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 with two removable seats at the rear, with curtains for protection, and a place in front for two persons. This can also be protected with curtains when desired."
"But what about the motors and the battery?"
"They will be located under the middle of the car. There will be one set of batteries there, together with the motor, and another set of batteries will be placed under the removable seats in what I call the tonneau, though, of course, it isn't really that. A smaller set will also be placed forward, and there will be ample room for carrying tools and such things."
"About how far do you expect your car will go with one charging of the battery?"
"Well, if I can make it do three hundred miles I'll be satisfied, but I'm going to try for four hundred."
"What will you do when your battery runs out?"
"Recharge it."
"Suppose you're not near a charging station?"
"Well, Dad, of course those are some of the details I've got to work out. I'm planning a register gauge now, that will give warning about fifty miles before the battery is run down. That will leave me a margin to work on. And I'm going to have it fixed so I can take current from any trolley line, as well as from a regular charging station. My battery will be capable of being recharged very quickly, or, in case of need, I can take out the old cells and put in new ones.
"That's a very good idea. Well, I hope you succeed."
A few evenings after this, when Tom was busy in his machine shop, he heard some one enter. He looked up from the gauge of the motor, which he was studying, and, for a moment, he could make out nothing in the dark interior of the shop, for he was working in a brilliant light.
"Who's there?" he called sharply, for, more than once unscrupulous men had endeavored to sneak into the Swift shops to steal ideas of inventions; if not the actual apparatus itself.
"It's me—Ned Newton," was the cheerful reply.
"Oh, hello, Ned! I was wondering what had become of you," responded Tom. "Where have you been lately?"
"Oh, working overtime."
"What's the occasion?"
"We're trying out a new system to increase the bank business."
"What's the matter? Aren't you folks getting business enough, after the big deposits we made of the bullion from the wreck?"
"Oh, it's not that. But haven't you heard the news? There is talk of starting a rival bank in Shopton, and that may make us hustle to hold what business we have, to say nothing of getting new customers."
"A new bank, eh? Who's going to start it?"
"Andy Foger's father, I hear. You know he was a director in our bank, but he got out last week."
"What for?"
"Well, he had some difficulty with Mr. Pendergast, the president. I fancy you had something to do with it, too."
"I?" Tom was plainly surprised.
"Yes, you know you and Mr. Damon and Mr. Sharp captured the bank robbers, and got back most of the money."
"I guess I do remember it! I wish you could have seen the gang when we raided them from the clouds, in our airship!"
"Well, you know Andy Foger hoped to collect the five thousand dollars reward for telling the police that you were the thief, and of course he got fooled, for you got the reward. Mr. Foger expected his son would collect the money, and when Andy got left, it made him sore. He's had a grudge against Mr. Pendergast, and all the other bank officials ever since, and now he's going to start a rival bank. So that's why I said it was partly due to you."
"Oh, I see. I thought at first you meant that it was on account of something that happened the other day."
"What was that?"
"Andy, Sam and Pete got the contents of a bottle of stove blacking," and Tom related the occurrence, at which Ned laughed heartily.
"I wouldn't be surprised though," added Ned, "to learn that Mr. Foger started the new bank more for revenge than anything else."
"So that's the reason you've been working late, eh?" went on Tom. "Getting ready for competition. Do you think a new bank will hurt the one you're with?"
"Well, it might," admitted Ned. "It's bound to make a change, anyhow, and now that I have a good position I don't want to lose it. I take more of an interest in the institution now that I'm assistant cashier, than I did when I was a clerk. So, naturally, I'm a little worried."
"Say, don't let it worry you," begged Tom, earnestly.
"Why not?"
"Because I know my father and Mr. Damon will stick to the old bank. They won't have anything to do with the one Andy Foger's father starts. Don't you worry."
"Well, that will help some," declared Ned. "They are both heavy depositors, and if they stick to the old bank we can stand it even if some of our smaller customers desert us."
"That's the way to talk," went on the young inventor. "Let Foger start his bank. It won't hurt yours."
"What are you making now?" asked Ned, a little later, looking with interest at the machinery over which Tom was bending, and to which he was making adjustments.
"New electric automobile. I want to beat Andy Foger's car worse than I did on my motor-cycle, and I also want to win a prize," and the lad proceeded to relate the incidents leading up to his construction of the storage battery.
Tom and Ned were in the shop until long past midnight, and then the bank employee, with a look at his watch, exclaimed:
"Great Scott! I ought to be home."
