Victor Appleton (house Name) (4 page)

"I didn't, until lately. But I'd rather buy this one and fix it up
than get a new one. Besides, I have an idea for a new kind of
transmission, and perhaps I can work it out on this machine."

"Oh, well, if you want it for experimental purposes, I suppose it
will be as good as any. Go ahead, get it if you wish, but don't give
too much for it."

"I'll not. I fancy I can get it cheap."

Mr. Damon returned to the living-room, where he had first been
carried.

"I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me," he said.
"I might have lain there for hours. Bless my very existence! I have
had a very narrow escape. Hereafter when I see anyone on a motor-cycle
I shall turn my head away. The memory will be too painful," and he
touched the plaster that covered a cut on his head.

"Mr. Damon," said Tom quickly, "will you sell me that motor-cycle?"

"Bless my finger rings! Sell you that mass of junk?"

"It isn't all junk," went on the young inventor. "I can easily fix
it; though, of course," he added prudently, "it will cost something.
How much would you want for it?"

"Well," replied Mr. Damon, "I paid two hundred and fifty dollars
last week. I have ridden a hundred miles on it. That is at the rate
of two dollars and a half a mile—pretty expensive riding. But if
you are in earnest I will let you have the machine for fifty
dollars, and then I fear that I will be taking advantage of you."

"I'll give you fifty dollars," said Tom quickly, and Mr. Damon
exclaimed:

"Bless my liver—that is, if I have one. Do you mean it?"

Tom nodded. "I'll fetch you the money right away," he said, starting
for his room. He got the cash from a small safe he had arranged,
which was fitted up with an ingenious burglar alarm, and was on his
way downstairs when he heard his father call out:

"Here! What do you want? Go away from that shop! No one is allowed
there!" and looking from an upper window, Tom saw his father running
toward a stranger, who was just stepping inside the shop where Mr.
Swift was constructing his turbine motor. Tom started as he saw that
the stranger was the same black-mustached man whom he had noticed in
the post-office, and, later, in the restaurant at Mansburg.

Stuffing the money which he intended to give to Mr. Damon in his
pocket, Tom ran downstairs. As he passed through the living-room,
intending to see what the disturbance was about, and, if necessary,
aid his father, the owner of the broken motor-cycle exclaimed:

"What's the matter? What has happened? Bless my coat-tails, but is
anything wrong?"

"I don't know," answered Tom. "There is a stranger about the shop,
and my father never allows that. I'll be back in a minute."

"Take your time," advised the somewhat eccentric Mr. Damon. "I find
my legs are a bit weaker than I suspected, and I will be glad to
rest a while longer. Bless my shoelaces, but don't hurry!"

Tom went into the rear yard, where the shops, in a small cluster of
buildings, were located. He saw his father confronting the man with
the black mustache, and Mr. Swift was saying:

"What do you want? I allow no people to come in here unless I or my
son invites them. Did you wish to see me?"

"Are you Mr. Barton Swift?" asked the man.

"Yes, that is my name."

"The inventor of the Swift safety lamp, and the turbine motor?"

At the mention of the motor Mr. Swift started.

"I am the inventor of the safety lamp you mention," he said stiffly,
"but I must decline to talk about the motor. May I ask where you
obtained your information concerning it?"

"Why, I am not at liberty to tell," went on the man. "I called to
see if we could negotiate with you for the sale of it. Parties whom
I represent—"

At that moment Tom plucked his father by the sleeve.

"Dad," whispered the youth, "I saw him in Mansburg. I think he is
one of several who have been inquiring in Mr. Merton's shop about
you and your patents. I wouldn't have anything to do with him until
I found out more about him."

"Is that so?" asked Mr. Swift quickly. Then, turning to the
stranger, he said: "My son tells me—"

But Mr. Swift got no further, for at that moment the stranger caught
sight of Tom, whom he had not noticed before.

"Ha!" exclaimed the man. "I have forgotten something—an important
engagement—will be back directly—will see you again, Mr. Swift—
excuse the trouble I have put you to—I am in a great hurry," and
before father or son could stop him, had they any desire to, the man
turned and walked quickly from the yard.

