CHAPTER VIII
CUNNINGHAM ON THE WIRE
Three sharp whistles from the locomotive seemed to indicate, on the part of its driver, an acceptance of the challenge. In answer Tom gave three toots of his own horn and the race was on.
No better speedway could have been devised for a test of the comparative powers of the fast freight and Tom Swift's House on Wheels than the concrete highway and the steel track along which the respective machines were now rushing. There was not another automobile in sight along a stretch of several miles, and no other train on the railroad. It seemed to have been made to order.
"Think you've got a chance, Tom?" yelled Ned. It was necessary to yell, for the puffing, panting locomotive was so close that its exhaust almost drowned one's voice. Nor was the House on Wheels altogether quiet, for there was a subdued rumble and roar at its present high speed which made talking anything but easy.
"I've got a good chance!" answered Tom, with a grim tightening of his lips as his hands grasped more firmly the steering wheel. "I'm going to beat this baby."
"It's a fast freight, Tom, the fruit express. It has the right of way over everything except passenger trains. It's the crack freight of this road and makes almost as good time as some of the through passenger trains."
"Can't help that," replied the young inventor. "I'm not going to sit back and take his smoke!"
Indeed, there seemed to be little danger of this. For though the freight had crept up on the House on Wheels when she was gaining headway, the two machines were not long on even terms before Tom's House began to pull away.
But if he thought to gain an easy victory, he was mistaken. A quick glance showed that the fireman was busy shoveling coal under the boiler of the freight engine. Out belched volumes of black smoke and the increased staccato of the exhaust showed that not only was the throttle being opened wider but that the link motion was being taken up, making a corresponding quicker cut off of steam at one end of the cylinders and a duplicate fast expulsion on the other end.
"She's creeping up on us, Tom," observed Ned, looking back when, after a little run, they had distanced the freight.
"We've got to expect that. But I've got something in reserve yet. Though I daren't let the House out for all she's worth, I can still get the accelerator down a few notches without damage. The race isn't over yet."
Tom had taken part in many speed contests, and he knew how to jockey with the best of them. He purposely let the freight slowly crawl up on even terms with him. This was due not only to the increased speed of the freight but also to Tom's slight slackening of his pace.
"I'll fool this bird!" he told Ned.
And when the engine was again up in front, so that the pilot was in line with the bumper of the House on Wheels, Tom turned on more gas, after a momentary cut-off, and again shot ahead.
He and Ned could almost see, in fancy, the chagrin on the faces of the engineer and fireman as they were thus gently mocked. But the railroad men were good sports and were not going to give up easily.
Again there was a frantic shoveling of coal, and there must have been a more advantageous adjustment of the draft, or perhaps a forced one was turned on, for suddenly the safety valve popped, which, at the speed the engine had already attained, showed an increased pressure of steam.
"He's coming right after us!" cried Ned, as they swayed along.
On no other road but this concrete highway would it have been safe to run the House on Wheels at the speed she was going. And few drivers other than Tom Swift would have been capable of handling the heavy machine with such skill and judgment.
The race was now on in earnest. Tom knew that it would not be safe to push his motor much faster. Not that it was not capable of a higher rate, but it would need to be broken in somewhat before he dared risk it. On the other hand, the locomotive was not thus limited. So if it was not yet at its maximum, there would be no danger in pushing the mechanism to that point. And if the maximum was greater than Tom's temporary one, then he would lose.
However, though forced draft was used, the big freighter appeared to have reached the limit. For perhaps half a mile she held her own on even terms with the House on Wheels. Then Ned asked:
"Can you do a bit better, Tom?"
"I'm going to risk it," was the quick answer.
The House slowly began to draw ahead and there was no replying response on the part of the locomotive. Foot by foot Tom and Ned drew away. They had a glimpse of the fireman desperately shoveling coal, but to no purpose.
Gradually the gap that separated the two widened, and though brakemen on top of the cars yelled and seemed to urge their mates to greater efforts, it was not to be.
Tom Swift pulled away and won the race by a good margin. Not much too soon, either, for when he was several lengths ahead the railroad branched away from the highway it had been paralleling for several miles and disappeared into the woods.
In recognition of the beating by a better rival, the engineer saluted with three long blasts, to which Tom responded with like signals from his horn.
"Well, that's that!" remarked Ned, as they slowed down, for they were approaching another steep hill.
