Tom's proposal as a way out of the difficulty, and the prompt seconding of it by Mr. Damon, seemed to deprive the other bank officials, Mr. Swift included, of the power of speech for a few moments. Then, as there came to the room where the scene had taken place, the sound of the mob outside, clamoring for cash, Mr. Pendergast, the president, remarked in a low voice:
"It seems to be the only way. Do you think you can do it, Tom Swift?"
"I'm sure of it, as far as my electric car is concerned," replied the young inventor. "If we get the cash I'll have it back here on time. The runabout is all ready for a fast trip."
"Then don't lose any time, Tom," advised his father. "Every minute counts."
"Yes," added Mr. Damon. "Come on. I've got the securities in my valise, and we can bring the cash back in the same satchel. Come on, Tom."
The eccentric character caught up his valise, and started from the room. Tom followed.
"Now, my son, be careful," advised his father. "You know the need of haste, but don't take unnecessary risks. You'd better go out the back way, as the crowd is easily excited."
Little more was said. Mr. Swift clasped his son's hand in a firm pressure, and the bank president nervously bade the lad good-by. Then, slipping out of the bank, by the rear entrance, the porter closing the door after them, Tom and Mr. Damon took their places in the electric machine.
"Just imagine you're racing for that three-thousand-dollar prize, offered by the Touring Club of America, Tom," observed Mr. Damon, as he deposited the valise at his feet.
"I don't have to do that," replied the youth. "I'm trying for a bigger prize than that. I want to save the bank, and defeat the schemes of the Fogers—father and son."
Tom turned on the power, and the machine rolled out on the main street. As it turned the corner, leaving the impatient crowd of depositors, now larger than ever, behind, Mr. Damon glanced over at the new bank, and, as he did so, he called to Tom:
"There are the Fogers now."
The young inventor looked, and saw Andy and his father on the steps of the new institution.
At the sight of the electric car, speeding along, Andy turned and spoke to his parent. What he said seemed to impress Mr. Foger, for he started, and looked more intently at Tom and Mr. Damon. Then, as Tom watched, he saw the two excitedly conversing, and a moment later Andy ran off in the direction in which Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey lived.
"I wonder if he's up to any tricks?" thought Tom, as he turned on more power. "Well, if he is, I'll soon be where he can't reach me."
The young inventor did not dare send his car at full speed through the streets of the town, and it was not until several minutes had passed that they could go at more than the ordinary rate. But once the open country was reached Tom "opened her up full," and the song the motor sung was one of power. The vehicle quickly gathered headway and was soon fairly whizzing along.
"If we keep this up we'll be there and back in good time," remarked Mr. Damon.
"Yes, but we can't do it," replied his companion. "The road to Clayton is a poor one, and we'll soon be on it. Then we'll have to go slow. But I'll make all the time I can until then."
So, for several miles more they crept along, at times having to reduce to almost a walking pace, because of bad roads. Mr. Damon looked at his watch almost every other minute.
"Eleven o'clock," he remarked, as they passed a milestone, "and we're not half way there. Bless my gizzard, but I'm afraid we won't make it, Tom. We left about ten, and we ought to be back by two o'clock to do any good. That's four hours, and it will take some time to transfer the securities, and get the cash. Every minute counts."
"I know it," answered Tom, "and I'm going to count every minute."
With eager eyes he watched every inch of the road, to steer to the best advantage. His hands gripped the wheel until his knuckles showed white with the strain, and, every now and then his right hand adjusted the speed lever or the controller handle, while his foot was on the emergency brake, ready to stop the car at the first sign of danger.
And there was danger, not infrequently, for the road was up and down hill, over frail bridges, and along steep cliffs. It was no pleasure tour they were on.
When a little over half the distance had been made they came to a better road, and Tom was able to use full speed ahead. Then the electric went so fast that, had it not been for the steel wind-shield in front, Mr. Damon, at any rate, would have been short of breath.
"This is going some!" he cried to Tom. The lad nodded grimly, and shoved the controller handle over to the last notch. Then came a bad stretch and they had to slow down again. As they were about out of it there came a little flash of fire and the motor stopped.
"Bless my overshoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's that; a fuse blown out?"
"No," replied Tom, with a puzzled air. "But something has gone wrong." Hastily he got out, and made an examination. He found it was only one of the unimportant wires which had short-circuited, and it was soon adjusted. But they had lost five precious minutes. Tom tried to make up for lost time, but came to a hill a little later, and this reduced their speed.
"Do you think we can make it before twelve?" asked Mr. Damon anxiously. "We've got to, if we're to get back before three, Tom."