Mr. Swift stood staring at him, and so did Tom. Then the inventor
asked:

"Do you know that man? What about him, Tom? Why did he leave so
hurriedly?"

"I don't know his name," replied Tom, "but I am suspicious regarding
him, and I think he left because he suddenly recognized me."
Thereupon he told his father of seeing the man in the post-office,
and hearing the talk of the same individual and two companions in
the restaurant.

"And so you think they are up to some mischief, Tom?" asked the
parent when the son had finished.

"Well, I wouldn't go quite as far as that, but I think they are
interested in your patents, and you ought to know whether you want
them to be, or not."

"I most certainly do not—especially in the turbine motor. That is
my latest invention, and, I think, will prove very valuable. But,
though I have not mentioned it before, I expect to have trouble with
it. Soon after I perfected it, with the exception of some minor
details, I received word from a syndicate of rich men that I was
infringing on a motor, the patent of which they controlled."

"This surprised me for two reasons. One was because I did not know
that any one knew I had invented the motor. I had kept the matter
secret, and I am at a loss to know how it leaked out. To prevent any
further information concerning my plans becoming public, I sent you
to Mansburg to-day. But it seems that the precaution was of little
avail. Another matter of surprise was the information that I was
infringing on the patent of some one else. I had a very careful
examination made, and I found that the syndicate of rich men was
wrong. I was not infringing. In fact, though the motor they have is
somewhat like mine, there is one big difference—theirs does not
work, while mine does. Their patents are worthless."

"Then what do you think is their object?"

"I think they want to get control of my invention of the turbine
motor, Tom. That is what has been worrying me lately. I know these
men to be unscrupulous, and, with plenty of money, they may make
trouble for me."

"But can't you fight them in the courts?"

"Yes, I could do that. It is not as if I was a poor man, but I do
not like lawsuits. I want to live quietly and invent things. I
dislike litigation. However, if they force it on me I will fight!"
exclaimed Mr. Swift determinedly.

"Do you think this man was one of the crowd of financiers?" asked
Tom.

"It would be hard to say. I did not like his actions, and the fact
that he sneaked in here, as if he was trying to get possession of
some of my models or plans, makes it suspicious."

"It certainly does," agreed Tom. "Now, if we only knew his name we
could—"

He suddenly paused in his remark and sprang forward. He picked up an
envelope that had dropped where the stranger had been standing.

"The man lost this from his pocket, dad," said Tom eagerly. "It's a
telegram. Shall we look at it?"

"I think we will be justified in protecting ourselves. Is the
envelope open?"

"Yes."

"Then read the telegram."

Tom drew out a folded yellow slip of paper. It was a short message.
He read:

"'Anson Morse, Mansburg. See Swift to-day. Make offer. If not
accepted do the best you can. Spare no effort. Don't give plans
away.'"

"Is that all?" asked Mr. Swift.

"All except the signature."

"Who is the telegram signed by?"

"By Smeak & Katch," answered Tom.

"Those rascally lawyers!" exclaimed his father. "I was beginning to
suspect this. That is the firm which represents the syndicate of
wealthy men who are trying to get my turbine motor patents away from
me. Tom, we must be on our guard! They will wage a fierce fight
against me, for they have sunk many thousands of dollars in a
worthless machine, and are desperate."

"We'll fight 'em!" cried Tom. "You and I, dad! We'll show 'em that
the firm of Swift & Son is swift by name and swift by nature!"

"Good!" exclaimed the inventor. "I'm glad you feel that way about
it, Tom. But we are going to have no easy task. Those men are rich
and unscrupulous. We shall have to be on guard constantly. Let me
have that telegram. It may come in useful. Now I must send word to
Reid & Crawford, my attorneys in Washington, to be on the lookout.
Matters are coming to a curious pass."

As Mr. Swift and his son started for the house, they met Mr. Damon
coming toward them.

"Bless my very existence!" cried the eccentric man. "I was beginning
to fear something had happened to you. I am glad that you are all
right. I heard voices, and I imagined—"

"It's all right," Mr. Swift reassured him. "There was a stranger
about my shop, and I never allow that. Do you feel well enough to
go? If not we shall be glad to have you remain with us. We have
plenty of room."

