Читать книгу Tom Swift and his Chest of Secrets; Or, Tracing the Stolen Inventions - Howard R Garis - Страница 5

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Mr. Damon was easily excited and quite likely to become enthusiastic over small matters. None knew this better than Tom Swift, and that, perhaps, accounted for the calm manner in which the young inventor received the news of “big interests” being after some of his ideas.

“Well, Tom, what do you say to it?” asked the odd man, as he strode about the private office, all trace of his recent crash having disappeared. “Shall I tell my friend Mr. Blythe to bring over his men who have the money?”

“No,” answered Tom slowly. “Just as much obliged to you, Mr. Damon. But don’t do it.”

“What, Tom Swift? Do you mean you won’t sell a part interest in your tidal engine and mill machinery for—say a million dollars?”

“Look here, Mr. Damon,” laughed Tom. “If Mr. Blythe or his friends were to walk in here now and lay down a million dollars in cash, or certified checks, I’m not saying but what I might accept their offer. A million dollars is a lot of money.

“I hardly believe, however, they would make a bona fide offer of anything like that amount for something of which they can have heard only rumors, for neither of those inventions is on the market yet—in fact, the mill machinery is hardly past the experimental stage.”

“Well, Tom,” slowly remarked the odd character, “maybe they wouldn’t exactly give you a million in cold cash. I may have been a little hasty in saying that. But Blythe certainly said there would be millions in it.”

“Maybe he meant for him,” suggested Ned pointedly.

“Hardly,” observed Tom. “Mr. Blythe is a square man and you can depend on what he says. But, as a matter of fact, I prefer to develop these inventions myself rather than sell them, or even an interest in them, at this stage of the game. What do you say, Dad?” and he turned toward his father.

“I agree with you, Tom,” answered the elder inventor. “I haven’t gone as deeply into these two latest ideas of yours as I have into some of the other things, but from what I have seen I believe they will be very valuable, and will help along human progress.

“We must think of that, as well as of the money we might make in certain inventions. It may be that this syndicate of men wishes to keep off the market something that might displace some present method they control. And it might be that Tom’s ideas would help save human life. In that case it would be your duty, Tom, to develop the matter, even if you never got a cent for it.”

“That’s the way I feel about it,” said Tom.

“Then we don’t go into this?” asked Ned, who, as usual on occasions like this, was making shorthand notes of the talk to be preserved for future reference.

“No, we’ll just drop it,” decided Tom. “I’ll go on trying to perfect the two devices, and later on, Mr. Damon, if I decide to sell an interest, I’ll let you know and you can tell Mr. Blythe. Shall I send him a formal declination through Ned or will you tell him? I, personally, think that as long as the offer has come indirectly through you, you had better be the messenger.”

“Oh, bless my ketchup bottle, Tom! you aren’t going to turn down that offer like this, are you?”

“I’m afraid I am, Mr. Damon.”

“And you agree with him, Mr. Swift?”

“Whatever my son says I shall stand by,” answered the old inventor, with a smile. “No hard words to you, Mr. Damon, you understand, but——”

“Oh, I’m not interested in it—only to help Tom!” was the hasty answer. “It doesn’t mean anything to me. I’m not working on a commission. All I want is to learn to run my new little plane. But I’m not going to let you stand in your own light like this, Tom. I’m going to tell Blythe to send those men over to see you!”

“No use!” laughed Tom, waving his hands. “I won’t be so discourteous, of course, as not to see them, but I won’t do any business with them.”

“Oh, maybe you will,” suggested Mr. Damon hopefully. “You don’t know yet any details of their offer, you know.”

At that moment another noise was heard outside the room.

“I tell master!” boomed out the voice of Koku, the giant.

“Go ’way, big man!” cried Eradicate. “Didn’t he send me fo’ de wheel an’ ain’t de wheel on now? I’m gwin tell him dat de plane am ready to run offen de roof.”

“No! I tell!” disputed Koku.

“They’re at it again!” murmured Ned.

“Shivering hoptoads!” cried Tom testily. “If they don’t stop this everlasting contention I’ll fire them both!”

