"Bless my gizzard!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, who hardly knew what to do. "We'd better be getting out of here, Tom!"
"Not much!" exclaimed the young inventor. "I never ran from Andy Foger yet, and I'm not going to begin now."
He assumed an attitude of defense, and stood calmly awaiting the onslaught of the bully; but Andy knew better than to come to a personal argument with Tom, and so the red-haired lad halted some paces off. The man, who had followed young Foger, also stopped.
"What do you want around here, Tom Swift?" demanded Andy.
"You know very well what I want," said the young inventor, calmly. "I want to know what you did with the aeroplane plans you took from my house."
"I never took any!" declared Andy vigorously.
"Well, there's no use discussing that," went on Tom. "What I came here to find out, and I don't mind telling you, is whether or not you are building a monoplane to compete against me, and building it on a model invented by me; and what's more, Andy Foger, I intend to find this out, too!"
Tom started toward the big shed, which loomed up in the moonlight.
"Stand back!" cried Andy, getting in Tom's way. "I can build any kind of an aeroplane I like, and you can't stop me!"
"We'll see about that," declared the young inventor, as he kept on. "I'm not going to allow my plans to be stolen, and a monoplane made after them, and do nothing about it."
"You keep away!" snarled Andy, and he grabbed Tom by the shoulder and struck him a blow in the chest. He must have been very much excited, or otherwise he never would have come to hostilities this way with Tom, whom he well knew could easily beat him.
The blow, together with the many things he had suffered at Andy's hands, was too much for our hero. He drew back his fist, and a moment later Andy Foger was stretched out on the grass. He lay there for a moment, and then rose up slowly to his knees, his face distorted with rage.
"You—you hit me!" he snarled.
"Not until you hit first," said Tom calmly.
"Bless my punching bag! That's so!" exclaimed Mr. Damon.
"You'll suffer for this!" whined Andy, getting to his feet, but taking care to retreat from Tom, who stood ready for him. "I'll get square with you for this! Jake, come on, and we'll get our guns!"
Andy turned and hurried back toward the shed, followed by the evil-looking man, who had apparently been undecided whether to attack Mr. Damon or Tom. Now the bully and his companion were in full retreat.
"We'll get our guns, and then we'll see whether they'll want to stay where they're not wanted!" went on Andy, threateningly.
"Bless my powderhorn! What had we better do?" asked Mr. Damon.
"I guess we'd better go back," said Tom calmly. "Not that I'm afraid of Andy. His talk about guns is all bluff; but I don't want to get into any more of a row, and he is just ugly and reckless enough to make trouble. I'm afraid we can't learn what we came to find out, though I'm more convinced than ever that Andy is using my plans to make his aeroplane."
"But what can you do?"
"I'll see Mr. Sharp, and send a protest to the aviation committee. I'll refuse to enter if Andy flies in a model of my Humming-Bird, and I'll try to prevent him from using it after he gets it on the ground. That is all I can do, it seems, lacking positive information. Come on, Mr. Damon. Let's get back to our hotel, and we'll start for home in the morning."
"I have a plan," whispered the odd man.
"What is it?" asked Tom, narrowly watching for the reappearance of Andy and the man.
"I'll stay here until they come, then I'll pretend to run away. They'll chase after me, and get all excited, and you can go up and look in the shed windows. Then you can join me later. How's that?"
"Too risky. They might fire at you by mistake. No. We'll both go. I've found out more than enough to confirm my suspicions."
They turned out of the lot which contained the shed, and walked toward the road, just as Andy and his crony came back.
"Huh! You'd better go!" taunted the bully.
Tom had a bitter feeling in his heart. It seemed as if he was defeated, and he did not like to retreat before Andy.
"You'd better not come back here again, either," went on Andy.
Tom and Mr. Damon did not reply, but kept on in silence. They returned to Shopton the next day.
"Well," remarked Tom, when he had gone out to look at his Humming-Bird, "I know one thing. Andy Foger may build a machine something like this, but I don't believe he can put in all the improvements I have, and certainly he can't equal that engine; eh, dad?"
"I hope not, Tom," replied his father, who seemed to be much improved in health.
"When are you going to try for speed?" asked Mr. Damon.
