power into his
machine. It leaped forward and began to "eat up the road," as Tom
expressed it. He had seen Andy throw in the third gear, but knew
that there was a fourth speed on the bully's car.
"I don't know whether I can beat him on that or not," thought
the lad dubiously. "If I try, and fail, they'll laugh at me. But
I don't think I'm going to fail."
Faster and faster he rode. He was rapidly overhauling Andy's
car now, and, as they heard him approach, the three cronies
turned around.
"He's going to race you, after all, Andy!" cried Sam.
"You mean he's going to try," sneered Andy. "I'll give him all
the racing he wants!"
In another few seconds Tom was beside the auto, and would have
passed it, only Andy opened his throttle a little more. For a
moment the auto jumped ahead, and then, as our hero turned on
still more power, he easily held his own.
"Aw, you can never beat us!" yelled Pete.
"Of course not!" added Sam.
"I'll leave him behind in a second," prophesied Andy. "Wait
until I throw in the other gear," he added to his cronies in a
low voice. "He thinks he's going to beat me. I'll let him think
so, and then I'll spurt ahead."
The two machines were now racing along side by side. Andy's car
was going the limit on third gear, but he still had the fourth
gear in reserve. Tom, too, still had a little margin of speed.
Suddenly Andy reached forward and yanked on a lever. There was
a grinding of cogs as the fourth gear slipped into place, for
Andy did not handle his car skillfully. The effect, however, was
at once apparent. The automobile shot forward.
"Now where are you, Tom Swift?" cried Sam.
Tom said nothing. He merely shifted a lever, and got a better
spark. He also turned on a little more gasolene and opened the
muffler The quickness with which his motor-cycle shot forward
almost threw him from the saddle, but he had a tight grip on the
handle bars. He whizzed past the auto, but, as the latter
gathered speed, it crept up to him, and, once more was on even
terms. Much chagrined at seeing Tom hold pace with him, even for
an instant, Andy shouted;
"Get over on your own side there! You're crowding me!"
"I am not!" yelled back Tom, above the explosions of his
machine.
The two were now racing furiously, and Andy, with a savage
look, tried to get more speed out of his car. In spite of all the
bully did, Tom was gradually forging ahead. A little hill was now
in view.
"Here's where I make him take my dust!" cried Andy, but, to his
surprise Tom still kept ahead. The auto began to lose ground, for
it was not made to take hills on high gear.
"Change to third gear quick!" cried Sam.
Andy tried to do it. There was a hesitancy on the part of his
car. It seemed to balk. Tom, looking back, slowed up a trifle. He
could afford to, as Andy was being beaten.
"Go on! Go on!" begged Pete. "You'll have to keep on fourth
gear to beat him, Andy."
"That's what!" murmured the bully. Once more he shifted the
gears. There was a grinding, smashing sound, and the car lost
speed. Then it slowed up still more, and finally stopped. Then it
began to back down hill.
"I've stripped those blamed gears!" exclaimed Andy ruefully.
"Can't you beat him?" asked Pete.
"I could have, easily, if my gears hadn't broken," declared the
bully, but, as a matter of fact, he could not have done so. "I
oughtn't to have changed, going up hill," he added, as he jammed
on the brakes, to stop the car from sliding down the slope.
Tom saw and heard.
"I thought you were so anxious to race," he said, exultantly,
as well he might. "I don't want to try a contest down hill,
though, Andy," and he laughed at the red-haired lad, who was
furious.
"Aw, go on!" was all the retort the squint-eyed one could think
of to make.
"I am going on," replied our hero. "Just to show you that I can
go down hill, watch me."
He turned his motor-cycle, and approached Andy's stalled car,
for Tom was some distance in advance of it, up the slope by this
time. As he approached the auto, containing the three
disconcerted cronies, something bounded out of Tom's pocket. It
was the bottle of stove blacking he had purchased for Mrs.
Baggert. The bottle fell in the soft dirt in front of his
forward wheel, and a curious thing happened. Perhaps you have
seen a bicycle or auto tire strike a stone at an angle, and
throw it into the air with great force. That was what happened
to the bottle. Tom's front wheel struck the cork, which fitted
tightly, and, just as when you hit one end of the wooden "catty"
and it bounds up, the bottle described a curve through the air,
and flew straight toward Andy's car. It struck the brass frame
of the wind shield with a crash.
The bottle broke, and in an instant the black liquid was
spattered all over Andy, Sam and Pete. It could not have been
done more effectively if Tom had thrown it by hand. All over
their clothes, their hands and faces, and the front of the car
went the dreary black. Tom looked on, hardly able to believe what
he saw.