He strode to the door just as Eradicate’s voice, tense, calm, and ominous exclaimed:

“Look yeah, big man! I’s gwin in an’ tell Massa Tom ’bout de plane bein’ ready. An’ ef you all doan stand to one side I’s gwin to bust you a lambaste in de nose wif dis yeah monkey wrench.”

The dire threat evidently had its effect, for when Tom opened the door Eradicate stood there, proudly smiling, and Koku, vanquished by the firm bearing of his small enemy, was hurrying around the corner.

“Yes, sah, Massa Tom,” said the colored man, with a broad grin as he fingered the large monkey wrench in his hands, “I’s done come to tell you dat Mistah Damon’s machine am all salubrious now an’ he kin ride it down offen de roof if so be as he likes.”

“Thanks, Rad! I’m going to do that at once!” broke in the odd man.

“Well, Mr. Damon, we’ll leave it to you, then, to communicate with Mr. Blythe,” Tom said. “We won’t send any letter.”

“No, don’t turn the offer down just yet,” pleaded Tom’s friend from Waterford. “You may regret it. Wait a few days. Now I’ll see if I can do a little better with the plane than I did at first.”

“We’ll go up and see that you get started right,” said Tom. “I’ll leave you in charge of the chest of secrets, dad, until I come back. I have about all my papers in, but I thought you might like to put in some of yours.”

“Yes, Tom, I should, thank you. Rad, I’ll ask you to help me gather them up from my office.”

Knowing his chest of valuable papers would be safe in the care of his father and Eradicate, the young inventor went with Ned and Mr. Damon to the roof.

The workmen had put on a new wheel and made one or two other repairs to the slightly damaged plane. A test of the motor showed that it was in fine running order, and Mr. Damon took his seat in the small cockpit.

“I suppose it’s all right to take off from here, isn’t it, Tom?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” replied the young inventor. “I’ve often done so with bigger planes than this.”

The roof over Tom’s office and the adjoining shop had been built with special adaptability to aeroplanes, and a little later, when the engine had throbbed and roared after starting, Mr. Damon had no difficulty in getting into the air.

The little plane gathered speed, sped across the roof, and, reaching the edge, dipped down a moment and then sprang into the air like a veritable bird, which it resembled more than it did anything else.

Mr. Damon was observed to lean over the edge of the cockpit, wave his hand and shout something down to those on the roof.

“Did you hear what he said?” asked Tom of his business manager.

“No; but it probably was that he’ll send Blythe over to see you,” chuckled Ned.

“He needn’t; it will be of no use. I’m going to work on the tidal engine and the mill machinery for my own purposes,” declared the young inventor.

Those on the roof watched for a time the soaring little plane, becoming smaller as it receded from view.

“He seems to know how to run it all right,” observed Ned, as he and Tom prepared to return to the office.

“Oh, yes, he just made that one mistake,” answered Tom. “He’s pretty careful as a rule. But I’ll never forget the look on his face as he sat on the ground after his motorcycle tried to climb a tree. It was the funniest thing I ever saw!” and Tom laughed at the recollection.

Mr. Swift was putting into the great oak chest some of his papers when the young men rejoined him. As Rad closed the lid and Tom snapped the locks, the telephone rang.

“I’ll answer,” offered Ned. “And shall I have Koku come here, Tom, and put that chest in the corner?”

“Yes, you’d better. We can’t budge it.”

“I’ll move it!” rashly offered Eradicate, but a tug at the handle on one end showed him the futility of pitting his feeble strength against the box. “By golly, she suah do stick to de flo’!” he gasped. “But ef I had mah strength I could do it!”

“Hello! Hello!” Ned was saying into the telephone. The room grew quiet and Tom heard his manager exclaim:

“You don’t mean it! No! The hound! Say, wait until I get over there!”

“What is it?” asked Tom, thinking perhaps some accident had befallen Mr. Damon. “What’s the matter, Ned?”

“Dirty work!” was the answer. “Dirty work, that’s what the matter is, Tom! My father has been falsely accused! I must go to him at once!”