CHAPTER IVLIBERTY BONDS
Ned Newtonturned back to the telephone, from which he had moved but a moment to answer his chum and employer, and to his father, on the other end of the wire, the young manager said:
“I’ll be with you right away, Dad! They’re not going to get by with anything like that—not in a thousand years! Don’t let them bluff you. It’s just a rotten bad mistake, that’s all. I’ll be right with you. What’s that? Will Tom let me come? Well, say——”
“Tell him I’m coming with you!” shouted the young inventor vigorously as he caught the import of what his chum had said, and his voice was so loud that it carried to the other end of the wire.
“He heard you,” said Ned. “Thanks, Tom. Yes, Dad, I’ll be right along.”
He clicked the receiver back into place and with burning indignation on his face turned to Tom and Mr. Swift.
“Is your father in trouble, Ned?” asked Barton Swift. “If so you must say to him that Tom and I will do all in our power for him.”
“Thanks,” and Ned’s voice was a bit broken as he spoke the word, for he was greatly affected, as they all noted.
“Tell me in a few words what it is,” suggested Tom. “I want to know so we can go prepared to help him. Maybe we’d better stop and get Mr. Plum.” Ralph Plum was a lawyer of Shopton who attended to legal matters for the Swifts.
“I guess maybe we’ll need a lawyer,” answered Ned dejectedly. “For my father has been arrested.”
“Arrested!” exclaimed the Swifts in a breath.
“Yes. But of course he’s innocent,” and Ned proudly threw up his head.
“No question about that, old scout!” said Tom, clapping his chum on the back. “But what’s the nature of the charge? Tell me so I can telephone to Plum,” and he went over to the instrument on his desk.
“He is accused by Renwick Fawn of the theft of a good many thousands of dollars’ worth of Liberty Bonds,” answered Ned. “Dad didn’t have time to give me all the story over the telephone, but several times before this he has spoken to me about mysterious thefts of these securities from the National Investment Company, where he is employed, you know. Dad spoke of these thefts, and even mentioned that the firm had engaged a private detective to try to trace the thief. Now, like a bombshell, father is accused and arrested.”
“It’s all a mistake, of course,” said Tom. “Oh, Operator, get me Main 1576, please, and in a hurry if you can. Of course it is all a mistake,” and he resumed his talk to his chum.
“But think what the accusation means to dad, to mother and to me even though it is afterward proved—as it will be—that my father had nothing to do with the matter!” burst out Ned. “He is disgraced forever because that sneak Fawn thinks he knows it all! Oh, there has been dirty work all right!”
“Who is this fellow Fawn?” Tom wanted to know.
“A new manager they got at the Investment Company,” replied Ned. “I have heard dad speak of him. He’s one of these efficiency birds—everything done by clockwork, plenty of pep, a go-getter, and all that rot! I’d like to go get him! But, oh, the disgrace to dad!”
“Don’t worry about that!” exclaimed Mr. Swift. “No one who knows your father can ever think him disgraced, even if he were arrested for the theft of all the Liberty Bonds Uncle Sam ever put out!”
“Right-o!” cried Tom. “Oh, hello, is this Mr. Plum’s office? Yes, I want to talk to him—very important—Tom Swift speaking!”
The name of Swift worked like magic, even in such a ceremonious office as that of Mr. Plum, and a moment later Tom was pouring out a quick statement of the matter, suggesting that the lawyer hold himself in readiness to go with Tom and Ned to the office of the investment concern where, it appeared, Mr. Newton was being held in custody, preparatory to being arraigned before a police officer for commitment to a cell.
“I’ll call for you in my electric runabout,” finished Tom. “What’s that—can it go? Mr. Plum, when that car was built it was the speediest one on the road, and it has never yet been passed! Yes, we’ll be there in a jiffy!”
Turning to his chum as he hung up the receiver, Tom remarked:
“Now come on, Ned, we’ll get a move on. But we’ll take a few sinews of war with us!”
Quickly he opened the big chest he had locked, and from an inner compartment in it he extracted a sheaf of crisp bills whose yellow color told of high denominations.
“They always have to accept bail in these cases, Ned,” remarked the young inventor, “and cash always talks. Your dad will be able to sleep at home to-night.”