"I'll run you over in Mr. Damon's car," proposed Tom. "He left it here the other day, while he and his wife went off on a trip, and he said I could use it whenever I wanted to."
"Good!" cried Ned.
The two lads came from Tom's particular workshop. As the young inventor closed the door he started suddenly, as he snapped shut the lock.
"What's the matter?" asked Ned quickly.
"I thought I heard a noise," replied Tom.
They both listened. There was a slight rustling in some bushes near the shop.
"It's a dog or a cat," declared Ned.
Tom took several cautious steps forward. Then he gave a spring, and made a grab for some one or something.
"Here! You let me be!" yelled a protesting voice.
"I will when I find out what you mean by sneaking around here," retorted Tom, as he came back toward Ned, dragging with him a lad. "It wasn't a dog or a cat, Ned," spoke the young inventor. "It's Sam Snedecker," and so it proved.
"You let me alone!" demanded Andy Foger's crony. "I ain't done nothin' to you," he whined.
"Here, Ned, you hold him a minute, while I make an investigation," called Tom, handing his prisoner over to his chum. "Maybe Pete or Andy are around."
"No, they ain't. I came alone," said Sam quickly, but Tom, not heeding, opened the shop, and, after turning on the electric lights, procured a lantern. He began a search of the shrubbery around the shop, while Ned held to the struggling Sam.
The moment Tom disappeared behind his machine shop, Sam Snedecker began a desperate struggle to escape from Ned Newton. Now Ned was a muscular lad, but his work in the bank was confining, and he did not have the chance to get out doors and exercise, as Sam had. Consequently Ned had his hands full in holding to the squirming crony of Andy Foger.
"You let me go!" demanded Sam, as he tried to twist loose.
"Not if I know it!" panted Ned.
Sam gave a sudden twist. Ned's foot slipped in the grass, and in a moment he went down, with Sam on top of him. Still he did not let go, and, finding he was still a prisoner Sam adopted new tactics.
Using his fists Sam began to pound Ned, but the bank employee, though suffering, would not call for help, to summon back Tom, who was, by this time, at the rear of the shop, looking about. Silently in the dark the two fought, and Ned found that Sam was getting away. Then Ned's hand came in contact with Sam's ear. It was the misfortune of the bully to have rather a large hearing apparatus, and once Ned got his fingers on an ear there was room enough to afford a good grip. He closed his hold tightly, and began to twist. This was too much for Sam. He set up a lusty howl.
"Wow! Ouch! Let go!" he pleaded, and he ceased to pound Ned, and no longer tried to escape. Tom came back on the run.
"What's the matter?" he cried. Then his light flashed on the two prostrate lads, and he understood without asking any further questions.
"Get up!" he cried, seizing Sam by the back of his neck, and yanking him to his feet. Ned arose, and secured a better grip on the sneaking lad.
"What's up?" demanded Tom, and Ned explained, following it by the question:
"See any more of 'em?"
"No, I guess he was here all alone," replied the young inventor. "What do you mean by sneaking around here this time of night?" he demanded of the captive.
"Don't you wish you knew?" was Sam's answer, with a leer. He realized that he had a certain advantage.
"You'd better tell before I turn you over to the police!" said Tom, sternly.
"You—you wouldn't do that; would you?" and Sam's voice that had been bold, became shaky.
"You were trespassing on our property, and that's against the law," declared Tom. "We have signs posted, warning people to keep off."
"I didn't mean any harm," whined Sam.
"Then what were you doing here, at this hour?"
"I was just taking a short cut home. I was out riding with Andy in his auto, and it broke down. I had to walk home, and I came this way. I didn't know you didn't allow people to cross your back lot. I wasn't doin' anything."
Tom hesitated. Sam might be telling the truth, but it was doubtful.
"What happened to Andy's auto?" the young inventor asked.
"He broke a wheel, going over a big stone on Berk's hill. He went to tell some one in the repair shop to go after the car, and I came on home. You've got no right to arrest me."
"I ought to, on general principles," commented Tom. "Well, skip out, and don't you come around here again. I'm going to get a savage bull dog, and the first one who comes sneaking around here after dark will be sorry. Move along now!"
Tom and Ned released their holds of Sam, and the latter lost no time in obeying the injunction to make himself scarce. He was soon lost to sight in the darkness.
"Think he was up to some mischief?" asked Ned.
