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You are what you
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Room | Tom
Swift And His Submarine Boat
Tom Swift And
His Submarine Boat
Mr. Berg is Suspicious
Not for long did the young inventor endeavor to break his
way out of the water-ballast tank by striking the heavy
sides of it. Tom realized that this was worse than useless.
He listened intently, but could hear nothing. Even the
retreating footsteps of Andy Foger were inaudible.
"This certainly is a pickle!" exclaimed Tom aloud. "I
can't understand how he ever got here. He must have traced
us after we went to Shopton in the airship the last time.
Then he sneaked in here. Probably he saw me enter, but how
could he knew enough to work the worm gear and close the
door? Andy has had some experience with machinery, though,
and one of the vaults in the bank where his father is a
director closed just like this tank. That's very likely how
he learned about it. But I've got to do something else
besides thinking of that sneak, Andy. I've got to get out of
here. Let's see if I can work the gear from inside."
Before he started, almost, Tom knew that it would be
impossible. The tank was made to close from the interior of
the submarine, and the heavy door, built to withstand the
pressure of tons of water, could not be forced except by the
"No use trying that," concluded the lad, after a tiring
attempt to force back the sliding door with his hands. "I've
got to call for help."
He shouted until the vibrations in the confined space made
his ears ring, and the mere exertion of raising his voice to
the highest pitch made his heart beat quickly. Yet there
came no response. He hardly expected that there would be
any, for with his father and Mr. Sharp away, the engineer
absent on an errand, and Mrs. Baggert in the house some
distance off, there was no one to hear his calls for help,
even if they had been capable of penetrating farther than
the extent of the shed, where the under-water craft had been
"I've got to wait until some of them come out here,"
thought Tom. "They'll be sure to release me and make a
search. Then it will be easy enough to call to them and tell
them where I am, once they are inside the shed. But--" He
paused, for a horrible fear came over him. "Suppose they
should come--too late?" The tank was airtight. There was
enough air in it to last for some time, but, sooner or
later, it would no longer support life. Already, Tom
thought, it seemed oppressive, though probably that was his
"I must get out!" he repeated frantically. "I'll die in
Again he tried to shove back the steel door. Then he
repeated his cries until be was weary. No one answered him.
He fancied once he could hear footsteps in the shed, and
thought, perhaps, it was Andy, come back to gloat over him.
Then Tom knew the red-haired coward would not dare venture
back. We must do Andy the justice to say that he never
realized that he was endangering Tom's life. The bully had
no idea the tank was airtight when he closed it. He had seen
Tom enter and a sudden whim came to him to revenge himself.
But that did not help the young inventor any. There was no
doubt about it now--the air was becoming close. Tom had been
imprisoned nearly two hours, and as he was a healthy, strong
lad, he required plenty of oxygen. There was certainly less
than there had been in the tank. His head began to buzz, and
there was a ringing in his ears.
Once more he fell upon his knees, and his fingers sought
the small projections of the gear on the inside of the door
He could no more budge the mechanism than a child could open
a burglar-proof vault.
"It's no use," he moaned, and he sprawled at full length
on the floor of the tank, for there the air was purer. As he
did so his fingers touched something. He started as they
closed around the handle of a big monkey wrench. It was one
he had brought into the place with him. Imbued with new hope
be struck a match and lighted his lantern, which he had
allowed to go out as it burned up too much of the oxygen. By
the gleam of it he looked to see if there were any bolts or
nuts he could loosen with the wrench, in order to slide the
door back. It needed but a glance to show him the futility
"It's no go," he murmured, and he let the wrench fall to
the floor. There was a ringing, clanging sound, and as it
smote his ears Tom sprang up with an exclamation.
"That's the thing!" he cried. "I wonder I didn't think of
it before. I can signal for help by pounding on the sides of
the tank with the wrench. The blows will carry a good deal
farther than my voice would." Every one knows how far the
noise of a boiler shop, with hammers falling on steel
plates, can be heard; much farther than can a human voice.
Tom began a lusty tattoo on the metal sides of the tank.
At first he merely rattled out blow after blow, and then, as
another thought came to him, he adopted a certain plan. Some
time previous, when he and Mr. Sharp had planned their trip
in the air, the two had adopted a code of signals. As it was
difficult in a high wind to shout from one end of the
airship to the other, the young inventor would sometimes
pound on the pipe which ran from the pilot house of the Red
Cloud to the engine-room. By a combination of numbers,
simple messages could be conveyed. The code included a call
for help. Forty-seven was the number, but there had never
been any occasion to use it.