"To-morrow, if I can get it tuned up enough," replied Tom, "and I think I can. Yes, we'll have the great test to-morrow, and then I'll know whether I really have a chance for that ten thousand dollars."
Never before had Tom been so exacting in his requirements of his air craft as when, the next day, the Humming-Bird was wheeled out to the flight ground, and gotten ready for the test. The young inventor went over every bolt, brace, stay, guy wire and upright. He examined every square inch of the wings, the tips, planes and rudders. The levers, the steering wheel, the automatic equilibrium attachments and the balancing weights were looked at again and again.
As for the engine, had it been a delicate watch, Tom could not have scrutinized each valve, wheel, cam and spur gear more carefully. Then the gasoline tank was filled, the magneto was looked after, the oil reservoirs were cleaned out and freshly filled, and finally the lad remarked:
"Well, I guess I'm ready. Come along, Mr. Damon."
"Am I going with you in the test?"
"Surely. I've been counting on you. If you're to be with me in the race, you want to get a sample of what we can do. Take your place. Mr. Jackson, are you ready to time us?"
"All ready, Tom."
"And, dad, do you feel well enough to check back Mr. Jackson's results? I don't want any errors."
"Oh, yes, Tom. I can do it."
"Very well, then. Now this is my plan. I'm going to mount upward on an easy slant, and put her through a few stunts first, to warm up, and see that everything is all right. Then, when I give the signal, by dropping this small white ball, that means I'm ready for you to start to time me. Then I'll begin to try for the record. I'll go about the course in a big ellipse, and—well, we'll see what happens."
While Mr. Damon was in his seat the young inventor started the propeller, and noted the thrust developed. It was satisfactory, as measured on the scale, and then Tom took his place.
"Let her go!" he cried to Mr. Jackson and Eradicate, after he had listened to the song of the motor for a moment. The Humming-Bird flew across the course, and a moment later mounted into the air.
Tom quickly took her up to about two thousand feet, and there, finding the conditions to his liking, he began a few evolutions designed to severely test the craft's stability, and to learn whether the engine was working properly.
"How about it?" asked Mr. Damon anxiously.
"All right!" shouted Tom in his ear, for the motor was making a great racket. "I guess we'll make the trial next time we come around. Get ready to drop the signal ball."
Tom slowly brought the aeroplane around in a graceful curve. He sighted down, and saw the first tall white pole that marked the beginning of the course.
"Drop!" he called to Mr. Damon.
The white rubber ball went to the earth like a shot. Mr. Jackson and Mr. Swift saw it, and started their timing-watches. Tom opened the throttle and advanced the spark. The great test was on!
The Humming-Bird trembled and throbbed with the awful speed of the motor, like a thing alive. She seemed to rush forward as an eagle dropping down from a dizzy height upon some hapless prey.
"Faster yet!" murmured Tom. "We must go faster yet!"
The motor was warming up. Streaks of fire came from it. The exhaust of the explosions was a continuous roar. Faster and faster flew the frail craft.
Around and around the air course she circled. The wind appeared to be rushing beneath the planes and rudders with the velocity of a hurricane. Had it not been for the face protectors they wore, Tom and Mr. Damon could not have breathed. For ten minutes this fearful speed was kept up. Then Tom, knowing he had run the motor to the limit, slowed it down. Next he shut it off completely, and prepared to volplane back to earth. The silence after the terrific racket was almost startling. For a moment neither of the aviators spoke. Then Mr. Damon said:
"Do you think you did it, Tom?"
"I don't know. We'll soon find out. They'll have the record." And he motioned toward the earth, which they were rapidly nearing.
"Well, did I make it? Make any kind of a record?" asked Tom eagerly, as he brought the trim little craft to a stop, after it had rolled along the ground on the bicycle wheels.
"What do you think you did?" asked Mr. Jackson, who had been busy figuring on a slip of paper.
"Did I get her up to ninety miles an hour?" inquired Tom eagerly. "If I did, I know when the motor wears down a bit smoother that I can make her hit a hundred in the race, easily. Did I touch ninety, Mr. Jackson?"
"Better than that, Tom! Better than that!" cried his father.