"I'll try," was the calm answer, and Tom's jaw was shut still more tightly. Once again came more favorable roads and pushing the car to the limit the occupants were rejoiced, a little later, as they topped a hill, to come in sight of a fairly large city.
"There's Clayton!" cried Mr. Damon.
Ten minutes later they were rolling through the main street, and as they stopped in front of the bank, the noon whistles blew shrill and noisily.
"You did it, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, springing out with the valise of securities. "Now be ready for the return trip. I'll be with you as soon as possible."
He went up the bank steps three at a time, like some boy instead of an elderly man. Tom looked after him for a second and then got down to oil up his car, and make some adjustments that had rattled loose from the rough road. Unmindful of the curious throng that gathered he crawled under the machine with his oil-can.
He had finished his work, and was back in his seat, ready to start, but Mr. Damon had not reappeared.
"It's taking him a good while to get that cash," thought Tom. "Maybe the securities were no good."
But, a few minutes later, Mr. Damon came hurrying from the bank. The valise he carried seemed much heavier than when he went in.
"It's all right, Tom," he said. "I've got it. Now for the trip home, and I hope we don't have any accidents. It took longer than I thought to check over the bonds and receipt for them. But I've got the cash. Now to save the bank!"
He took his place beside the young inventor, holding the valise between his knees, while Tom turned on the power and sent his car dashing down the street, and toward the road that led to Shopton.
"Did Mr. Chase make any objection to giving you the cash?" asked Tom, as he shoved the controller over another notch, and caused the motor to make a higher note in its song of speed.
"Oh, no, he was very nice about it," replied Mr. Damon. "He said he hoped our bank would pull through. Said if we needed more cash we could have it."
It was nearly one o'clock, and they had the worst part of the journey yet to go. Thirty miles of stiff roads lay between them and Shopton, the last five and the first five being fairly good, with, here and there, soft spots.
Up hill and down went the electric auto. At every opportunity Tom let out all the speed he could draw from the motor, but there were many times when he had to slow down. He had just made the ascent of a steep hill, and was turning into a fairly good road, skirting the edge of a steep cliff, when there came a sharp report.
"Bless my soul! That's a fuse, I'm sure of it!" cried Mr. Damon.
"No," announced Tom, as he quickly shut off the power. "It's a puncture. One of the inner tubes of the tire has been pierced. I was afraid of that tube."
"What have you got to do; put on a new tire?" asked Mr. Damon.
"No, I'm going to put on a new wheel. I carry two spare ones with tires all ready inflated. It won't take long."
But the process of changing wheels consumed more time than Tom anticipated for the nut was stuck, and he and Mr. Damon had to exert all their strength before they could loosen it. When the new wheel was in place ten minutes had been lost.
"Hold on now, I'm going to speed her!" cried Tom, when they were once more in their seats, and speed the machine he did. The road was rough, but despite this the lad turned on almost full power. Over the bumps they went, around curves and into rain-washed ruts careening from side to side, and throwing Mr. Damon about, as he expressed it afterward, "like a bean inside of a football." As for the young inventor his grasp of the steering wheel, and the manner in which he could brace himself against the foot pedals, held him more firmly in place. On and on they rushed, covering mile after mile, and approaching Shopton where so much depended on their arrival.
Good and bad stretches of the road alternated, but now that Tom had seen of what mettle his car was made, he did not spare it as much as he had on the first trip. He saw that his machine would stand hard knocks, and the way the battery and motor was behaving was a joy to him. He knew that if he could make that eighty-mile run in safety he stood a good chance of winning the prize, for no harder test could have been devised.
But the race was still far from won. There was a particularly unsafe stretch of road yet to be covered, and then would come a smooth highway into Shopton.
"Ten miles more," observed Mr. Damon, snapping shut his big gold watch. "Ten miles more, and it's a quarter of two now. We ought to be there at a quarter after, and that will be in good time, eh, Tom?"
"I think so, but I don't know about this piece of road we're coming to. It seems worse than when we passed over it this morning."
As he spoke the auto began to slow up, for the wheels had struck some heavy sand, and it was necessary to reduce the current. Tom turned back the controller handle, but watched with eager eyes for a sign that the roadbed was harder, so that he could increase speed.
As the car turned around a curve, passing through a lonely stretch of country, with woods on either side of the highway, Tom glancing up, uttered a cry of astonishment.
"What's the matter; something gone wrong?" asked his companion.
For answer Tom pointed. There, just ahead of them, was a big load of hay, and it was evident that the driver, was in no particular hurry.
"We can't pass that without getting in over our hubs!" cried Tom. "If we turn out the side ditches are so soft that we'll need help to pull out, and the road is so narrow for several miles that we'll have to trail along behind that fellow."
