CHAPTER VII.
OFF ON A SPIN
Tom's first impulse was to run after the automobile, the red tail-lightof which glowed through the blackness like a ruby eye. Then herealized that it was going from him at such a swift pace that itwould be impossible to get near it, even if his bicycle was inworking order.
"But if I had my motor-cycle I'd catch up to them," he murmured. "Asit is, I must hurry home and tell dad. This is another link in thequeer chain that seems to be winding around us. I wonder who thatman was, and what he wanted by asking so many personal questionsabout dad?"
Trundling his wheel before him, with the chain dangling from thehandle-bar, Tom splashed on through the mud and rain. It was alonesome, weary walk, tired as he was with the happenings of theday, and the young inventor breathed a sigh of thankfulness as thelights of his home shone out in the mist of the storm. As he trampedup the steps of the side porch, his wheel bumping along ahead ofhim, a door was thrown open.
"Why, it's Tom!" exclaimed Mrs. Baggert. "Whatever happened to you?"and she hurried forward with kindly solicitude, for the housekeeperwas almost a second mother to the youth.
"Chain broke," answered the lad laconically. "Where's dad?"
"Out in the shop, working at his latest invention, I expect. But areyou hurt?"
"Oh, no. I fell easily. The mud was like a feather-bed, you know,except that it isn't so good for the clothes," and the younginventor looked down at his splashed and bedraggled garments.
Mr. Swift was very much surprised when Tom told him of the happeningon the road, and related the conversation and the subsequent alarmof the man on learning Tom's identity.
"Who do you suppose he could have been?" asked Tom, when he hadfinished.
"I am pretty certain he was one of that crowd of financiers of whomAnson Morse seems to be a representative," said Mr. Swift. "Are yousure the man was one of those you saw in the restaurant?"
"Positive. I had a good look at him both times. Do you think heimagined he could come here and get possession of some of yoursecrets?"
"I hardly know what to think, Tom. But we will take everyprecaution. We will set the burglar alarm wires, which I haveneglected for some time, as I fancied everything would be securehere. Then I will take my plans and the model of the turbine motorinto the house. I'll run no chances to-night."
Mr. Swift, who was adjusting some of the new bolts that Tom hadbrought home that day; began to gather up his tools and material.
"I'll help you, dad," said Tom, and he began connecting the burglaralarm wires, there being an elaborate system of them about thehouse, shops and grounds.
Neither Tom nor his father slept well that night. Several times oneor the other of them arose, thinking they heard unusual noises, butit was only some disturbance caused by the storm, and morningarrived without anything unusual having taken place. The rain stillcontinued, and Tom, looking from his window and seeing the downpour,remarked:
"I'm glad of it!"
"Why?" asked his father, who was in the next room.
"Because I'll have a good excuse for staying in and working on mymotor-cycle."
"But you must do some studying," declared Mr. Swift. "I will hearyou in mathematics right after breakfast."
"All right, dad. I guess you'll find I have my lessons."
Tom had graduated with honors from a local academy, and when it cameto a question of going further in his studies, he had elected tocontinue with his father for a tutor, instead of going to college.Mr. Swift was a very learned man, and this arrangement wassatisfactory to him, as it allowed Tom more time at home, so hecould aid his father on the inventive work and also plan things forhimself. Tom showed a taste for mechanics, and his father wiselydecided that such training as his son needed could be given at hometo better advantage than in a school or college.
Lessons over, Tom hurried to his own particular shop, and begantaking apart the damaged motor-cycle.
"First I'll straighten the handle-bars, and then I'll fix the motorand transmission," he decided. "The front wheel I can buy in town,as this one would hardly pay for repairing." Tom was soon busy withwrenches, hammers, pliers and screw-driver. He was in his element,and was whistling over his task. The motor he found in goodcondition, but it was not such an easy task as he had hoped tochange the transmission. He had finally to appeal to his father, inorder to get the right proportion between the back and front gears,for the motor-cycle was operated by a sprocket chain, instead of abelt drive, as is the case with some.
Mr. Swift showed Tom how to figure out the number of teeth needed oneach sprocket, in order to get an increase of speed, and as therewas a sprocket wheel from a disused piece of machinery available,Tom took that. He soon had it in place, and then tried the motor. Tohis delight the number of revolutions of the rear wheel wereincreased about fifteen per cent.