“Thanks,” murmured Ned, and, though he did not say it, he had had a horrible vision of his beloved father spending the night in a cell like some convicted felon.
“Look after the treasure chest, Dad!” called Tom to his father as he hurried out with his chum.
“I certainly will if you’ve got any more cash in it,” said the aged inventor, with a smile. “I didn’t know you planned to keep money in there, Tom.”
“I don’t—not as a rule. But this was some that came in when Ned wasn’t around and I didn’t have time to bank it, and it didn’t belong in the office safe. Now, Ned, hustle’s the word!”
Tom Swift had not misnamed his electric runabout. Though it was one of his earlier inventions, it was still in excellent shape and it was just the kind of machine for a quick, speedy trip. Running to the garage where it was kept, the two young men leaped in and soon the motors were humming as the “juice” from the storage battery was turned into them. Tom rounded a corner of the drive on two wheels, it seemed, and was soon off down the road, causing Ned to jam on his hat.
“We’ll stop and pick up Plum,” said Tom, in his chum’s ear as they whizzed along. “Then we’ll go right to the office of this concern. We’ll have this thing over before it’s fairly begun. Is there anything more you can tell me as we travel?”
“Not much,” Ned answered. “You know dad has been with this concern for a long time. It was only recently that I heard him speak of this new manager and his ways. It seems Fawn took a dislike to dad, who is a bit old-fashioned in some of his ideas. Not enough pep, I suppose, for the dirty hound!
“And, as I told you, there has been going on the stealing of Liberty Bonds for some time. But as this wasn’t in my father’s department he didn’t think much about it. He has charge of the mortgages. Then, like a bolt out of the blue, they accused him to-day—even pretended to find some of the missing bonds in his desk.
“Of course he indignantly denied the accusation and asked for permission to telephone me. Fawn didn’t even want to allow that, so dad told me over the wire, but the president of the concern put his foot down and said I should be informed. Now you know as much as I do.”
“Which isn’t much,” commented Tom. “It’s a case for Plum all right. We’ll be at his office in another minute.”
They found the lawyer waiting for them. Despite all his other legal work, it would never do to neglect any of the Swift family interests.
“Outline it to me quickly, Tom,” said Mr. Plum, as he got into the electric runabout. This Tom did, giving a brief account of the case as related by Ned.
“We’ll waive an immediate arraignment and have him admitted to bail,” decided the lawyer as they neared the office where Mr. Newton was detained a prisoner.
Father and son met and shook hands—hard. Tom nodded to some of the men of the investment company whom he knew and with whom he had done business. He noted one self-important individual walking up and down. It was Mr. Fawn, he guessed, and this was confirmed a minute later when this sleek person said:
“Well, Mr. Newton, you have had your way—your son is here, and some other friends, I presume. Now I demand that this man be locked up on the charge I make against him,” he went on. “Deputy, you can do your duty.”
“Just a moment,” put in Mr. Plum suavely. “I represent the defendant in this case. I ask to examine the warrant.”
“You can’t see it!” snapped out Mr. Fawn.
“Oh, yes, he can,” said the deputy sheriff who had served it. “That is always the privilege of the defendant’s lawyer.”
“Oh, well, all right,” snapped the accusing manager of the concern.
Mr. Plum glanced over the document, which was brief, and, in effect, charged Mr. Newton with embezzling, converting to his own use, stealing, taking and carrying away certain valuable property of the National Investment Company, to wit Liberty Bonds to the value of thirty-thousand dollars.
“This is a bailable offense,” said the lawyer. “We ask to be taken before a magistrate with the power of fixing bail.”
“He ought to be taken to jail—that’s where he ought to be taken! And he would be if I had my way!” snapped Mr. Fawn.
“That will do, Mr. Fawn,” sternly said the president of the concern, Amos Bell. “This is a very serious matter,” he went on. “Mr. Newton is an old friend of mine. I must insist that strict justice be done him.”
“Thank you,” said Ned’s father feelingly.
“He has a right to bail,” said the deputy. “Judge Klein is sitting at the court house now. I can take him before him.”
“Then we’ll go at once,” said Mr. Plum.