"Bless my check book!" cried Mr. Damon. "Are we going to lose, after all, on account of a load of hay? No, I'll buy it from him first, at double the market price, tip it over, set fire to it, toss it in the ditch, and then we can go past!"
"Maybe that will answer," retorted Tom, smiling grimly.
He put on a little more speed, and was soon close up behind the load of hay, ringing his electric bell as a warning.
"I say!" called Mr. Damon to the unseen driver, "can't you turn out and let us pass?"
"Ha! Hum! Wa'al I guess not!" came the answer, in unmistakable farmer's accents. "You automobile fellers is too gol-hanged smart, racin' along th' roads. I've got just as good a right here as you fellers have, by heck!" The driver did not show himself.
"We know that," responded Tom, as quickly as he could, for he did not want to anger the man. "But our machine is so heavy that if we turn into the ditch I'm afraid we'll be mired."
"Huh! So'll I," was the retort from the unseen driver.. "Think I want t' spile my load of hay?"
"But you have wide tires on, and you wouldn't sink in far," answered the young inventor. "Besides, it's very necessary that we get past. A great deal depends on our speed."
"So it does on mine," was the reply. "Ef I git t' market late I'll have t' stay all night, an' spend money on a hotel bill."
"I'll pay it! I'll pay your bill if you'll only pull out!" cried Mr. Damon. "I'll give you a hundred dollars!"
He suddenly ceased speaking. From the bushes along the road sprang several ragged, masked figures. Each one, aiming his weapon at Tom, said in a low voice, that could not have been heard by the driver of the hay wagon:
"Slow up your machine, young feller! We want to speak with you, and don't you make a loud noise, or it won't be healthy for you!"
"Why of all the—!" began Mr. Damon, but another of the footpads leveling his weapon at the eccentric man growled:
"Dry up, if you don't want to get shot!"
Mr. Damon subsided. Discretion was very plainly the better part of valor. Tom had shut off the current. The load of hay continued on ahead. Tom thought perhaps the driver of it might have been in collusion with the thieves, to cause the auto to slow up.
"What do you want with us?" asked the young inventor, trying to speak calmly, but finding it a hard task, with a revolver pointed at him.
"You know what we want," exclaimed the leader, in a low voice. "We want that cash you got from the bank, and we're going to have it! Come, now, shell out!" and he advanced toward the automobile.
Close around the electric auto crowded the members of the hold-up gang. Their eyes seemed to glare through the holes in their black masks. Instantly Tom thought of the other occasion when he was halted by masked figures. Could these, by any possibility, be the same individuals? Was this a trick of Andy Foger and his cronies?
Tom tried to pierce through the disguises. Clearly the persons were men—not boys—and they wore the ragged clothes of tramps. Also, there was an air of dogged determination about them.
"Well, are you going to shell out?" asked the leader, taking a step nearer, "or will we have to take it?"
"Bless my very existence! You don't mean to say that you're going to take the money—I mean how do you know we have any money?" and Mr. Damon hastily corrected himself. "What right have you to stop us in this way? Don't you know that every minute counts? We are in a hurry."
"I know it," spoke the leading masked figure with a laugh. "I know you have considerable money in that shebang, and I know what you hope to do with it, prevent the run on the Shopton National Bank. But we need that money as much as some other people and, what's more, we're going to have it! Come on, shell out!"
"Oh, why didn't we bring a gun!" lamented Mr. Damon in a low voice to Tom. "Isn't there anything we can do? Can't you give them an electric shock, Tom?"
"I'm afraid not. If it wasn't for that hay wagon we could turn on the current and make a run for it. But we'd only go into the ditch if we tried to pass now."
The load of hay was down the road, but as Tom looked he noticed a curious thing. It seemed to be nearer than it was when the attack of the masked men came. The wagon actually seemed to have backed up. Once more the thought came to the lad that possibly the load of fodder might be one of the factors on which the thieves counted. They might have used it to make the auto halt, and the man, or men, on it were probably in collusion with the footpads. There was no doubt about it, the load of hay was coming nearer, backing up instead of moving away. Tom couldn't understand it. He gave a swift glance at the robbers. They had not appeared to notice this, or, if they had, they gave no sign.
"Then we can't do anything," murmured Mr. Damon.
"I don't see that we can," replied the young inventor in a low voice.
"And the money we worked so hard to get won't do the bank any good," and Mr. Damon sighed.
"It's tough luck," agreed Tom.
"Come now, fork over that cash!" called the leader, advancing still closer. "None of that talk between you there. If you think you can work some trick on us you're mistaken. We're desperate men, and we're well armed. The first show of resistance you make, and we shoot—get that, fellows?" he added to his followers, and they nodded grimly.