"Yes," joined in Mr. Jackson. "Allowing for the difference in our watches, Tom, your father and I figure that you did the course at the rate of one hundred and twelve miles an hour!"
"One hundred and twelve!" gasped the young inventor, hardly able to believe it.
"I made it a hundred and fifteen," said Mr. Swift, who was almost as pleased as was his son, "and Mr. Jackson made it one hundred and eleven; so we split the difference, so to speak. You certainly have a sky racer, Tom, my boy!"
"And I'll need it, too, dad, if I'm to compete with Andy Foger, who may have a machine almost like mine."
"But I thought you were going to object to him if he has," said Mr. Damon, who had hardly recovered from the speedy flight through space.
"Well, I was just providing for a contingency, in case my protest was overruled," remarked Tom. "But I'm glad the Humming-Bird did so well on her first trial. I know she'll do better the more I run her. Now we'll get her back in her 'nest,' and I'll look her over, when she cools down, and see if anything has worked loose."
But the trim little craft needed only slight adjustments after her tryout, for Tom had built her to stand up under a terrific strain.
"We'll soon be in shape for the big race," he announced, "and when I bring home that ten thousand dollars I'm going to abandon this sky-scraping business, except for occasional trips."
"What will you do to occupy your mind?" asked Mr. Damon.
"Oh, I'm going to travel," announced Tom. "Then there's my new electric rifle, which I have not perfected yet. I'll work on that after I win the big race."
For several days after the first real trial of his sky racer Tom was busy going over the Humming-Bird, making slight changes here and there. He was the sort of a lad who was satisfied with nothing short of the best, and though neither his father nor Mr. Jackson could see where there was room for improvement, Tom was so exacting that he sat up for several nights to perfect such little details as a better grip for the steering-lever, a quicker way of making the automatic equilibriumizer take its position, or an improved transmitter for the wireless apparatus.
That was a part of his monoplane of which Tom was justly proud, for though many aeroplanes to-day are equipped with the sending device, few can receive wireless messages in mid-air. But Tom had seen the advantage of this while making a trip in the ill-fated Red Cloud to the cave of the diamond makers, and he determined to have his new craft thus provided against emergencies. The wireless outfit of the Humming-Bird was a marvel of compactness.
Thus the days passed, with Tom very busy; so busy, in fact, that he hardly had time to call on Miss Nestor. As for Andy Foger, he heard no more from him, and the bully was not seen around Shopton. Tom concluded that he was at his uncle's place, working on his racing craft.
The young inventor sent a formal protest to the aviation committee, to be used in the event of Andy entering a craft which infringed on the Humming-Bird, and received word from Mr. Sharp that the interests of the young inventor would be protected. This satisfied Tom.
Still, at times, he could not help wondering how the first plans had so mysteriously disappeared, and he would have given a good deal to know just how Andy got possession of them, and how he knew enough to use them.
"He, or some one whom he hired, must have gotten into our house mighty quickly that day," mused Tom, "and then skipped out while dad fell into a little doze. It was a mighty queer thing, but it's lucky it was no worse."
The time was approaching for the big aviation meet. Tom's craft was in readiness, and had been given several other trials, developing more speed each time. Additional locks were put on the doors of the shed, and more burglar-alarm wires were strung, so that it was almost a physical impossibility to get into the Humming-Bird's "nest" without arousing some one in the Swift household.
"And if they do, I guess we'll be ready for them," said Tom grimly. He had been unable to find out who it was that had attempted once before to damage the monoplane, but he suspected it was the ill-favored man who was working with Andy.
As for Mr. Swift, at times he seemed quite well, and again he required the services of a physician.
"You will have to be very careful of your father, Tom," said Dr. Gladby. "Any sudden shock or excitement may aggravate his malady, and in that case a serious operation will be necessary."
"Oh, we'll take good care of him," said the lad; but he could not help worrying, though he tried not to let his father see the strain which he was under.
It was some days after this, and lacking about a week until the meet was to open, when a peculiar thing happened. Tom had given his Humming-Bird a tryout one day, and had then begun to make arrangements for taking it apart and shipping it to Eagle Park. For he would not fly to the meet in it, for fear of some accident. So big cases had been provided.