A little later they were before the bar of justice—Mr. Newton a little pale, but standing firm and upright. Ned flushed and indignant, with many a vindictive look at the manager of the investment company. Tom was clutching the bundle of notes in his pocket. The lawyer seemed to take it all as a matter of course.
“What is this case?” asked the old and learned judge, and when it had been explained and when he had read the accusation in the warrant, he said:
“I take it that you do not wish to plead now.”
“Yes, your honor, we do!” interposed Mr. Plum. “I wish to enter a plea of not guilty for my client. We waive arraignment now, and ask that he be admitted to bail, which we are prepared to furnish in any amount.”
“Um,” murmured the court. “I see he is accused of taking bonds to the value of thirty-three thousand dollars. I believe I must fix bail at ten thousand dollars.”
There was a gasp from Ned. Mr. Newton seemed to turn a trifle paler. Tom whispered hoarsely to his chum:
“Great bean pots! I brought only five thousand dollars with me!”
CHAPTER VIVAN BARSKY
Mr. Plumdid not seem startled, nor even much impressed, by the judge’s announcement of the large amount of bail he would require to set Mr. Newton free. Perhaps the lawyer was accustomed to such matters for his clients. At any rate, as Tom said afterward, “he never turned a hair,” but turned to Mr. Newton and asked:
“Are you prepared to furnish that amount of bail?”
“Why, no, I’m afraid I am not,” was the hesitating answer.
“What’s going to happen, Tom?” whispered Ned to his chum. “Do you think dad will have to be locked up?”
“No, I think there must be some way out,” replied Tom. “Great hoptoads! I never thought we’d need more than five thousand dollars.”
“That’s an awful lot of money to get on a moment’s notice,” sighed Ned.
“The five thousand’s about all the cash we have on hand just at present,” stated Tom Swift. “But of course we can raise a lot more. The question is, though, can we do it in time? Let’s see what Mr. Plum is saying.”
The lawyer was addressing the court.
“I suppose,” he said, “your honor will be content with a real estate bond or that of a surety company?”
“Either one, Mr. Plum,” was the answer.
Turning to Tom the lawyer asked:
“Are you prepared to go security for Mr. Newton in this amount?”
“Yes, or twice the amount, if necessary,” Tom answered. “But I have only five thousand in cash here with me——”
There was a gasp of surprise from some spectators in court, and the judge and the prosecutor smiled at one another.
“But my father and I will sign a bail bond in any amount,” Tom went on eagerly.
“I fancy that will satisfy the court. And you too, Mr. Prosecutor, will it not?” asked the lawyer, nodding to the county prosecutor, to whose lot it would fall to try the case against Mr. Newton, if it went to trial.
“If the Swift firm signs a bond I’ll be satisfied,” said Mr. Nixon, the prosecutor.
“What about us?” burst out Mr. Fawn. “Don’t we have something to say in this matter? I don’t want that man to go free. He stole a lot of our Liberty Bonds.”
“Order! Order!” called the court constables, and the judge banged with his gavel.
“You have nothing to say in this matter,” said the judge to Mr. Fawn. “The amount of bail has been fixed sufficiently high, and if a bond is furnished this defendant will go free until his trial, no matter whatyouthink about it.”
Abashed, the manager of the investment company slunk back in his seat and Mr. Plum conferred for a few moments in whispers with the judge and the prosecutor. The upshot of it was that Tom hurried off in the electric runabout and brought his father to the court house. Mr. Swift and Tom signed the bail bond, pledging themselves to pay to the county the sum of ten thousand dollars in the event that Mr. Newton was not on hand to stand trial when called; and the matter was ended for the time being.
“May I go now?” asked Ned’s father, who was in a very nervous state over it all.
“You may, indeed,” said the judge courteously. “Your friends have gone bail for you.”
“I—I thank you—very much,” faltered Mr. Newton, and then he and Ned walked out a little ahead of the others, for Ned was affected, too.
However, they soon recovered their spirits, and when they were in the runabout, which was larger than the name implies, Mr. Newton with a sad smile, turned to Tom and asked:
“How does it seem to associate with criminals?”
“I don’t know!” laughed the young inventor. “I haven’t been with any yet.”