"Well," remarked Mr. Damon with an air of submission, "I only want to warn you that you are acting illegally, and that you are perpetrating a desperate crime."
"Oh, we know that all right," answered one of the men, and Tom gave a start. He was sure he had heard that voice before. He tried to remember it—tried to penetrate the disguise—but he could not.
"I'll give you ten seconds more to hand over that bag of money," went on the leader. "If you don't, we'll take it and some of you may get hurt in the process."
There seemed nothing else to do. With a white face, but with anger showing in his eyes Mr. Damon reached down to get the valise. Tom had retained his grip of the steering wheel, and the starting lever. He hoped, at the last minute, he might see a chance to dash away, and escape, but that load of hay was in the path. He noted that it was now quite near, but the thieves paid no attention to it.
Tom might have reversed the power, and sent his machine backward, but he could not see to steer it if he went in that direction, and he would soon have gone into the ditch. There was nothing to do save to hand over the cash, it seemed.
Mr. Damon had the bag raised from the car, and the leader of the thieves was reaching up for it, when there came a sudden interruption.
From the load of hay there sounded a fusillade of pistol shots, cracking out with viciousness. This was instantly followed by the appearance of three men who came running from around the load of hay, down the road toward the thieves. Each man carried a pitchfork, and as they ran, one of the trio shouted:
"Right at 'em, boys! Jab your hay forks clean through the scoundrels! By Heck, I guess we'll show 'em we know how t' tackle a hold-up gang as well as the next fellow! Right at 'em now! Charge 'em! Stick your forks right through 'em!" Again there sounded a fusillade of pistol shots.
The thieves turned as one man, and glanced at the relief so unexpectedly approaching. They gave one look at the three determined looking farmers, with their sharp, glittering pitchforks, and then, without a word, they turned and fled, leaping into the bushes that lined the roadway. The underbrush closed after them and they were hidden from sight.
On came the three farmers, waving their effective weapons, the pistol shots still ringing out from the load of hay. Tom could not understand it, and could see no one firing—could detect no smoke.
"Are they gone? Did they rob ye?" asked the foremost of the trio, a burly, grizzled farmer. "Bust my buttons, but I guess we skeered 'em all right!"
"Bless my shoe buttons, but you certainly have!" cried Mr. Damon, descending from the automobile, and wringing the hand of the farmer, while Tom, thrust the bag of money under his legs and waited further developments. The pistol shots rang out until one of the men called:
"That'll do, Bub! We've skeered 'em like Mrs. Zenoby's pet cat! You needn't crack that whip any more."
"Whip!" cried Tom. "Was that a whip?"
"That's what it was," explained the leading farmer. "Bub Armstrong, my nephew, can crack it to beat th' band," and as if in proof of this there emerged from behind the load of hay a small lad, carrying a large whip, to which he gave a few trial cracks, like pistol shots, as if to show his ability.
"It's all right, Bub," his uncle assured him. "We made 'em run."
"But I don't exactly understand," spoke Mr. Damon. "I thought you were in league with those thieves, stopping us as you did with your big load."
"So did I," admitted Tom.
"Ha! Ha!" laughed the farmer. "That's a pretty good joke. Excuse me for laughin'. My name's Lyon, Jethro Lyon, of Salina Township, an' these is my two sons, Ade and Burt. You see we're on our way to Shopton, an' my nephew, Bub, he went along. We thought you was some of them sassy automobile fellers at first when you hollered to us you wanted to pass. Then when we looked back, we seen them burglars goin' t' rob you, at least that's what we suspicioned," and he paused suggestively.
"That was it," Tom said.
"Wa'al, when we seen that, we held a sort of consultation on thet load of hay, where they couldn't see us. It was so big you know," he needlessly explained. "Wa'al, we calcalated we could help you, so I jest quietly backed up, until we was near enough. I told Bub to take the long whip, an' crack it for all he was wuth, so's it would sound like reinforcements approachin' with guns, an' he done it."
"He certainly done it," added Burt.
"Wa'al," resumed Mr. Lyon, "then me an my sons we jest slipped down off the front seat, an' come a runnin' with our pitchforks. I reckoned them burglars would run when they see us an' heard us, an' they done so."
"Yep, they done so," added Ade, like an echo.
"I can't tell you how much obliged we are to you," said Mr. Damon. "We have sixty thousand dollars in this valise, and they would have had it in another minute, and the bank would have failed."
"Sixty thousand dollars!" gasped Mr. Lyon, and his sons and nephew echoed the words. Mr. Damon briefly explained about the money, and he and the young inventor again thanked their rescuers, who had so unexpectedly, and in such a novel manner, put the thieves to flight.