"I'll take it apart in the morning," decided Tom, as he went to his room, after seeing to the burglar alarm, "and ship her off. Then Mr. Damon and I will go there, set her up, and get ready to win the race."
Tom had opened all the windows in his room, for it was very warm. In fact it was so warm that sleep was almost out of the question, and he got up to sit near the windows in the hope of feeling a breeze.
There it was more comfortable, and he was just dozing off, and beginning to think of getting back into bed, when he was aware of a peculiar sound in the air overhead.
"I wonder if that's a heavy wind starting up?" he mused. "Good luck, if it is! We need it." The noise increased, sounding more and more like wind, but Tom, looking out into the night, saw the leaves of the trees barely moving.
"If that's a breeze, it's taking its own time getting here," he went on.
The sound came nearer, and then Tom knew that it was not the noise of the wind in the trees. It was more like a roaring and rumbling.
"Can it be distant thunder?" Tom asked himself. "There is no sign of a storm." Once more he looked from the window. The night was calm and clear—the trees as still as if they were painted.
The sound was even more plain now, and Tom, who had sharp ears, at once decided that it was just over the house—directly overhead. An instant later he knew what it was.
"The motor of an aeroplane, or a dirigible balloon!" he exclaimed. "Some one is flying overhead!"
For an instant he feared lest the shed had been broken into, and his Humming-Bird taken, but a glance toward the place seemed to show that it was all right.
Then Tom hastily made his way to where a flight of stairs led to a little enclosed observatory on the roof.
"I'm going to see what sort of a craft it is making that noise," he said.
As he opened the trap door, and stepped out into the little observatory the sound was so plain as to startle him. He looked up quickly, and, directly overhead he saw a curious sight.
For, flying so low as to almost brush the lightning rod on the chimney of the Swift home, was a small aeroplane, and, as Tom looked up, he saw in a light that gleamed from it, two figures looking down on him.
For a few moments Tom did not know what to think. Not that the sight of aeroplanes in flight were any novelty to him, but to see one flying over his house in the dead of night was a little out of the ordinary. Then, as he realized that night-flights were becoming more common, Tom tried to make out the details of the craft.
"I wish I had brought the night glasses with me," he said aloud.
"Here they are," spoke a voice at his side, and so suddenly that Tom was startled. He looked down, and saw Mr. Jackson standing beside him.
"Did you hear the noise, too?" the lad asked the engineer.
"Yes. It woke me up. Then I heard you moving around, and I heard you come up here. I thought maybe it was a flight of meteors you'd come to see, and I knew the glasses would be handy, so I stopped for them. Take a look, Tom. It's an aeroplane; isn't it?"
"Yes, and not moving very fast, either. They seem to be circling around here."
The young inventor was peering through the binoculars, and, as soon as he had the mysterious craft in focus, he cried:
"Look, Mr. Jackson, it's a new kind of monoplane. I never saw one like it before. I wonder who could have invented that? It's something like a Santos-Dumont and a Bleriot, with some features of Cornu's Helicopter. That's a queer machine."
"It certainly is," agreed the engineer, who was now sighting through the glasses. In spite of the darkness the binoculars brought out the peculiarities of the aeroplane with considerable distinctness.
"Can you make out who are in it?" asked Tom.
"No," answered Mr. Jackson. "You try."
But Tom had no better luck. There were two persons in the odd machine, which was slowly flying along, moving in a great circle, with the Swift house for its center.
"I wonder why they're hanging around here?" asked Tom, suspiciously.
"Perhaps they want to talk to you," suggested Mr. Jackson. "They may be fellow inventors—perhaps one of them is that Philadelphia man who had the Whizzer."
"No," replied the lad. "He would have sent me word if he intended calling on me. Those are strangers, I think. There they are, coming back again."
The mysterious aeroplane was once more circling toward the watchers on the roof. There was a movement on the steps, near which Tom was standing, and his father came up.
"Is anything the matter?" he asked anxiously.
"Only a queer craft circling around up here," was the reply. "Come and see, dad."
Mr. Swift ascended to the roof. The aeroplane was higher now, and those in her could not so easily be made out. Tom felt a vague sense of fear, as though he was being watched by the evil eyes of his enemies. More than once he looked over to the shed where his craft was housed, as though some danger might threaten it. But the shed of the Humming-Bird showed no signs of invaders.