“Thanks!” replied Ned’s father. “I suppose I needn’t assure you, my friends, that I am innocent of this charge?” he added.
“You don’t need to say a word!” cried Tom.
“But what is it all about, Dad?” asked Ned. “What’s the game, anyhow, and why have they picked you for the goat?”
“I don’t know,” was the sober answer. “I can’t tell. I wish I could. All I know is that the Liberty Bonds have been stolen—at least, so Fawn says—and the fellow accuses me.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he had stolen them himself!” burst out Ned.
“Be careful, son,” warned his father in a low voice. “Don’t get rash. But what will the next move be in this matter?” he asked the lawyer.
“Oh, your case won’t come up for trial for several months,” was the answer. “Not until fall, anyhow. In the meanwhile, if you wish, I will look into it for you and prepare a defense.”
“I was going to ask you to, Mr. Plum,” put in Tom. At the same time he gave the lawyer a glance which told that astute legal man that Mr. Newton was to be at no expense in the affair. As a matter of fact, Mr. Plum was under a yearly retainer to look after all the Swift interests.
“Then perhaps, Mr. Newton, you had better come to my office and talk the matter over,” suggested Mr. Plum. So he and the late prisoner were deposited in town, and Tom, his father and Ned went back to the shop.
“Well, a lot has happened in the last couple of hours,” remarked Ned, as he watched his friend put back into the chest the five thousand dollars which had not been used.
“I should say so!” agreed Tom. “I think we might as well knock off work for the day, Ned. I sha’n’t need you any longer, and I guess you’ll be glad to get home and comfort your mother.”
“I will. I telephoned her from the court house that dad would not have to sleep in a cell. But she’ll want to hear all the particulars. I’ll be on hand in the morning.”
“Take your time, old man. There’s nothing special on. And on your way out please send Koku here and I’ll get him to shift this chest.”
Ned looked at the substantially bound box and smiled faintly.
“Some chest, I’ll say,” he observed. “And when you get all your patent papers and blue prints and other drawings in it, Tom, it will be a regular chest of secrets.”
“So you observed before, Ned. And let me add, the chest of secrets will be a mighty valuable one.”
Ned went off and a few minutes later Koku came in, grinning broadly to think that he was needed to help his master. With ease he moved the heavy chest and its valuable contents to a small room opening out of the main office where Tom worked.
“Nobody but Koku move ’um big box like that!” exclaimed the giant a bit proudly when the transfer had been made.
“Better not let Rad hear you say that,” chuckled Tom.
“Pooh! Rad! Blow ’um head over ’um’s ears!” grunted the giant.
That evening Tom and his father discussed the accusation against Mr. Newton, though as they had heard few particulars there was little that could be said except that unbounded faith in him was expressed.
Tom was in his office early the next morning—much earlier than usual, in fact, for he wanted to work on a new idea in regard to his plan for stopping trains automatically so that collisions or other accidents would be avoided. It was Tom’s hope that this invention could eventually be applied to his powerful electric locomotive, about which details have been given in another volume.
Tom was soon deep in a mass and maze of figures, computing the power needed to stop such an immense force as was represented by his big electric machine. He was considering a wireless attachment to bring automatically into play the stopping force when Eradicate shuffled into the room. The colored man was chuckling.
“Well, what is it now, Rad?” asked Tom, not altogether pleased at being interrupted.
“Ha! Ha! Dat Koku giant, he sleepin’ yit!” chuckled Rad.
“Is that all you come in to tell me—that Koku is sleeping yet?” exclaimed Tom, a bit wrathfully.
“He suah sleep!” went on Rad. “I git ahead ob him. I’s de early worm dat tickles de birds dis mawnin’.”
“What do you mean—early birds and worms?” and Tom smiled in spite of himself. “No one is going fishing, is there?”
“I doan know ef he’s gwin fishin’ or not, Massa Tom, but he’s outside waitin’ to come in.”
“Who is?” the young inventor inquired.
“Man whut wants to see you.”
“Good night, Rad! Why didn’t you say it was a visitor instead of gassing away about Koku sleeping and worms and birds and all that? Though I suppose you’re so proud of having gotten ahead of that giant of mine you can’t help feeling good.”
