Part 11 (2/2)
But, to the surprise of Tom and Mr. Sharp, the aged inventor shook his head when the subject was broached to him next day.
”Why won't you go, dad?” asked his son.
”I'll tell you,” replied Mr. Swift. ”I was keeping it a secret until I had made some advance in what I am engaged upon. But I don't want to go because I am on the verge of perfecting a new apparatus for submarine boats. It will revolutionize travel under the water, and I don't want to leave home until I finish it. There is another point to be considered. The government has offered a prize for an under-water boat of a new type, and I wish to try for it.”
”So that's what you've been working on, eh, dad?” asked his son.
”That's it, and, much as I should like to accompany you, I don't feel free to go. My mind would be distracted, and I need to concentrate myself on this invention. It will produce the most wonderful results, I'm sure. Besides, the government prize is no small one. It is fifty thousand dollars for a successful boat.”
Mr. Swift told something more about his submarine, but, as I expect to treat of that in another book, I will not dwell on it here, as I know you are anxious to learn what happened on the trip of the Red Cloud.
”Well,” remarked Mr. Sharp, somewhat dubiously, ”I wonder who we can get to go? We need someone besides you and I, Tom.”
”I s'pose I could get Eradicate Sampson, and his mule Boomerang,”
replied the lad with a smile. ”Yet I don't know--”
At that instant there was a tremendous racket outside. The loud puffing of an automobile could be heard, but mingled with it was the crash of wood, and then the whole house seemed jarred and shaken.
”Is it an earthquake?” exclaimed Mr. Swift, springing to his feet, and rus.h.i.+ng to the library windows.
”Something's happened!” cried Tom.
”Maybe an explosion of the airs.h.i.+p gas!” yelled Mr. Sharp, making ready to run to the balloon shed. But there was no need. The cras.h.i.+ng of wood ceased, and, above the puffing of an auto could be heard a voice exclaiming:
”Bless my very existence! Bless my cats and dogs! Good gracious! But I never meant to do this!”
Tom, his father and Mr. Sharp rushed to the long, low windows that opened on the veranda. There, on the porch, which it had mounted by way of the steps, tearing away part of the railing, was a large touring car; and, sitting at the steering wheel, in a dazed sort of manner, was Mr. Wakefield Damon.
”Bless my s.h.i.+rt studs!” he went on feebly. ”But I have done it now!”
”What's the matter?” cried Tom, hastening up to him. ”What happened?
Are you hurt?”
”Hurt? Not a bit of it! Bless my moonstone! It's the most lucky escape I ever had! But I've damaged your porch, and I haven't done my machine any good. Do you see anything of another machine chasing me?”
Tom looked puzzled, but glanced up and down, the road. Far down the highway could be discerned a cloud of dust, and, from the midst of it came a faint ”chug-chug.”
”Looks like an auto down there,” he said.
”Thank goodness! Bless my trousers, but I've escaped 'em!” cried the eccentric man from whom Tom had purchased his motor-cycle.
”Escaped who?” asked Mr. Swift.
”Those men. They were after me. But I may as well get out and explain.
Dear me! However will I ever get my car off your porch?” and Mr. Damon seemed quite distressed.
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