"An' you've got t' git t' Shopton before three o'clock with thet cash?" asked Mr. Lyon.
"That's what we hoped to do," replied Tom "but I'm afraid we won't now. It's half past two, and—"
"Don't say another word," interrupted Mr. Lyon. "I know what ye mean. My hay's in the road. But don't let that worry ye none. I'll pull out of your road in a jiffy, an' if we do go down in th' ditch, why we can throw off part of th' load, lighten th' wagon, an' pull out again. You've got t' hustle if ye git t' Shopton by three o'clock."
"I can do it with a clear road," declared Tom, confidently.
"Then ye'll have th' clear road," Mr. Lyon assured him. "Come boys, let's git th' hay t' one side."
The farmers pulled into the ditch. As they had feared the wagon went in almost to the hubs, but they did not mind, and, even as Tom and Mr. Damon shot past them, they fell to work tossing off part of the fodder, to lighten the wagon. The young inventor and his companion waved a grateful farewell to them as they fairly tore past, for Tom had turned on almost the full current.
"Do you suppose that was the Happy Harry gang, or some members of it who were not captured and sent to jail?" asked Mr. Damon.
"I don't believe so," answered the lad, shaking his head. "Maybe they didn't really want to rob us. Perhaps they only wanted to delay us so we wouldn't get to the bank on time."
"Bless my top knot, you may be right!" cried Mr. Damon.
Further conversation became difficult, as they struck a rough part of the road, where the vehicle swayed and jolted to an alarming degree. But Tom never slackened pace. On and on they rushed, Mr. Damon frequently looking at his watch.
"We've got twenty minutes left," he remarked as they came out on the smooth stretch of road, that led directly into Shopton.
Then Tom turned all the reserve power into the motor. The machinery almost groaned as the current surged into the wires, but it took up the load, and the electric car, swaying more than ever, dashed ahead with its burden of wealth.
Now they were in the town, now speeding down the street leading to the bank. One or two policemen shouted after them, for they were violating the speed laws, but it was no time to stop for that. On and on they dashed.
They came in sight of the bank. A long line of persons was still in front. They seemed more excited than in the morning, for the hour of three was approaching, and they feared the bank would close its doors, never to open them again.
"The run is still on," observed Mr. Damon.
"But it will soon be over," predicted Tom.
Some news of the errand of the automobile must have penetrated the crowd, for as Tom swung past the front entrance to the bank, to go up the rear alley, he was greeted with a cheer.
"They've got the cash!" a man cried. "I'm satisfied now. I won't draw out my deposit."
"I want to see the cash before I'll believe it," said another.
Tom slowed up to make the turn into the alley. As he did so he glanced across the street to the new bank. In the window stood Andy Foger and his father. There was a look of surprise on their faces as they saw the arrival of the powerful car, and, Tom fancied, also a look of chagrin.
Up the alley went the car, police keeping the crowd from following. The porter was at the door. So, also, was Mr. Pendergast and Mr. Swift, while some of the other officers were grouped behind them.
"Did you get the money?" gasped the president.
"We did," answered Tom. "Are we on time, Dad?"
"Just on time, my boy! They're paying out the last of the cash now! You're on time, thank fortune!"
From their task of handing out money to eager depositors, the wearied tellers looked up as Tom and Mr. Damon entered with the big valise crammed full of money. It was opened, and the bundles of bills turned out on a table.
"Perhaps you'd better make an announcement to the crowd, Mr. Pendergast," suggested Mr. Swift. "Tell them we now have cash enough to meet all demands, and that the bank will be kept open until every one is paid."
"I will," agreed the aged president. His announcement was received with cheers, and had exactly the effect the inventor hoped it would.
Many, learning that the bank was safe, and that they could have their money whenever they wanted it, concluded not to withdraw it, thus saving the interest. Scores in the waiting crowd turned out of line and went home. Their example was contagious, and, though many still remained to get their deposits, the run was broken. Only part of the sixty thousand dollars Tom and Mr. Damon had brought through after a race with time, was needed. But had it not been for the moral effect of the cash arriving as it did, the bank would have failed.
"You have a great car, Tom Swift," complimented Mr. Pendergast, when the excitement had somewhat cooled down, and the story of the hold-up had been told.
"I think so myself," agreed the young inventor modestly. "I must get ready for the races now."
"And as for those farmers, I think I'll send them a reward," went on the president. "They deserve something for the trouble they had with the load of hay. I certainly shall send them a reward," which he did, and a substantial one, too.
Of course the hold-up was at once reported to the police after the run had quieted down, but Chief Simonson surprised Tom by saying that he had expected it.