"I'm almost sure of it," replied Tom, "but I can't see anything wrong. I guess we were too quick for him. I believe he, Andy and Pete Bailey tried to put up some job on me."
"Maybe they wanted to damage your new battery or car," suggested Ned.
"Hardly that. The car hasn't been started yet, and as for the battery, no one knows of it outside of you and my friends here. I'm keeping it secret. Well, if I'm going to take you home I'd better get a move on. Wait here and I'll run out Mr. Damon's car."
In a short time Tom was guiding the machine over the road to Shopton, Ned on the seat beside him. The young assistant cashier lived about a mile the other side of the village, and the two chums were soon at his house. Asking his friend to come and see him when he had a chance. Ned bid his chum good night, and the young inventor started back home.
He was driving slowly along, thinking more of his new invention than anything else, even more than of the mysterious visit of Sam Snedecker, when the lights on Mr. Damon's car flashed upon something big, black and bulky on the road just ahead of him. Tom, brought suddenly out of his fit of musing, jammed on the brakes, and steered to one side. Then he saw that the object was a stalled auto. He had only time to note this when a voice hailed him:
"Have you a tire pump you could lend us? Ours doesn't work, and we have had a blowout."
There was something about the voice that was strangely familiar, and Tom was wondering where he had heard it before, when into the glare of the lamps on his machine stepped Mr. Foger—Andy's father!
"Why, Mr. Foger!" exclaimed Tom. "I didn't know it was you."
"Oh, it's Tom Swift," remarked the man, and he did not seem especially pleased.
"Hey! What's that?" cried another voice, which Tom had no difficulty in recognizing as belonging to Andy. "What's the matter, Dad?"
"Why it happens to be your—ahem! It's Tom Swift in this other auto," went on Mr. Foger. "I didn't know you had a car," he added.
"I haven't," answered the lad. "This belongs to Mr. Damon. But can you see to fix your tire in the dark?" for Mr. Foger and his son had no lamps lighted.
"Oh, we have it all fixed," declared the man, "and, just as we were going to pump it up out lamps went out. Then we found that our pump wouldn't work. If you have one I would be obliged for the use of it," and he spoke somewhat stiffly.
"Certainly," agreed Tom, cheerfully, for he had no special grudge against Mr. Foger, though had he known Andy's father's plans, perhaps our hero would not have so readily aided him. The young inventor got down, removed one of his oil lamps in order that there might be some light on the operation, and then brought over his pump.
"I heard you had an accident," said Tom, a chain of thoughts being rapidly forged in his mind, as he thought of what Sam had told him.
"You heard of it?" repeated Mr. Foger, while Andy was busy pumping up the tire.
"Yes, a friend who was out riding with you said you had broken a wheel on Berk's hill. But I see he was slightly wrong. You're a good way from Berk's hill, and it's a tire that is broken, not a wheel."
"But I don't understand," said Mr. Foger. "No friend has been out riding with us. My son and I were out on a business trip, and—"
"Come on, pop. I've got it all pumped up. Jump in. There's your pump, Tom Swift. Much obliged," muttered Andy hastily. It was very evident that he wanted to prevent any further conversation between his parent and Tom.
"But I don't understand," went on the banker, clearly puzzled. "What friend gave you such information, Mr.—er—Tom Swift?"
"Sam Snedecker," replied the lad quickly. "I caught him sneaking around my machine shop about an hour ago, and when I asked him what he was doing he said he'd been out riding with Andy, and that they broke a wheel. I'm glad it was only a blown-out tire," and Tom's voice had a curious note in it.
"But there must be some mistake," insisted Mr. Foger. "Sam Snedecker was not riding with us this evening. We have been over to Waterfield—my son and I, and—"
"Come on, pop!" cried Andy desperately. "We must hurry home. Mom will be worried."
"Yes, I think she will. But I can't understand why Sam should say such a thing. However, we are much obliged for the use of your pump, Swift, and—"
But Andy prevented any further talk by starting the car with the muffler open, making a great racket, and he hurriedly drove off, almost before his father was seated, leaving Tom standing there in the road, beside his pump and lantern.
"So," mused the young inventor, "there's some game on. Sam wasn't with Andy, yet Andy evidently knew where Sam was, or he wouldn't have been so anxious to choke off talk. Mr. Foger knew nothing of Sam, naturally. But why have Andy and his father been on a midnight trip to Waterfield?"