“Das right, Massa Tom!” chuckled Eradicate Sampson. “I done fool dat giant dish yeah mawnin’. But heah’s de letter he done gif me fo’ you,” and the colored man extended a card.
Tom accepted the card and holding it to the light read inscribed the name.
“Um—Ivan Barsky!” murmured the young inventor, casting his memory back over many names representing many men to see if this one fitted in anywhere. “I don’t seem to recall him,” he said.
“He done tole me dat he’s a stranger to you all,” confided Rad. “But he says it’s mighty ’portant business.”
“Perhaps it is—to him,” chuckled Tom, who was accustomed to having many strangers call on him for help or to ask him to lend his talents toward perfecting some crazy invention. “Well, Rad, show him in.”
“Yas, sah,” and the colored man shuffled out, to return presently ushering in a man at whom Tom shot a quick look. The youth saw before him a man of short stature but powerful build. He had a shock of black, bushy hair, and it was difficult to tell where his hair left off and his beard began, the latter also being black and bushy.
“The name Ivan was right,” thought Tom. “He’s a Russian all the way through.”
“Mr. Swiftski?” asked the man in questioning tones, and with a trace of surprise, seemingly.
“You can leave off theski,” said Tom. “But I’m Mr. Swift.”
“Pardon—but eet is that I do not the talk of your country know so well. In my talk there are so many who are like that. But your pardon I again ask—eet is to see so young a man that I am taken by astonishment.”
“You’re a pretty slick article,” said Tom to himself. “I don’t know that I’m going to like you, but I’ll give you one more chance.”
CHAPTER VIFIRE
“Sit down,” said Tom, realizing that he had not as yet extended this ordinary courtesy to his visitor. “What can I do for you?” he went on.
“You are the one I want to see—yes?” inquired Ivan Barsky, in laborious English, halting for many of his words.
“Well, I’m Tom Swift,” was the answer.
“I have documents to Tom Swift,” went on the man. “But I had—what you say—expected to see an older personage.”
“Oh, I guess I’m old enough,” replied Tom, with a smile. “But my father is older. However, he has retired from the active business of the concern, so I reckon you’ll have to deal with me.”
“It is of a pleasure to do so, I assure you,” and the man smiled, showing his white teeth amid the blackness of his beard. “Please to read these.”
He extended to Tom a sheaf of letters and documents, which appeared to be epistles of introduction. Some were written in what Tom recognized as Russian and bore imposing stamps. These last, with a smile, the inventor passed back to Mr. Barsky saying:
“These don’t mean anything to me.”
“They vouch for me in my country—Russia,” was the reply. “They are from—what shall I call heem—the Central Committee.”
“I don’t know much about Russian affairs,” said Tom. “But I’ll see what these letters in English have to say. But before I go on, what is it you want of me? If it is to help you finance an invention, I tell you now I will take on nothing new. If it is to work on some machine you have started, that, too, is out of the question. So it may save your time, and mine, also, if I tell you this.”
“Thank you, I have nothing of these,” said the visitor. “Eet is that I wish to work for you. I am an expert—what you call—mecheechanic,” and he put several unneeded syllables in the word. “Also I make those what you call—models.”
“Oh, a pattern-maker!” exclaimed Tom. “I understand. Well, excuse me and I’ll look over your credentials.”
He found several letters from well known firms in the United States, saying that Ivan Barsky had worked for them and had been most satisfactory. He was spoken of as a good mechanic and model-maker.
One letter rather raised Tom’s suspicions, for at the conclusion it stated:
“We do not vouch for the morals of Ivan Barsky, though, as far as we have observed, he has a quiet, orderly disposition.”
“We do not vouch for the morals of Ivan Barsky, though, as far as we have observed, he has a quiet, orderly disposition.”
“I reckon that was written by some secretary who feared he was dealing with a Bolshevist,” thought Tom. “Well, we may have some of that ilk in the shop, but as long as they mind their own business I can’t say anything. It’s a part of their religion, I guess; and I don’t believe Bolshevism will ever get a hold here. However, if I do take on this chap—and I may, for I need a model-maker—I’ll keep my eye on him.”