"The gang that held you up," said the police officer, "was one that escaped from a jail, about twenty miles away. I got a tip after you left, that they were going to rob you, for, in some way, they learned about the money you and Mr. Damon were to bring from the bank. The unfortunate part of it was that the tip I got was to the effect that the hold-up would take place just outside of Clayton. I telephoned to the police there, just after you left, and they said they'd send out a posse. But the gang changed their plans; and held you up near here, where I wasn't expecting it. But I'll get 'em yet."
Chief Simonson did not arrest the gang, but some other police officers did, and they were taken back to jail. They were not prosecuted for the attempted robbery of Tom, as it was considered difficult to fix the guilt on them, but they received such a long additional sentence for breaking jail, that it will be many years before they are released.
When Tom reached home that night he found some mail from the officials of the Touring Club of America. It was to the effect that arrangements for the big contest had been completed, and that contesting cars must be on the ground by September first.
"That gives me two weeks yet," thought our hero.
He read further of the regulations covering the race. Each car must proceed from the home town or city of the owner, and go to the track under its own power. This was a new regulation, it was stated, and was adopted to better develop the industry of building electric autos. Two passengers, or one in addition to the driver, must be carried, it was stated, and this one would also be expected to be in the car during the entire race.
Regarding the race proper it was stated that at first it had been decided to make it a twenty-four hour endurance contest, but that for certain reasons this was changed, as it was found that few storage batteries could go this length of time without a number of rechargings. Therefore the race was to be one for distance—five hundred miles, on the new Long Island track, and the car first covering that distance would win. Cars were allowed to change their batteries as often as they needed to, but all time lost would count against them. There were other rules and regulations of minor importance.
"Well," remarked Tom, as he read through the circulars, "I must get my car in shape. It will be quite a trip to Long Island, and I think my best plan will be to go direct to the cottage we had when we were building the submarine, and from there proceed to the track. That will comply with the rules, I think. But who will I get to go with me? I suppose Mr. Damon or Mr. Sharp will be willing. I'll ask them."
He broached the matter to his two friends that night, and they both agreed to go to Long Island in the car, though only Mr. Sharp would accompany Tom in the race. The next two weeks were busy ones for Tom. He worked night and day over his car, getting it in shape for the big event.
The young inventor made some changes in his battery, and also adopted a new gear, which would give greater speed. He also completed the exterior of the auto, giving it several coats of purple paint and varnish, so that when it was finished, though it was different in shape from most autos, it was as fine an appearing car as one could wish. He arranged to carry two extra wheels, with tires inflated, and, under the rear seats, or tonneau, as he called it, Tom fitted up a complete tire-repairing outfit. Mr. Sharp agreed to ride there, and in case there was need to use more than two spare wheels during the race, the rubber shoes or inner tubes could be mended while the car was swinging around the track.
Mr. Damon would ride in front with Tom on the cross-country trip, and occasionally relieve him at steering, or would help to manage the electrical connections. Spare fuses, extra parts, wires and different things he thought he might need, the young inventor stored in his car. He also found means to install a small additional storage battery, to give added power in case of emergency.
Tom learned from the racing officials that if he made a trip from Shopton to the cottage on the coast, near the city of Atlantis, and later traveled from there to the track, it would fulfill the conditions of the contest.
Finally all was in readiness, and one morning, having spent the better part of the night going over his machine, to see that he had forgotten nothing, Tom invited Mr. Damon and Mr. Sharp to enter, and prepare for the trip to Long Island.
"Well, Tom, I certainly hope you win that race," remarked Mrs. Baggert, as she stood in the doorway, waving a farewell.
"If I do I'll buy you a pair of diamond earrings to match the diamond ring I gave you from the money I got from the wreck," promised the lad with a laugh.
"An' ef yo' sees dat Andy Foger," added Eradicate Sampson, while he rubbed the long ears of Boomerang, his mule, "ef yo' sees him, jest run ober him once or twice fer mah sake, Mistah Swift."
"I'll do it for my own, too," agreed Tom.
The youth shook hands with his father, who wished him good luck, and then, after a final look at his car, he climbed to his seat, and turned on the power. There was a low hum from the motor and the electric started off. Would it return a winner or loser of the big race?
Through the streets of Shopton went Tom Swift and his friends. News of the big contest the young inventor was about to take part in, had circulated around town, and there were not wanting many to wish him good luck. The lad responded smilingly to the farewells he received. As they passed the bank, Ned Newton came out on the steps.
"Wish I was going along," he called.
"So do I," replied Tom. "How's everything? Is the bank all right since the run?" for he had not had time to pay much attention to the institution since his memorable race against time, to get the money.