That last question caused Tom to adopt a new line of thought.
"Waterfield," he mused. "That's where Mr. Damon lives. Mr. Damon is a heavy depositor in the old bank. Mr. Foger is going to start a new bank. I wonder if there's any connection there? This is getting mysterious. I must keep my eyes open. I never expected to meet Andy and his father to-night, any more than I expected to find Sam Snedecker sneaking around my shop, but it's a good thing I discovered both parties. I guess Andy must have had nervous prostration when I was talking to his father," and Tom grinned at the thought. Then, picking up the pump, and fastening the lantern in place, he drove Mr. Damon's auto slowly back home.
Tom said nothing to his father or Mr. Sharp, the next morning, about the incidents of the previous night. In the first place he could not exactly understand them, and he wanted to devote more time to thinking of them, before he mentioned the matter to his parent. Another reason was that Mr. Swift was a very nervous person, and the least thing out of the ordinary worried him. So the young inventor concluded to keep quiet.
His first act, after going to look at the small motor, which was being run with the larger, experimental storage battery, was to get out pencil and paper.
"I've got to plan the electric auto now that my battery is in a fair way to success," he said, for he noted that the one cell he had constructed had done over twice as much mileage in proportion, as had the small battery. "I'll soon start building the car," mused Tom, "and then I'll enter it in the race. I must write to that touring club and find how much time I have."
All that morning the young inventor drew plan after plan for an electric runabout, and rejected them. Finally he threw aside paper and pencil and exclaimed:
"It's no use. I can't think to-day. I'm dwelling too much on what happened last night. I must clear my brain.
"I know what I'll do. I'll get in my motor-boat and take a run over to Waterfield to see Mr. Damon. Maybe he's home by this time. Then I can ask him what Mr. Foger wanted to see him about, if he did call."
It was a fine May morning, and Tom was soon in his boat, the Arrow, gliding over Lake Carlopa, the waters of which sparkled in the sun. As he speeded up his craft, the lad looked about, thinking he might catch sight of Andy Foger, for the bully also owned a boat, called the Red Streak and, more than once, in spite of the fact that Andy's craft was the more powerful, Tom had beaten him in impromptu races. But there was no sign of his rival this morning, and Tom kept on to Waterfield. He found that Mr. Damon had not yet returned home.
"So far I've had my run for nothing," mused the youth. "Well, I might as well spend the rest of the morning in the boat."
He swung his craft out into the lake, and headed back toward Mansburg, intending to run up to the head of the body of water, which offered so many attractions that beautiful morning.
As Tom passed a small dock he saw a girl just putting out in a rowboat. The figure looked familiar and, having nothing special to do, the lad steered over closer. His first view was confirmed, and he called out cheerfully:
"Good morning, Miss Nestor. Going for a row?"
"Oh! Mr. Swift!" exclaimed the girl with a blush. "I didn't hear you coming. You startled me."
"Yes, the engine runs quite silently since I fixed it," resumed Tom. "But where are you going?"
"I was going for a row," answered the girl, "but I have just discovered that one of the oar locks is broken, so I am not going for a row," and she laughed, showing her white, even teeth.
"That's too bad!" remarked the lad. "I don't suppose," he added doubtfully, "that I could induce you to accept a motor-boat as a substitute for a rowing craft, could I?" and he looked quizzically at her.
"Are you asking me that as a hypothetical question?" she inquired.
"Yes," said Tom, trying not to smile.
"Well, if you are asking for information, merely, I will say that I could be induced to make such a change," and her face was nearly as grave as that of the young inventor's.
"What inducement would have to be used?" he asked.
"Suppose you just ask me in plain English to come and have a ride?" she suggested.
"All right, I will!" exclaimed the youth.
"All right, then I'll come!" she retorted with a laugh, and a few minutes later the two were in the Arrow, making a pretty picture as they speeded up the lake.
"Well," remarked Tom to himself, about two hours later, when he had left Mary Nestor at her dock, and was on his way home, "I feel better than I did, and now I must do some hard thinking about my runabout. I want to get it the right shape to make the least resistance." He began to make some sketches when he got home, and at dinner he showed them to his father and Mr. Sharp. He said he had gotten an idea from looking at the airship.