"Wow! Wup! Ug! Blug! Mug!" spluttered Sam, who had some of the
stuff in his mouth.
"Oh! Oh!" yelled Pete.
"You did that on purpose, Tom Swift!" shouted Andy, wiping some
of the blacking from his left eye. "I'll have you arrested for
that! You've ruined my car, and look at my suit!"
"Mine's worse!" murmured Sam, glancing down at his light
trousers, which were of the polka-dot pattern now.
"No, mine is," insisted Pete, whose white shirt was of the hue
of a stove pipe.
Andy wiped some of the black stuff from his nose, whence it was
dropping on the steering wheel.
"You just wait!" the bully called to Tom. "I'll get even with
you for this!"
"It was an accident! I didn't mean to do that," explained Tom,
trying not to laugh, as he dismounted from his motor-cycle, ready
to render what assistance he could.
CHAPTER IV TALK OF A NEW BANK
The three cronies were in a sorrowful plight. The black fluid
dripped from them, and formed little puddles in the car. Andy had
used his handkerchief to wipe some of the stuff from his face,
but the linen was soon useless, for it quickly absorbed the
blacking.
"There's a little brook over here," volunteered Tom. "You might
wash in that. The stuff comes off easily. It isn't like ink," and
he had to laugh, as he thought of the happening.
"Here! You quit that!" ordered Andy. "You've gone too far, Tom
Swift!"
"Didn't I tell you it was an accident?" inquired the young
inventor.
"It wasn't!" cried Sam. "You threw the bottle at us! I saw
you!"
"It slipped from my pocket," declared the youth, and he
described how the accident occurred. "I'll help you clean your
car, Andy," he added.
"I don't want your help! If you come near me I'll - I'll punch
your nose!" cried Andy, now almost beside himself with rage.
"All right, if you don't want my help I don't care," answered
Tom, glad enough not to have to soil his hands and clothes. He
felt that it was partly his fault, and he would have done all he
could to remedy matters, but his good offers being declined, he
felt that it was useless to insist further.
He remounted his motor-cycle, and rode off, the last view he
had of the trio being one where they were at the edge of the
brook, trying to remove the worst traces of the black fluid. As
Tom turned around for a final glimpse, Andy shook his fist at
him, and called out something.
"I guess Andy'll have it in for me," mused Tom. "Well, I can't
help it. I owed him something on account, but I didn't figure on
paying it in just this way," and he thought of the time the bully
had locked him in the ballast tanks of the submarine, thereby
nearly smothering him to death.
That night Andy Foger told his father what had happened, for
Mr. Foger inquired the reason for the black stains on his son's
face and hands. But Andy did not give the true version. He said
Tom had purposely thrown the bottle of blacking at him.
"So that's the kind of a lad Tom Swift is, eh?" remarked Andy's
father. "Well, Andy, I think you will soon have a chance to get
even with him."
"How, pop?"
"I can't tell you now, but I have a plan for making Tom sorry
he ever did anything to you, and I will also pay back some old
scores to Mr. Swift and Mr. Damon. I'll ruin their bank for them,
that's what I'll do."
"Ruin their bank, pop? How?"
"You wait and see. The Swift crowd will get off their high
horse soon, or I'm mistaken. My plans are nearly completed, but I
can't tell you about them. I'll ruin Mr. Swift, though, that's
what I'll do," and Mr. Foger shook his head determinedly.
Tom was soon at his home, and Mrs. Baggert, hearing the noise
of his machine, as it entered the front yard, came to the side
door.
"Where's my blacking?" she asked, as our hero dismounted and
untied the bundle of steel tubes he had purchased.
"I - I used it," he answered, laughing.
"Tom Swift! You don't mean to say you took my stove polish to
use in your battery, do you?"
"No, I used it to polish off Andy Foger and some of his
cronies," and the young inventor told, with much gusto, what had
happened. Mrs. Baggert could not help joining in the laugh, and
when Tom offered to ride back and purchase some more of the
polish for her, she said it did not matter, as she could wait
until the next day.
The lad was soon busy in his machine shop, making several
larger cells for the new storage battery. He wanted to give it a
more severe test. He worked for several days on this, and when he
had one unit of cells complete, he attached the motor for an
efficiency trial.
"We'll see how many miles that will make," he remarked to his
father.
"Have you thought anything of the type of car you are going to
build?" asked the aged inventor of his son.
"Yes, somewhat. It will be almost of the regulation style, but