"Stronger and better than ever," was Ned's answer, as he came to the curb, where Tom slowed up. "I hear," he added in a whisper, "that the other fellows are going out of business—Foger and his crowd you know. They loaned money on unsecured notes to make a good showing, and now they can't get it back. But we're all right. Hope you win the race."
"So do I."
"What will a certain person do while you're away?" went on Ned, with a wink.
"I don't know what you mean," replied Tom, trying not to blush. "Do you mean my dad or Mrs. Baggert?"
"Neither, you old hypocrite you! I meant Miss Mary Nestor."
"Oh, hadn't you heard?" inquired Tom innocently. "She is going to Long Island to visit some friends, and she'll be at the race."
"You lucky dog," murmured Ned with a laugh, as he went into the bank.
Once more the electric auto started off, and was soon on the quiet country road, where Tom speeded it up moderately. He hoped to be able to make the entire distance to the shore cottage on the single charge of current he had put into the battery at home, and, as there was no special need for haste, he wanted to save his power. The machine was running smoothly, and seemed able to make a long race against time.
The travelers ate lunch that day at Pendleton, a town some distance from Shopton. They had covered a substantial part of their trip. After a brief rest they started on again. Tom had planned to spend two days and one night on the road, hoping to be able to reach the shore cottage on the evening of the second day. There, after recharging the battery, he would spend a night, or two, and proceed to the track, ready for the race.
They found the roads fairly good, with bad stretches here and there, which made it necessary for them to slow down. This delayed them, and they found the shadows lengthening, and darkness approaching, when they were still several miles from Burgfield, where they intended to sleep.
"Will it be all right to travel at night?" asked Mr. Damon, a bit nervously.
"Why, are you thinking of hold-up men?" inquired Mr. Sharp.
"No, but I was wondering about the condition of the roads," replied the eccentric man. "We don't want to run into a rock, or collide with something."
"I guess this will light up the road far enough in advance, so that we can see where we are going," suggested Tom, as he switched on the powerful electric search-light. Though it was not dark enough to illuminate the highway to the best advantage, the powerful gleam shone dazzlingly in front of the swiftly moving auto.
"I guess that will show up every pebble in the road," commented the balloonist. "It's very powerful."
Tom turned off the light, as, until it was darker, he could see to better advantage unaided by it. He slowed down the speed somewhat, but was still going at a good rate.
"There's a bridge somewhere about here," remarked the lad, when they had gone on a mile further. "I remember seeing it on my road map. It's not very strong, and we'll have to run slow over it."
"Bless my gizzard, I hope we don't go through it!" cried Mr. Damon. "Is your car very heavy, Tom?"
"Not heavy enough to break the bridge. Ah, there it is. Guess I'll turn on the light so we can see what we're doing."
Just ahead of them loomed up the super-structure of a bridge, and Tom turned the searchlight switch. At the instant he did so, whether he did not keep a steady hand on the steering wheel, or whether the auto went into a rut from which it could not be turned, did not immediately develop, but the car suddenly shot from the straight road, and swerved to one side. There was a lurch, and the front wheels sank down.
"Look out! We're going into the river!" yelled Mr. Damon.
Tom jammed on the brakes and shut off the current. The auto came to a sudden stop. The young inventor turned the searchlight downward, to illuminate the ground directly in front of the car.
"Are we in the river?" asked Mr. Sharp.
"No," replied Tom in great chagrin. "We're in a muddy ditch. One at the side of the road. Wheels in over the hubs! There should have been a guard rail here. We're stuck for fair!"
"Bless my overshoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "Stuck in the mud, eh?"
"Hard and fast," added Tom, in disgust.
"What's to be done?" inquired Mr. Sharp.
"I should say we'll have to stay here until daylight, and wait for some other auto to come along and pull us out," was Mr. Damon's opinion. "It's might unpleasant, too, for there doesn't seem to be any place around here where we can spend the night in any kind of comfort. If we had the submarine or the airship, now, it wouldn't so much matter."
"No, and this won't matter a great deal," remarked the young inventor quickly. "We'll soon be out of this, but it will be hard work."
"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Sharp.
"I mean that we've got to pull ourselves out of this mud hole," explained the lad, as he prepared to descend. "I was afraid something like this would happen, so I came prepared for it. I've got ropes and pulleys with me, in the car. We'll fasten the rope to the machine, attach one pulley to the bridge, another to the car, and I guess we can get out of the mud. We'll try, anyhow."
"Well, I must say you looked pretty far ahead," complimented Mr. Damon.