"I'm going to make the front part, or what corresponds to the engine-hood in a gasolene car, pointed," he explained. "It will be just like the front of the aluminum gas container of the airship, only built of steel. In it will be a compartment for a set of batteries, and there will be a searchlight there. From the top of some supporters in front of the two rear seats, a slanting sheet of steel will come right down to meet the sloping nose of the car. First I was going to have curtains close over the top of the driver's seat, but I think a steel covering, with a celluloid opening will be better and make less wind resistance. I'll use leather side curtains when it rains. Under the front seats will be a compartment for more batteries, and there will be a third place under the rear seats, where I will also carry spare wheels and a repair kit. The motors will be slung under the body of the car, amidships, and there will also be room for some batteries there."
"How are you going to drive the car?" asked Mr. Sharp. "By a shaft?"
"Chain drive," explained Tom. "I can get more power that way, and it will be more flexible under heavy loads. Of course it will be steered in the usual way, and near the wheel will be the starting and reversing levers, and the gear handle."
"Gears!" exclaimed the aged inventor. "Are you going to gear an electric auto? I never heard of that. Usually the motor directly connected is all they use."
"I'm going to have two gears on mine," decided Tom.
"That's a new idea," commented the aeronaut.
"It is," admitted the lad, "and that's why my car is going to be so speedy. I'll make her go a hundred miles an hour, if necessary!"
"Nonsense!" exclaimed his father.
"I will!" cried the young inventor, enthusiastically. "You just wait and see. I couldn't do it but for the gears, but by using them I'll secure more speed, especially with the big reserve battery power I'll have. I know I've got the right idea, and I'm going to get right to work."
His father and Mr. Sharp were much interested, and closely examined his sketches. In a few days Tom had made detailed drawings, and the aged inventor looked at them critically. He had to admit that his son's theory was right, though how it would work out in practice was yet to be demonstrated. Mr. Swift offered some suggestions for minor changes, as did Mr. Sharp, and the lad adopted some of them. Then, with Mr. Jackson to help him, work was started on constructing the car.
Certain parts of it could be better purchased in the open market instead of being manufactured in Mr. Swift's shop, and thus Tom was able to get his new invention into some sort of shape sooner than would otherwise have been the case. He also started making the batteries, many of which would be needed.
Gradually the car began to take form on the floor of Tom's shop. It was rather a curious looking affair, the sharp forward part making it appear like some engine of war, or a projectile for some monster gun. But Tom cared little for looks. Speed, strength and ease of control were the chief features the lad aimed at, and he incorporated many new ideas into his electric car.
He was busy in the shop, one morning, when, above the noise caused by filing a piece of steel he heard some one exclaim:
"Bless my gizzard! If you aren't as busy as ever!"
"Mr. Damon!" cried Tom in delight. "When did you get back?"
"Last night," replied the eccentric man. "My wife and I stayed longer than we meant to. And whom do you think we met when we were off on our little trip?"
"Some of the Happy Harry gang?"
"Oh no. You'd never guess, so I'll tell you. It was Captain Weston."
"Indeed! And how has he been since he went in the submarine with us, and helped recover the gold from the wreck?"
"Very well. The first thing he said to me was: 'How is Tom Swift and his father, if I may be permitted to ask?'"
"Ha! Ha!" laughed the lad, at the recollection of the odd sea captain, who generally tagged on an apologetic expression to most of his remarks.
"He was getting ready to take part in some South American revolution," went on Mr. Damon. "He used most of his money that he got from the wreck to help finance their cause."
"I must tell Mr. Sharp," went on the lad. "He'll be interested."
"Anything new since I've been away?" asked the odd man. "Bless my shoe laces, but I'm glad to get back!"
Tom told of the prospect of a new bank being started, and of Sam's midnight visit, as well as the encounter with Mr. Foger and Andy.
"I went over to see what Mr. Foger wanted of you," went on the young inventor, "but you weren't home. Did he call?"
"The servant said he had been there, not once, but several times," remarked Mr. Damon. "That reminds me. He left a note for me, and I haven't read it yet. I'll do so now."
He tore open the letter, and hastily perused the contents.
"Ha!" he exclaimed. "So that's what he wanted to see me about!"
"What?" inquired Tom, with the privilege of an old friend.
"Mr. Foger says he's going to start a new bank, and he wants me to withdraw my deposit from the old one, and put it in his institution. Says he'll pay me bigger interest. And he adds that some of the old employees have gone with him."
"I hope you're not going to change," spoke Tom, thinking of his chum, Ned.
"Indeed I'm not. The old bank is good enough for me. By the way, doesn't a friend of yours work there?"