"Oh, thank you very much, but I must be going. I feel much better.
Bless my gaiters, but I never will trust myself in even an
automobile again! I will renounce gasolene from now on."

"That reminds me," spoke Tom. "I have the money for the motor-cycle,"
and he drew out the bills. "You are sure you will not regret your
bargain, Mr. Damon? The machine is new, and needs only slight
repairs. Fifty dollars is—"

"Tut, tut, young man! I feel as if I was getting the best of you.
Bless my handkerchief! I hope you have no bad luck with it."

"I'll try and be careful," promised Tom with a smile as he handed
over the money. "I am going to gear it differently and put some
improvements on it. Then I will use it instead of my bicycle."

"It would have to be very much improved before I trusted myself on
it again," declared Mr. Damon. "Well, I appreciate what you have
done for me, and if at any time I can reciprocate the favor, I will
only be too glad to do so. Bless my soul, though, I hope I don't
have to rescue you from trying to climb a tree," and with a laugh,
which showed that he had fully recovered from his mishap, he shook
hands with father and son and left.

"A very nice man, Tom," commented Mr. Swift. "Somewhat odd and out
of the ordinary, but a very fine character, for all that."

"That's what I say," added the son. "Now, dad, you'll see me
scooting around the country on a motor-cycle. I've always wanted
one, and now I have a bargain."

"Do you think you can repair it?"

"Of course, dad. I've done more difficult things than that. I'm
going to take it apart now, and see what it needs."

"Before you do that, Tom, I wish you would take a telegram to town
for me. I must wire my lawyers at once."

"Dad looks worried," thought Tom as he wheeled the broken motor-cycle
into a machine shop, where he did most of his work. "Well, I don't
blame him. But we'll get the best of those scoundrels yet!"

While Mr. Swift was writing the message he wished his son to take to
the village, the young mechanic inspected the motor-cycle he had
purchased. Tom found that a few repairs would suffice to put it in
good shape, though an entire new front wheel would be needed. The
motor had not been damaged, as he ascertained by a test. Tom rode
into town on his bicycle, and as he hurried along he noticed in the
west a bank of ugly-looking clouds that indicated a shower.

"I'm in for a wetting before I get back," he mused, and he increased
his speed, reaching the telegraph office shortly before seven
o'clock.

"Think this storm will hold off until I get home?" asked Tom.

"I'm afraid not," answered the agent. "You'd better get a hustle
on."

Tom sprinted off. It was getting dark rapidly, and when he was about
a mile from home he felt several warm drops on his face.

"Here it comes!" exclaimed the youth. "Now for a little more speed!"

Tom pressed harder on the pedals, too hard, in fact, for an instant
later something snapped, and the next he knew he was flying over the
handlebars of the bicycle. At the same time there was a metallic,
clinking sound.

"Chain's busted!" exclaimed the lad as he picked himself up out of
the dust. "Well, wouldn't that jar you!" and he walked back to
where, in the dusk, he could dimly discern his wheel.

The chain had come off the two sprockets and was lying to one side.
Tom picked it up and ascertained by close observation that the screw
and nut holding the two joining links together was lost.

"Nice pickle!" he murmured. "How am I going to find it in all this
dust and darkness?" he asked himself disgustedly. "I'll carry an
extra screw next time. No, I won't, either. I'll ride my motor-cycle
next time. Well, I may as well give a look around. I hate to walk,
if I can fix it and ride."

Tom had not spent more than two minutes looking about the dusty
road, with the aid of matches, for the screw, when the rain suddenly
began falling in a hard shower.

"Guess there's no use lingering here any longer," he remarked. "I'll
push the wheel and run for home."

He started down the road in the storm and darkness. The highway soon
became a long puddle of mud, through which he splashed, finding it
more and more difficult every minute to push the bicycle in the
thick, sticky clay.

Above the roar of the wind and the swishing of the rain he heard
another sound. It was a steady "puff-puff," and then the darkness
was cut by a glare of light.