From a box under the tonneau Tom took out a thin but strong rope and two compound pulleys, which would enable considerable force to be applied. Mr. Sharp detached one of the powerful oil lamps, and the three travelers took a look at the auto. It was indeed deep in the mud and it seemed like a hopeless task to try to get it out unaided. But Tom insisted that they could do it, and the rope was soon attached, the hook of one pulley being slipped around one of the braces of the bridge.
"Now, all together!" cried the lad, as he and his friends grasped the long rope. They gave a great heave. At first it seemed like pulling on a stone wall. The rope strained and the pulleys creaked.
"I—guess—we—will—pull—the—bridge—over!" gasped Mr. Sharp.
"Something's got to give way!" puffed Tom. "Now, once more! All together!"
Suddenly they felt the rope moving. The pulleys creaked still more and, by the light of the lamp, they could see that the auto was slowly being pulled backward, out of the mud, and onto the hard road. In a few minutes it was ready to proceed again.
The rope and pulleys were put away, and, after Tom had made an examination of the car to see that it had sustained no damage, they were off again, making good time to the hotel in Burgfield, where they spent the night. They had an early breakfast, and, as Tom went out to the barn to look at his car, he saw it surrounded by a curious throng of men and boys. One of the boys was turning some of the handles and levers.
"Here! Quit that!" yelled Tom, and the meddlesome lad leaped down in fright. "Do you want to start the car and have it smash into something?" demanded the young inventor.
"Aw, nothin' happened," retorted the lad. "I pulled every handle on it, an' it didn't move."
"Good reason," murmured Tom, for he had taken the precaution to remove a connecting plug, without which the machine could not be started.
The three were soon under way again, and covered many miles over the fine country roads, the weather conditions being delightful. On inquiry they found that by taking an infrequently used highway, they could save several miles. It was over an unoccupied part of country, rather wild and desolate, but they did not mind that.
They were whizzing along, talking of Tom's chances for winning the race when, after climbing a slight grade, the auto came to a sudden stop on the summit.
"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Sharp. "Why are you stopping here, Tom?"
"I didn't stop," was the surprising answer, and the lad shoved the starting lever back and forth.
But there was no response. There was no hum from the motor. The machine was "dead."
"That's queer," murmured the young inventor.
"Maybe a fuse blew out," suggested Mr. Damon, that seeming to be his favorite form of trouble.
"If it had you'd have known it," remarked Mr. Sharp.
"There's plenty of current in the battery, according to the registering gauge," murmured the lad. "I can't understand it." He reversed the current, thinking the wires might have become crossed, but the machine would move neither backward nor forward, yet the dial indicated that there was enough power stored away to send it a hundred miles or more.
"Perhaps the dial hand has become caught," suggested Mr. Sharp. "That sometimes happens on a steam gauge, and indicates a high pressure when there isn't any. Hit it slightly, and see if the hand swings back."
Tom did so. At once the hand fell to zero, indicating that there was not an ampere of current left. The battery was exhausted, but this fact had not been indicated on the gauge.
"I see now!" cried Tom. "It was those fellows at the hotel barn! They monkeyed with the mechanism, short circuited the battery, and jammed the gauge so I couldn't tell when my power was gone. If I had known there wasn't enough to carry us I could have recharged the battery at the hotel. But I figured that I had enough current for the entire trip, and so there would have been, if it hadn't leaked away. Now we're in a pretty pickle."
"Bless my hat band!" cried Mr. Damon. "Does that mean we can't move?"
"Guess that's about it," answered Mr. Sharp, and Tom nodded.
"Well, why can't we go on to some place where they sell electricity, and get enough to take us where we want to go?" asked the odd character, whose ideas of machinery were somewhat hazy.
"The only trouble is we can't carry the heavy car with us," replied Tom. "It's too big to pick up and take to a charging station."
"Then we've got to wait until some one comes along with a team of horses, and tows us in," commented Mr. Sharp. "And that will be some time, on this lonely road."
Tom shook his head despondently. He went all over the car again, but was forced to the first conclusion, that the reserve current had leaked away, in consequence of the meddling prank of the youth at the hotel. The situation was far from pleasant, and the delay would seriously interfere with their plans.
Suddenly, as Tom was pacing up and down the road, he heard from afar, a peculiar humming sound. He paused to listen.
"Trolley car," observed Mr. Sharp. "Maybe one of us could go somewhere on the trolley and get help. There it is," and he pointed to the electric vehicle, moving along about half a mile away, at the foot of a gentle slope.
At the sight of the car Tom uttered a cry. "I have it!" he exclaimed. "None of us need go for help! It's right at hand!" His companions looked curiously, as the young inventor pointed triumphantly to the fast disappearing electric.