Turning to his visitor, Tom handed back the letters and said:
“These speak very well of you—as a workman.”
The man may have caught Tom’s hidden meaning, for he burst out with:
“That is all I am offering you—my talents as a worker. For the rest, eet is my own affair!”
“Exactly,” agreed Tom. “Well, I’m inclined to give you a trial, for we need some extra help just now. Wait, I’ll see if my father is up yet.”
Going to the telephone that was connected with his father’s own room, Tom noticed that the door leading into the small room where he had stored his chest of secrets was open, leaving the heavy box in full view. Tom closed the door, though not before he had caught the dark and snapping eyes of his visitor fixed on the chest.
“Rad must have opened that door,” thought Tom, a trifle put out by the incident. “I must tell him to be more careful. He is getting old and careless. But I hate to get rid of the faithful fellow.”
Mr. Swift was up, and he told Tom that he would come down and talk to the Russian. In spite of the latter’s labored English—he pronounced all save a few words very well, except for a peculiar intonation—Ivan Barsky was able to give a good account of himself. He answered Mr. Swift’s questions intelligently and showed that he had been well apprenticed in machinist work and in the making of models and patterns.
“A model-maker is what I’d really take him on for, if you think it’s wise to hire him,” said Tom to his father in a low voice as they discussed the matter in the far end of the office. “I am working on the new automatic stop invention, and a great many models will be needed. Our men are busy on other matters. We might give this fellow a trial.”
“Well, Tom, you know I don’t usually interfere in the shop matters,” said Mr. Swift. “I appreciate the fact that you want to get your new invention started. But I would think twice before I hired this man once.”
“Why Dad?”
“Well, for one thing, I don’t like his looks.”
“I don’t, either. But we have just as dangerous and anarchistic-looking fellows out in the other shops.”
“I know, Tom, but they have been with us for years.”
“Yes. But when they first came their appearance was against them. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll put this Barsky to work. But I’ll tell Jackson to keep an eye on him.”
“All right. But it’s against my better judgment,” and Mr. Swift shook his head as he glanced toward the foreigner. “Still, he may do good work for you, and speed is essential just now. But have him watched.”
“I will, Dad. And now I won’t trouble you and further. Here comes Ned, and we’ll get started on the daily grind.”
Mr. Swift, who was writing a book on certain mechanical principles, was glad to be released so he could go to his literary labors. After his father’s departure Tom called a man from the shop and sent his strange caller out to be put to work.
“Who is his Royal Whiskerisky?” asked Ned, as he put on his office coat and took his place at his desk.
“His name is Barsky—Ivan Barsky,” replied Tom. “I’ve just hired him,” and he gave a brief story of the caller.
“Hum—Barsky,” mused Ned, with a smile. “Well, all I have to say is that I hope his bite isn’t as bad as his bark-sky!” and he put his arm in front of his face to ward off a missile which he expected Tom would throw at him following this atrocious joke.
“Men have been shot at sunrise for less than that,” chuckled the young inventor. “However, that reminds me, I must tell Jackson to keep his weather eye peeled for this chap. I don’t want him walking off with any valuable templates.”
He sent for the foreman, giving him some instructions about the new employee, and Mr. Jackson said:
“I’ll look after him, Tom. I saw him go into the pattern shop and sized him up as a tough customer. Though sometimes those fellows do mighty good work. And, as you say, we do need an extra man or two.”
Then while Ned plunged into the financial affairs of the company, which was his department, Tom and his foreman went over certain matters that needed looking after. For the Swift Construction Company did a certain amount of manufacturing, and orders were heavy at this season of the year. So it was not until nearly noon that Tom found a chance to ask his chum:
“How’s your father? Did he get over the shock?”
“Somewhat,” answered Ned.
“Of course he isn’t going back there to work?” went on Tom.
“I should say not! He doesn’t know yet what to do. In fact, he’s like a man without a country.”
“Why not bring him here?” suggested Tom quickly. “Jackson tells me that they are rushed out in the shop on certain lines. This will mean more office work, Ned, and I’m sure you’ve already got all you can handle. I’d be glad to have your father here—that is, if he’d like to come.”