"Yes, Ned Newton. I'm wondering how he'll be affected?"
"Don't you worry!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my check book! I'll speak to Pendergast about your friend. Maybe there'll be a chance to advance him further. I've got some mortgages falling due pretty soon, and I'll deposit the money from them in the old bank. Then we'll see what we can do about Ned."
"They'll make you a bank director, if you keep on putting in money," remarked our hero, with a smile.
"Not much they won't!" was the quick answer.
"Bless my stocks and bonds! I've got trouble enough without becoming a bank director. My doctor says my liver is out of order again, and I've got to eat a lemon every morning before breakfast."
"Eat a lemon?"
"Well, drink the juice! It's the same thing. But how is the electric runabout coming on?"
"Pretty good."
"Have you entered it in the races yet?"
"No, but I've written for information. I have until September to finish it. The races take place then."
"Let's see; they're on Long Island; aren't they? How do you calculate to do; run from here to there?"
"No, Dad still has the cottage he rented when we built the submarine and I think I'll make that my headquarters during the race. It's easy to run from there over to the Long Island track. They're building a new one, especially for the occasion.
"Well, I hope you win the prize. I must go to town now, as I have to attend to some business. I don't s'pose you want to come in my auto. I'm pretty sure something will break before I get there, and I'd like to have you along to fix it."
"Sorry, but I'm afraid I can't go," replied the lad. "I must get this car done, and then I've got to start on the batteries."
Mr. Damon rather reluctantly went off alone, looking anxiously at his car, for the machine got out of order on every trip he took.
It was a few days after this that Tom received a call from Ned one evening. The bank employee's face wore a happy smile.
"What's the matter; some one left you a fortune?" asked Tom.
"Pretty nearly as good. I've got a better position."
"What? Have you left the old bank, and gone to the new one?"
"No, I'm still in the same bank, but I'm one of the two cashiers now. Mr. Foger took several of the old employees when he opened his new bank, and that left vacancies. I was promoted, and so were one or two others. Mr. Damon spoke a good word for me."
"That's fine! He's a friend worth having."
"That's right. Your father also recommended me. But how are things with you? Has Andy made any more trouble?"
"No, and I don't believe he will. I guess he'll steer clear of me."
But Tom was soon to learn he was mistaken.
Meanwhile the young inventor, aided by his father, Mr. Sharp and Garret Jackson, the engineer, worked hard over his new car, and the powerful batteries. A month passed, and such was the progress made that Tom felt justified in making formal entry of his vehicle for the races to be held by the Touring Club of America.
He paid a contingent fee and was listed as one of the competitors. As is usual in an affair of this kind, the promoters of it desired publicity, and they sought it through the papers.
Consequently each new entrant's name was published. In addition something was said about his previous achievements in the speed line.
No sooner was the name of Tom Swift received by the officials of the club, than it was at once recalled that young Swift had had a prominent part in the airship Red Cloud, and the submarine Advance. This gave an enterprising reporter a chance for a "special" for the Sunday supplement of a New York newspaper.
Tom, it was stated, was building a car which would practically annihilate distance and time, and there were many weird pictures, showing him flying along without touching the ground, in a car, the pictorial construction of which was at once fearful and wonderful.
Tom and his friends laughed at the yarn, at first, but it soon had undesirable results. The young inventor had desired to keep secret the fact that he was building a new electric vehicle, and a novel storage battery, but the article in the paper aroused considerable interest. Many persons came a long distance, hoping for a sight of the wonderful car, as pictured in the Sunday supplement, but they had to be denied. The news, thus leaking out, kept the Swift shops almost constantly besieged by many curious ones, who sought, by various means, to gain admission. Finally Tom and his father, after posting large signs, warning persons to keep away, added others to the effect that undesirable visitors might find themselves unexpectedly shocked by electricity, if they ventured too close. This had the desired effect, though the wires which were strung about carried such a mild charge that it would not have harmed a child. Then the only bothersome characters were the boys of the town, and, fearless and careless lads, they persisted in hanging around the Swift homestead, in the hope of seeing Tom dash away at the rate of five hundred miles an hour, which one enthusiastic writer predicted he would do.
"I've got a plan!" exclaimed Tom one day when the boys had been particularly troublesome.
"What is it?" asked his father.
"We'll hire Eradicate Sampson to stand guard with a bucket of whitewash. He'll keep the boys away."