Suddenly the mysterious aeroplane increased its speed. It circled about more quickly, and shot upward, as though to show the watchers of what it was capable. Then, with a quick swoop it darted downward, straight for the building where Tom's newest invention was housed.
"Look out! They'll hit something!" cried the young inventor, as though those in the aeroplane could hear him.
Then, just as though they had heeded his warning, the pilots of the mysterious craft shot her upward, after she had hovered for an instant over the big shed.
"That was a queer move," said Tom. "It looked as if they lost control of her for a moment."
"And they dropped something!" cried Mr. Jackson. "Look! something fell from the aeroplane on the roof of the shed."
"Some tool, likely," spoke Tom. "I'll get it in the morning, and see what sort of instruments they carry. I'd like to examine that machine, though."
The queer aeroplane was now shooting off in the darkness and Tom followed it with the glasses, wondering what its construction could be like. He was to have another sight of it sooner than he expected.
"Well, we may as well get back to bed," said Mr. Jackson. "I'm tired, and we've got lots to do to-morrow."
"Yes," agreed Tom. "It's cooler now. Come on, dad."
Tom fell into a light doze. He thought afterward he could not have slept more than half an hour when he heard a commotion out in the yard. For an instant he could not tell what it was, and then, as he grew wider awake he knew that it was the shouting of Eradicate Sampson, and the braying of Boomerang.
But what was Eradicate shouting?
"Fire! Fire! Fire!"
Tom leaped to his window.
"Wake up, Massa Tom! Wake up! De areoplane shed am on fire, an' de Humming-Bird will burn up! Hurry! Hurry!"
Tom looked out. Flames were shooting up from the roof of the shed where his precious craft was kept.
Almost before the echoes of Eradicate's direful warning cry had died away, Tom was on his way out of the house, pausing only long enough to slip on a pair of shoes and his trousers. There was but one thought in his mind. If he could get the Humming-Bird safely out he would not care if the shed did burn, even though it contained many valuable tools and appliances.
"We must save my new aeroplane!" thought Tom, desperately. "I've got to save her!"
As he raced through the hall he caught up a portable chemical fire-extinguisher. Tom saw his father's door open, and Mr. Swift looked out.
"What is it?" he called anxiously.
"Fire!" answered the young inventor, almost before he thought of the doctor's warning that Mr. Swift must not be excited. Tom wished he could recall the word, but it was too late. Besides Eradicate, down in the yard was shouting at the top of his voice:
"Fire! Fire! Fire!"
"Where, Tom?" gasped Mr. Swift, and his son thought the aged inventor grew suddenly paler.
"Aeroplane shed," answered the lad. "But don't worry dad. It's only a small blaze. We'll get it out. You stay here. We'll attend to it—Mr. Jackson and Eradicate and I."
"No—I'm going to help!" exclaimed Mr. Swift, sturdily. "I'll be with you, Tom. Go on!"
The lad rushed down to the yard, closely followed by the engineer, who had caught up another extinguisher. Eradicate was rushing about, not knowing what to do, but still keeping up his shouting.
"It's on de roof! De roof am all blazin'!" he yelled.
"Quit your noise, and get to work!" cried Tom. "Get out a ladder, Rad, and raise it to the side of the shed. Then play this extinguisher on the blaze. Mr. Jackson, you help me run the Humming-Bird out. After she's safe we'll tackle the fire."
Tom cast a hurried look at the burning shed. The flames were shooting high up from the roof, now, and eating their way down. As he rushed toward the big doors, which he intended to open to enable him to run out his sky racer, he was wondering how the fire came to start so high up as the roof. He wondered if a meteor could have fallen and caused it.
As the doors, which were quickly unlocked by Tom, swung back, and as he and the engineer started to go in, they were met by choking fumes as if of some gas. They recoiled for the moment.
"What—what's that?" gasped Tom, coughing and sneezing.
"Some chemical—I—I don't know what kind," spluttered Mr. Jackson. "Have you any carboys of acid in there Tom, that might have exploded by the heat?"