"Yes," assented Tom. "It's all over and I'm satisfied. The House on Wheels couldn't have done better. Not a strain and not a bearing overheated," he added, as he brought the machine to a gradual stop and made a hasty examination.
"Going to take the hill?" asked Ned.
"No, we'll give her a rest and drift back," was the answer. "She has done her duty and there's no use putting on too much strain."
"That's right," agreed Ned.
He had alighted from the driver's seat with Tom to stretch his legs, and as the two were climbing back into the compartment they saw a sporty runabout flash past them. Two men, one young, were in it and they seemed much interested in the House on Wheels at the side of the road. One of them leaned out and looked back.
At the sight of his face Ned exclaimed:
"Did you notice him, Tom?"
"No. Who was he?"
"That rat-faced chap who got into your shop and tried to put this motor out of business."
"No!"
"I'm sure of it! Come on, let's chase after 'em!" proposed Ned eagerly. But Tom Swift shook his head.
"We haven't a chance," said the young inventor. "They've got a much faster machine than mine and a good start. The House wasn't designed to race runabouts, though it can hold its own in a fast freight race. Let him go, whoever he is."
The trip back to the Swift plant was without incident, except that when Tom and Ned left the concrete highway and got into the heavier traffic they were somewhat delayed by the crowding around and near approach of other motorists who showed much curiosity regarding the strange, big machine.
"How was it, Tom?" asked his father, as they turned in through the big gates of the plant.
"Couldn't have been better, Dad," and he gave a short account of the tryout trip, including the race.
"Dat's fine!" commented Eradicate who, with the freedom of an old family servant, had been listening. "Better put her to bed now, Massa Tom, an' let her hab a good night's rest. Dat's what I used to do wif de race hosses down in ole Virginny."
"'Tisn't a bad idea," returned Tom, with a smile. "Give the motor a thorough examination and test for any possible strains," Tom told one of his men, who came out to help put the House on Wheels into the special garage that had been built for it. "I pushed the motor pretty hard, for a new one, and I want to be sure it's in good shape."
"I'll look after it thoroughly, Mr. Swift," promised the man.
Scarcely had Tom and Ned reached the private office, where some matters awaited their attention, than the telephone bell rang. Answering it, Tom showed some amazement when he learned the identity of the man at the other end of the wire.
"This is Basil Cunningham, Mr. Swift," came the loud, somewhat rasping tones of the burly Englishman. "We'll let bygones be bygones, if it's all the same to you. I want you to take my contract and I'll add a special ten per cent. bonus if you will rush it through for me."
For a moment Tom Swift was too surprised to reply. But he gathered his wits together in a few seconds and called back:
"I wouldn't take your contract, Mr. Cunningham, for even an additional bonus of twenty per cent!"
"You won't?"
"No!"
"Is that your final answer?"
"It is."
"But look here, Mr. Swift," and Cunningham's voice was almost whining now, "what objection have you to making these machines for me?"
"Will you tell me what you intend to use them for?" countered Tom.
"No, I will not!" was the answer snapped back quickly. "It isn't any of your affair!"
From the manner in which Cunningham banged the receiver on the hook, Tom felt that the Englishman was in a towering rage. Ned could only guess at half of the conversation, but Tom gave it to him in detail a little later.
"Why do you think he is so secretive about what the machines are to be used for?" the young financial manager wanted to know.
"Because there's a nigger in the woodpile—that's my opinion!"
"You still think Cunningham intends to infringe?"
"I do. The fact that he comes back to me after my first refusal shows that he has tried to get other concerns to take up his work and has failed."
"It would seem so," agreed Ned.
"Well, this all goes to show that my first impression is right," went on Tom. "Cunningham is a crook, I'm sure."
"Then we're better off leaving him alone," commented Ned.
They were about to go over some business papers again when the telephone rang once more.
"You answer, Ned," directed Tom. "If it's Cunningham say I will have no further communication with him!"
Ned picked up the instrument, listened a moment, and then cried:
"What's that? Who are you? What do you mean? Don't be a coward! Give me your name!"
"What's the matter?" asked Tom when Ned, by impatiently jiggling the receiver hook, indicated that the person at the other end of the wire had hung up. "Who was talking, Cunningham?"
"I don't think so. But it must have been one of his men. For he said: 'Tom Swift will regret not taking this contract! He'd better watch out!' I tried to make him tell who he was, but he wouldn't."
"So," said Tom musingly, and with a little smile, "they are beginning to threaten, are they? Well, I'm ready for them!"