The plan was put into operation, and Eradicate and his mule, Boomerang, were installed on the premises.
"Deed an' Ah'll keep dem lads away," promised the colored man. "Ah'll splash white stuff all ober 'em, if dey comes traipsin' around me."
He was as good as his word, and, when one or two lads had received a dose of the stuff, which punishment was followed by more severe from home, for having gotten their clothes soiled, the nuisance ceased, to a certain extent. Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey were two who received a liberal sprinkling of the lime, and they vowed vengeance on Tom.
"And Andy Foger will help us, too," added Sam, as he withdrew, after an encounter with Eradicate.
"Doan't let dat worry yo', Mistah Swift!" exclaimed the darkey. "Jest let dat low-down-good-fo-nuffin' Andy Foger come 'round me, an' Ah'll make him t'ink he's de inside ob a chicken coop, dat's what Ah will."
Perhaps Andy heard of this, and kept away. In the meanwhile Tom kept on perfecting his car and battery. From the club secretary he learned that a number of inventors were working on electric cars, and there promised to be many of the speedy vehicles in the race.
After considerable labor Tom had succeeded in getting together one set of the batteries. He had them completed one afternoon, and wanted to give them a test that night. But, when he went to his father's chemical laboratory for a certain powder, which he needed to use in the battery solution, he found there was none.
"I'll have to ride in to Mansburg for some," he decided. "I'll go after supper, on my motor-cycle, and test the battery to-night."
The young inventor left his house immediately after the evening meal. Along the road toward Mansburg he speeded, and, as he came to the foot of a hill, where once Andy Foger had put a big tree, hoping Tom would run into it and be injured, the youth recalled that circumstance.
"Andy has been keeping out of my way lately," mused Tom. "I wonder if he's up to any mischief? I don't like the way Sam Snedecker is hanging around the shop, either. It looks as if they were plotting something. But I guess Eradicate and his pail of whitewash will scare them off."
Tom got the powdered chemical he wanted in the drug store, and, after refreshing himself with some ice cream soda, he started back. As he rode along through the streets of the town he kept a lookout, and those of you who know how fond the lad was of a certain young lady, do not need to be told for whom he was looking. But he did not see her, and soon turned into the main highway leading to Shopton.
It was dark when he reached the hill, where once he had been so near an accident, and he slowed up as he coasted down it, using the brake at intervals.
Tom got safely to the bottom of the declivity, and was about to turn on the power of his machine, when, from the bushes that lined either side of the roadway, several figures sprang suddenly. They ranged themselves across the road, and one cried: "Halt!" in tones that were meant to be stern, but which seemed to Tom, to tremble somewhat. The young inventor was so surprised that he did not open the gasolene throttle, nor switch on his spark. As a consequence his motor-cycle lost momentum, and he had to take one foot from the pedal and touch the ground, to prevent himself from toppling over.
"Hold on there!" cried another voice. "We've got you where we want you, now! Hold on! Don't go!"
"I wasn't going to go," responded Tom calmly, trying to recognize the voice, which seemed to be unnatural. "What do you want, and who are you?"
"Never mind who we are. We want you and we've got you! Get off that wheel!"
"I don't see why I should!" exclaimed Tom, and he suddenly shifted his handle bars, so as to flash the bright headlight he carried, upon the circle of dark figures that opposed his progress. As the light flashed on them he was surprised to see that all the figures wore masks over their faces.
Tom started. Was this the Happy Harry gang after him again? He hoped not, yet the fact that the persons had on masks made the hold-up have an ugly look. Once more Tom flashed the light on the throng. There were exclamations of dismay.
"Douse that glim, somebody!" called a sharp voice, which Tom could not recognize.
A stone came whizzing through the air, from some one in the crowd. There was a smashing of glass as it hit the lantern, and the road was plunged in darkness. Tom tried to throw one leg over the saddle, and let down the supporting stand from the rear wheel, so the motor-cycle would remain upright without him holding it. He determined to have revenge for that act of vandalism in breaking his lamp.
But, just as he was free of the seat, he was surrounded by a dozen persons, and several hands were laid on him.
"We've got you now!" some one fairly hissed in his ear. "Come along, and get what's coming to you!"
Tom tried to fight, but he was overpowered by numbers and, a little later, was dragged off into the woods in the darkness by the masked figures. His arms were securely bound with ropes, and a handkerchief was tied over his eyes. Tom Swift was a prisoner.