"No; not a thing. Let's try again."
Once more they tried to go in, but were again driven back by the distressing fumes. The fire was eating down, now. There was a hole burned in the roof, and by the leaping tongues of flame Tom could see his aeroplane. It was almost in the path of the blaze.
"We must get her out!" he shouted. "I'm going in!"
But it was impossible, and the daring young inventor nearly succumbed to the choking odors. Mr. Jackson dragged him back.
"We can't go in!" he cried. "There has been some mysterious work here! Those fumes were put here to keep us from saving the machine. This fire has been set by some enemy! We can't go in!"
"But I am going!" declared Tom. "We'll try the back door."
They rushed to that, but again were driven out by the gases and vapors, which were mingled with the smoke. Disheartened, yet with a wild desire to do something to save his precious craft, Tom Swift drew back for a moment.
As he did so he heard a hiss, as Eradicate turned the chemical stream on the blaze. Tom looked up. The faithful colored man was on a ladder near the burning roof, acting well his part as a fireman.
"That's the stuff!" cried Tom. "Come on, Mr. Jackson. Maybe if we use the chemical extinguishers we can drive out those fumes!"
The engineer understood. He took up the extinguisher he had brought, and Tom got a second one from a nearby shed. Then Mr. Swift came out bearing another.
"You shouldn't have come, dad! We can attend to it!" cried Tom, fearing for the effect of the excitement on his invalid parent.
"Oh, I couldn't stay there and see the shed burn. Are you getting it under control? Why don't you run out the Humming-Bird?"
Tom did not mention the choking fumes. He passed up a full extinguisher to Eradicate, who had used all the chemical in his. Then Tom got another ladder, and soon three streams were being directed on the flames. They had eaten, a pretty big hole in the roof, but the chemicals were slowly telling on them.
As soon as he saw that Eradicate and Mr. Jackson could control the blaze, Tom descended to the ground, and ran once more to the big doors. He was determined to make another try to wheel out the aeroplane, for he saw from above that the flames were now on the side wall, and might reach the craft any minute. And it would not take much to inflict serious damage on the sky racer.
"I'll get her, fumes or no fumes!" murmured Tom, grimly. And, whether it was the effect of the chemical streams, or whether the choking odors were dissipated through the hole in the roof was not manifested, but, at any rate, Tom found that he could go in, though he coughed and gasped for breath.
He wheeled the aeroplane outside, for the Humming-Bird was almost as light as her namesake. A hurried glance by the gleam of the dying fire assured Tom that his craft was not damaged beyond a slight scorching of one of the wing tips.
"That was a narrow escape!" he murmured, as he wheeled the sky racer far away, out of any danger from sparks. Then he went back to help fight the fire, which was extinguished in about ten minutes more.
"It was a mighty queer blaze," said Mr. Jackson, "starting at the top that way. I wonder what caused it?"
"We'll investigate in the morning," decided Tom. "Now, dad, you must get back to your room." He turned to help his father in, but at that moment Mr. Swift, who was trying to say something, fell over in a dead faint.
"Quick! Help me carry him into the house!" cried Tom. "Then telephone for Dr. Gladby, Mr. Jackson."
The physician looked grave when, half an hour later, he examined his patient.
"Mr. Swift is very much worse," he said in a low voice. "The excitement of the fire has aggravated his ailment. I would like another doctor to see him, Tom."
"Another doctor?" Tom's voice showed his alarm.
"Yes, we must have a consultation. I think Dr. Kurtz will be a good one to call in. I should like his opinion before I decide what course to take."
"I'll send Eradicate for him at once," said the young inventor, and he went to give the colored man his instructions, while his heart was filled with a great fear for his father.
Dr. Kurtz looked as grave as did Dr. Gladby when he had made an examination of the patient. Mr. Swift was still in a semi-conscious condition, hardly breathing as he rested on the bed where they had placed him after the fire.
"Vell," said the German physician, after a long silence, "vot is your obinion, my dear Gladby?"
"I think an operation is necessary."
"Yes, dot is so; but you know vot kind of an operation alone vill safe him; eh, my dear Gladby?"
Dr. Gladby nodded.
"It will be a rare and delicate one," he said. "There is but one surgeon I know of who can do it."