“Oh, I’m sure he would, Tom, only——”
“Only what?”
“I know he wouldn’t like to think that you’d taken him on out of charity.”
“Stow that talk!” broke in Tom. “That’s all nonsense! We need an expert accountant in addition to you, Ned. And while I can’t offer your father as responsible a position as he held with the investment concern, still I’d be glad to have him come here.”
“He’ll come, Tom, I’ll guarantee that. I’ll telephone him.”
So it was arranged, and that afternoon Mr. Newton was given a desk near that of his son in the office.
For several days wheels were rapidly humming in the Swift shops. As Tom had said, orders were coming in with a rush, and this, together with work on new inventions, kept the whole place busy.
“How’s your Bolshevist coming on, Tom?” asked Ned one day.
“Oh, Barsky? Why, he seems to be doing very well, so Jackson tells me,” was the answer. “He minds his own business and he’s a regular wizard at pattern making. He hasn’t had a chance to show what sort of a machinist he is, but I reckon he’ll do. In fact, Jackson says, in spite of his rather terrorizing appearance, that the man is a find.”
“Glad of it,” replied the young manager. “It’s always a sort of satisfaction to find you’ve misjudged a man on the right side. Now in regard to this order from the Simplex Supply Company, if we ship them a hundred gross of those dashers that ought to keep them supplied for a month, and we can then use the machinery to turn out those candy-wrapping machines for the Cocoa Company.”
“All right, Ned, I’ll leave that to you. I’ve got troubles of my own here. Hello, that can’t be the noon whistle, can it?” cried Tom, as a blast smote the air. He looked up at the clock on the wall, noting it was barely eleven, and then Ned, after a glance from the window, cried:
“It’s the fire alarm, Tom! There’s a blaze in the pattern shop!”
A moment later several voices took up the shouts of:
“Fire! Fire! Fire!”
CHAPTER VIIA HURRIED EXIT
Whilea fire is always a dangerous and alarming matter in a big shop or a factory, that contingency has been thought of and plans made to meet the emergency. It was this way in the shops of the Swift Construction Company. They had organized a fire-fighting force, and in each shop there was a reel of hose in addition to several chemical extinguishers, the result of Tom’s own inventive genius.
Besides this, a series of whistle alarms had been worked out; a certain number of blasts on the big steam siren giving the location of the blaze. And it was the booming out of this whistle that now sent out the alarm.
“Come on, Ned!” Tom cried.
Mr. Newton, dropping his books, ran with the young men.
“It’s in the pattern shop, all right!” cried Tom as he sped along. “I hope it doesn’t get to those new models Barsky has been working on for my train-stopping device. He’s got some of my original drawings out there.”
Every one connected with the Swift enterprises knew the menace of fire, and when that whistle blew every man and boy dropped what he was doing and rushed to the location of the blaze.
Eradicate was driving an old horse hitched to a cultivator in the garden, and when he heard the whistle the old colored man slapped the reins down on his animal’s back and shouted:
“G’lang! Git a move on! We’s got to help put out dat fiah!”
But it was impossible to get up any speed with a cultivator, the pointed teeth of which bit deep into the earth as the old horse started forward under the urge of voice and flapping reins. Seeing that he was likely to be held there in the garden, Rad hastily unhitched the horse, leaped on its back, and then, with the traces flapping and jingling, rode to the scene of the blaze.
Koku, when he was not using his great strength to advantage at the works, employed himself about the Swift house and grounds. He happened to be watering the lawn just when the fire whistle blew.
“Ho! Me got just the t’ing for fire!” cried Koku. “Take squirty hose to ’um an’ put ’um out!”
Off he started on a run, but was soon brought to a standstill when he reached the limits of the hose which was screwed fast to a faucet. But a little thing like this did not bother the giant.
“You no come I make you come!” he cried.
Exerting but a little of his terrible strength, Koku gave one yank on the hose. It parted. Then, with one end dangling in his big hands while the other end, from which the water was still spurting, was attached to the faucet, the giant ran to the fire with the useless bit of rubber.
It happened that Eradicate and Koku reached the pattern shop at the same time, the giant with his hose and the colored man on his horse.
“I put out fire!” yelled the giant. “See! I bring hose!”