"I guess I'll make some speed," he announced to his father.
"But it will take more gasolene to run the motor; don't forget that.You know the great principle of mechanics--that you can't get out ofa machine any more than you put into it, nor quite as much, as amatter of fact, for considerable is lost through friction."
"Well, then, I'll enlarge the gasolene tank," declared Tom. "I wantto go fast when I'm going."
He reassembled the machine, and after several hours of work had itin shape to run, except that a front wheel was lacking.
"I think I'll go to town and get one," he remarked. "The rain isn'tquite so hard now."
In spite of his father's mild objections Tom went, using hisbicycle, the chain of which he had quickly repaired. He found justthe front wheel needed, and that night his motor-cycle was ready torun. But it was too dark to try it then, especially as he had nogood lantern, the one on the cycle having been smashed, and his ownbicycle light not being powerful enough. So he had to postpone histrial trip until the next day.
He was up early the following morning, and went out for a spinbefore breakfast. He came back, with flushed cheeks and bright eyes,just as Mr. Swift and Mrs. Baggert were sitting down to the table.
"To Reedville and back," announced Tom proudly.
"What, a round trip of thirty miles!" exclaimed Mr. Swift.
"That's what!" declared his son. "I went like a greased pig most ofthe way. I had to slow up going through Mansburg, but the rest of attime I let it out for all it was worth."
"You must be careful," cautioned his father. "You are not an expertyet."
"No, I realize that. Several times, when I wanted to slow up, Ibegan to back-pedal, forgetting that I wasn't on my bicycle. Then Ithought to shut off the power and put on the brake. But it'sglorious fun. I'm going out again as soon as I have something toeat. That is, unless you want me to help you, dad."
"No, not this morning. Learn to ride the motor-cycle. It may come inhandy."
Neither Tom nor his father realized what an important part themachine was soon to play in their lives.
Tom went out for another spin after breakfast, and in a differentdirection. He wanted to see what the machine would do on a hill, andthere was a long, steep one about five miles from home. The roadswere in fine shape after the rain, and he speeded up the incline ata rapid rate.
"It certainly does eat up the road," the lad murmured. "I haveimproved this machine considerably. Wish I could take out a patenton it."
Reaching the crest of the slope, he started down the incline. Heturned off part of the power, and was gliding along joyously, whenfrom a cross-road he suddenly saw turn into the main highway a mule,drawing a ramshackle wagon, loaded with fence posts. Beside theanimal walked an old colored man.
"I hope he gets out of the way in time," thought Tom. "He's movingas slow as molasses, and I'm going a bit faster than I like. GuessI'll shut off and put on the brakes."
The mule and wagon were now squarely across the road. Tom was comingnearer and nearer. He turned the handle-grip, controlling the supplyof gasolene, and to his horror he found that it was stuck. He couldnot stop the motor-cycle!<
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"Look out! Look out!" cried Tom to the negro. "Get out of the way! Ican't stop! Let me pass you!"
The darky looked up. He saw the approaching machine, and he seemedto lose possession of his senses.
"Whoa, Boomerang!" cried the negro. "Whoa! Suffin's gwine t'happen!"
"That's what!" muttered Tom desperately, as he saw that there wasnot room for him to pass without going into the ditch, a proceedingthat would mean an upset. "Pull out of the way!" he yelled again.
But either the driver could not understand, or did not appreciatethe necessity. The mule stopped and reared up. The colored manhurried to the head of the animal to quiet it.
"Whoa, Boomerang! Jest yo' stand still!" he said.
Tom, with a great effort, managed to twist the grip and finally shutoff the gasolene. But it was too late. He struck the darky with thefront wheel. Fortunately the youth had managed to somewhat reducehis speed by a quick application of the brake, or the result mighthave been serious. As it was, the colored man was gently lifted awayfrom the mule's head and tossed into the long grass in the ditch.Tom, by a great effort, succeeded in maintaining his seat in thesaddle, and then, bringing the machine to a stop, he leaped off andturned back.
The colored man was sitting up, looking dazed.
"Whoa, Boomerang!" he murmured. "Suffin's happened!"
But the mule, who had quieted down, only waggled his ears lazily,and Tom, ready to laugh, now that he saw he had not committedmanslaughter, hurried to where the colored man was sitting.