"You mean Herr Hendrix?" asked Dr. Kurtz.
"Yes, Dr. Edward Hendrix, of Kirkville. If he can be induced to come I think there is a chance of saving Mr. Swift's life. I'll speak to Tom about it."
The two physicians, who had been consulting together, summoned the youth from another room, where, with Mrs. Baggert and Mr. Jackson he had been anxiously awaiting the verdict.
"What is it?" the young inventor asked Dr. Gladby.
The medical man told him to what conclusion he and his colleague had arrived, adding:
"We advise that Dr. Hendrix be sent for at once. But I need hardly tell you, Tom, that he is a noted specialist, and his services are in great demand. He is hard to get."
"I'll pay him any sum he asks!" burst out the youth. "I'll spend all my fortune—and I have made considerable money of late—I'll spend every cent to get my father well! Money need not stand in the way, Dr. Gladby."
"I knew that, Tom. Still Dr. Hendrix is a very busy man, and it is hard to induce him to come a long distance. It is over a hundred miles to Kirkville, and it is an out-of-the-way place. I never could understand why Dr. Hendrix settled there. But there he is, and if we want him he will have to come from there. The worst of it is that there are few trains, and only a single railroad line from there to Shopton."
"Then I'll telegraph," decided Tom. "I'll offer him his own price, and ask him to rush here as soon as he can."
"You had better let Dr. Kurtz and me attend to that part of it," suggested the physician. "Dr. Hendrix would hardly come on the request of some one whom he did not know. I'll prepare a telegram, briefly explaining the case. It is the sort of an operation Dr. Hendrix is much interested in, and I think he will come on that account, if for no other reason. I'll write out the message, and you can have Eradicate take it to the telegraph office."
"I'll take it myself!" exclaimed Tom, as he got ready to go out into the night with the urgent request. "Is there any immediate danger for my father?" he asked.
"No; not any immediate danger," replied Dr. Gladby. "But the operation is imperative if he is to live. It is his one and only chance."
Tom thought only of his father as he hurried on through the night. Even the prospect of the great race, so soon to take place, had no part in his mind.
"I'll not race until I'm sure dad is going to get better," he decided. With the message to the noted specialist Tom also sent one to Mr. Damon, telling him the news, and asking him to come to Shopton. Tom felt that the presence of the odd gentleman would help him, and Mr. Damon, who first intended to stay on at the Swift home until he and Tom departed for Eagle Park, had gone back to his own residence to attend to some business Tom knew he would come in the morning, and Mr. Damon did arrive on the first train.
"Bless my soul!" he exclaimed with ready sympathy, as he extended his hand to Tom. "What's all this?" The young inventor told him, beginning with the fire that had been the cause of the excitement which produced the change in Mr. Swift.
"But I have great hopes that the specialist will be able to cure him," said Tom, for, with the coming of daylight, his courage had returned to him. "Dr. Gladby and Dr. Kurtz depend a great deal on Dr. Hendrix," he said.
"Yes, he certainly is a wonderful man. I have heard a great deal about him. I have no doubt but what he will cure your father. But about the fire? How did it start?"
"I don't know, but now that I have a few hours to spare before the doctor can get here, I'm going to make an examination."
"Bless my penwiper, but I'll help you."
Tom went into the house, to inquire of Mrs. Baggert, for probably the tenth time that morning, how his father was doing. Mr. Swift was still in a semi-conscious condition, but he recognized Tom, when the youth stood at his bedside.
"Don't worry about me, son," said the brave old inventor, as he took Tom's hand. "I'll be all right. Go ahead and get ready for the race. I want you to win!"
Tears came into Tom's eyes. Would his father be well enough to allow him to take part in the big event? He feared not.
By daylight it was seen that quite a hole had been burned in the aeroplane shed. Tom and Mr. Damon, accompanied by Mr. Jackson, walked through the place.
"And you say the fire broke out right after you had seen the mysterious airship hovering over the house?" asked the eccentric man.
"Well, not exactly after," answered Tom, "but within an hour or so. Why do you ask?"
But Mr. Damon did not answer. Something on the floor of the shed, amid a pile of blackened and charred pieces of wood, attracted his attention. He stooped over and picked it up.