And then for the first time he seemed to realize that in pulling the hose apart he had cut himself off from the supply of water. A queer, blank look came over his face.
“Hose he come with me—water no come!” murmured the giant.
“Golly! Ef dat ain’t jest like de big booby!” chuckled Eradicate. “Dat’s about all de sense he’s got!”
It was Eradicate’s triumph, for Koku was completely flabbergasted by pulling the hose in twain and did not have a word to say.
However, this was only a side issue. Before Tom’s two jealous servants had arrived some men in the pattern shop had already unreeled the fire hose there and a stream was playing on the blaze, while others came up, some with a portable chemical extinguisher on wheels—a powerful fire-fighting engine—and a little stream from this served to end all danger.
Tom directed the work of his men, and had the satisfaction of seeing the danger rapidly pass. The blaze was in a pile of wood and other refuse in the pattern shop, and little real damage was done.
“Well, we came out of that rather better than I expected,” remarked Tom, as he stood with Ned and Mr. Newton surveying the still smoking interior of the pattern shop.
“I should say so!” agreed the manager, for well he knew that it needed but a small blaze to destroy many valuable patterns.
“What is it, Tom?” asked Mr. Swift, as he came up as fast as he could, having heard the alarm of fire.
“All over—nothing worth worrying about,” Tom answered. “Fifty dollars will cover our loss, and we’ve got insurance on everything.”
Mr. Swift looked in, to make sure just what had happened, and asked a few questions, to one of which a man replied:
“Yes, the fire started near where that new fellow was working.”
“You mean that Russian, Barsky?” asked Mr. Swift sharply.
“I think that’s his name,” the man replied. “We call him Whiskers in the shop.”
“There, Tom, I told you not to hire that man!” said the young inventor’s father in a low voice.
“But he had nothing to do with the fire, Dad,” explained Tom. “He wasn’t even near when it happened. I inquired about that. The thing happened because a plumber’s blow torch which one of the men was using to burn off some stuff overturned when a pulley broke and fell on it. Nobody’s fault at all. It was just one of those accidents you can never foresee. No one knew the pulley was split. The man using the blow torch had taken all precautions, but he couldn’t count on a pulley falling on it from above. And Barsky wasn’t even there.”
“Um! Well, I don’t like him just the same,” said Mr. Swift.
“I guess it’s all over,” remarked Ned to his chum when it was seen that the last, smouldering spark was out.
“Yes,” agreed Tom. “I must get back to my desk. I want to finish those computations by noon if I can, for I have to go to Mansburg this afternoon.”
“I’d better check up on this fire,” observed Ned. “There’ll have to be a report made of it to the insurance company, small as the damage was, and we’re entitled to a claim.”
“I’ll leave it to you,” returned Tom. “You’d better splice that hose, Koku,” he said, with a smile. “And look out for your horse, Rad. He might kick at some of the men. He’s a cross old beast.”
“He won’t lessen I tells him to. An’ they ain’t but one pusson I’d like to hab him plant his hoofs on!” snorted the colored man.
“I think I can guess who that is,” remarked Ned, with a chuckle.
The men from the other shops dispersed to their several places, the fire hose was reeled back into place, and Rad urged his horse back to the garden cultivator. Koku, still staring in puzzled fashion at the half length of broken hose in his hand, wandered back to his post, murmuring:
“Hose, he come along ob me—water, he no come. How can do?”
Clearly it was a problem too deep for his brain.
Tom hurriedly entered his private office, his mind intent on many things but chiefly concerned with a knotty problem in applying sufficient force to a train to stop it and at the same time, doing no damage to the passengers or to the tracks or the train.
“It’s got to be done with a recoil system, either of springs or hydraulic pistons,” said the young inventor.
As he entered the room Tom was surprised to see the form of Ivan Barsky, the new Russian pattern maker, making a hurried exit from it by the rear.
For a moment the young man was too surprised to quite take in the significance of the matter. As he slowly realized that strict orders had been posted to the effect that none of the men from the shop was to enter the private offices unbidden, Tom called:
“What were you doing in here?”
Sharp suspicion entered his mind.
Who was this foreigner and what was his game?