"Is this yours?" he asked Tom.
"No. What is it?"
The object looked like a small iron ball, with a tube about half an inch in diameter projecting slightly from it. Tom took it.
"Why, it looks like an infernal machine or a dynamite bomb," he said. "I wonder where it came from? Guess I'd better drop it in a pail of water. Maybe Eradicate found it and brought it here. I never saw it before. Mr. Jackson, please hand me that pail of water. We'll soak this bomb."
"There is no need," said Mr. Damon, quietly. "It is harmless now. It has done its work. It was that which set fire to your shed, and which caused the stifling fumes."
"That?" cried Tom.
"Yes. This ball is hollow, and was filled with a chemical. It was dropped on the roof, and, after a certain time, the plug in the tube was eaten through, the chemicals ran out, set the roof ablaze, and, dripping down inside spread the choking odors that nearly prevented you from getting out your aeroplane."
"Are you sure of this?" asked the young inventor.
"Positive. I read about these bombs recently. A German invented them to be used in attacking a besieged city in case of war."
"But how did this one get on my shed roof?" asked Tom.
"It was dropped there by the mysterious airship!" exclaimed the odd man. "That was why the aeroplane moved about over your place. Those in it hoped that the fire would not break out until you were all asleep, and that the shed and the Humming-Bird would be destroyed before you came to the rescue. Some of your enemies are still after you, Tom."
"And it was Andy Foger, I'll wager!" he cried. "He was in that aircraft! Oh, I'll have a long score to settle with him!"
"Of course you can't be sure it was he," said Mr. Damon, "but I wouldn't be a bit surprised but what it was. Andy is capable of such a thing. He wanted to prevent you from taking part in the race."
"Well, he sha'n't!" cried Tom, and then he thought of his invalid father. They made a further examination of the shed, and discovered another empty bomb. Then Tom recalled having seen something drop from the mysterious aeroplane as it passed over the shed.
"It was these bombs," he said. "We certainly had a narrow escape! Oh, wait until I settle my score with Andy Foger!"
As there would be but little use for the aeroplane shed now, if Tom sent his craft off to the meet, it was decided to repair it temporarily only, until he returned.
Accordingly, a big tarpaulin was fastened over the hole in the roof. Then Tom put a new wing tip on in place of the one that had been scorched. He looked all over his sky racer, and decided that it was in fit condition for the coming meet.
"I'll begin to take it apart for shipment, as soon as I hear from the specialist that dad is well enough for me to go," he said.
It was a few hours after the discovery of the empty bomb that Tom saw Dr. Gladby coming along. The physician was urging his horse to top speed. Tom felt a vague fear in his heart.
"I've got a message from Dr. Hendrix, Tom," he said, as he stopped his carriage, and approached the lad.
"When can he come?" asked the young inventor, eagerly.
"He can't get here, Tom."
"Can't get here! Why not?"
"Because the railroad bridge has collapsed, and there is no way to come. He can't make any other connections to get here in time—in time to do your father any good, Tom. He has just sent me a telegram to that effect. Dr. Hendrix can't get here, and..." Dr. Gladby paused.
"Do you mean that my father may die if the operation is not performed?" asked Tom, in a low voice.
"Yes," was the answer.
"But can't Dr. Hendrix drive here in an auto?" asked the lad. "Surely there must be some way of getting over the river, even if the railroad bridge is down. Can't he cross in a boat and drive here?"
"He wouldn't be in time, Tom. Don't you understand, Dr. Hendrix must be here within four hours, if he is to save your father's life. He never could do it by driving or by coming on some other road, or in an auto. He can't make the proper connections. There is no way."
"Yes, there is!" cried Tom, suddenly. "I know a way!"
"How?" asked Dr. Gladby, thrilled by Tom's ringing tones. "How can you do it, Tom?"
"I'll go for Dr. Hendrix in my Humming-Bird."
"Going for him would do no good. He must be brought here."
"And so he shall be!" cried Tom. "I'll bring him here in my sky racer—if he has the nerve to stand the journey, and I think he has! I'll bring Dr. Hendrix here!" and Tom hurried away to prepare for the thrilling trip.