Tom remembered this now. At once he ceased his
indiscriminate hammering, and began to beat out regularly--
one, two, three, four--then a pause, and seven blows would
be given. Over and over again he rang out this number--forty
seven--the call for help.
"If Mr. Sharp only comes back he will hear that, even in
the house," thought poor Tom "Maybe Garret or Mrs. Baggert
will hear it, too, but they won't know what it means.
They'll think I'm just working on the submarine."
It seemed several hours to Tom that he pounded out that
cry for aid, but, as he afterward learned, it was only a
little over an hour. Signal after signal he sent vibrating
from the steel sides of the tank. When one arm tired he
would use the other. He grew weary, his head was aching, and
there was a ringing in his ears; a ringing that seemed as if
ten thousand bells were jangling out their peals, and he
could barely distinguish his own pounding.
Signal after signal he sounded. It was becoming like a
dream to him, when suddenly, as he paused for a rest, he
heard his name called faintly, as if far away.
"Tom! Tom! Where are you?"
It was the voice of Mr. Sharp. Then followed the tones of
the aged inventor.
"My poor boy! Tom, are you still alive?"
"Yes, dad! In the starboard tank!" the lad gasped out, and
then he lost his senses. When he revived he was lying on a
pile of bagging in the submarine shop, and his father and
the aeronaut were bending over him.
"Are you all right, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift.
"Yes--I--I guess so," was the hesitating answer. "Yes,"
the lad added, as the fresh air cleared his head. "I'll be
all right pretty soon. Have you seen Andy Foger?"
"Did he shut you in there?" demanded Mr. Swift.
"I'll have him arrested!" declared Mr. Swift "I'll go to
town as soon as you're in good shape again and notify the
"No, don't," pleaded Tom. "I'll take care of Andy myself.
I don't really believe he knew how serious it was. I'll
settle with him later, though."
"Well, it came mighty near being serious," remarked Mr.
Sharp grimly. "Your father and I came back a little sooner
than we expected, and as soon as I got near the house I
heard your signal. I knew what it was in a moment. There
were Mrs. Baggert and Garret talking away, and when I asked
them why they didn't answer your call they said they thought
you were merely tinkering with the machinery. But I knew
better. It's the first time we ever had a use for 'forty-
"And I hope it will be the last," replied the young
inventor with a faint smile. "But I'd like to know what Andy
Foger is doing in this neighborhood."
Tom was soon himself again and able to go to the house,
where he found Mrs. Baggert brewing a big basin of catnip
tea, under the impression that it would in some way be good
for his. She could not forgive herself for not having
answered his signal, and as for Mr. Jackson, he had started
for a doctor as soon as he learned that Tom was shut up in
the tank. The services of the medical man were canceled by
telephone, as there was no need for him, and the engineer
came back to the house.
Tom was fully himself the next day, and aided his father
and Mr. Sharp in putting the finishing touches to the
Advance. It was found that some alteration was required in
the auxiliary propellers, and this, much to the regret of
the young inventor, would necessitate postponing the trial a
"But we'll have her in the water next Friday." promised
"Aren't you superstitious about Friday?" asked the
"Not a bit of it," replied the aged inventor. "Tom,"
added, "I wish you would go in the house and get me the roll
of blueprints you'll find on my desk."
As the lad neared the cottage he saw, standing in front of
the place, a small automobile. A man had just descended
from it, and it needed but a glance to show that he was Mr.
"Ah, good morning, Mr. Swift," greeted Mr. Berg. "I wish
to see your father, but as I don't wish to lay myself open
to suspicions by entering the shop, perhaps you will ask him
to step here."
"Certainly," answered the lad, wondering why the agent had
returned. Getting the blueprints, and asking Mr. Berg to sit
down on the porch, Tom delivered the message.
"You come back with me, Tom," said his father. "I want you
to be a witness to what he says. I'm not going to get into
trouble with these people."
Mr. Berg came to the point at once.
"Mr. Swift," he said, "I wish you would reconsider your
determination not to enter the Government trials. I'd like
to see you compete. So would my firm."
"There is no use going over that again," replied the aged
inventor. "I have another object in view now than trying for
the Government prize. What it is I can't say, but it may
develop in time--if we are successful," and he looked at
his son, smiling the while.
Mr. Berg tried to argue, but it was of no avail Then he
changed his manner, and said:
"Well, since you won't, you won't, I suppose. I'll go back
and report to my firm. Have you anything special to do this
morning?" he went on to Tom.
"Well, I can always find something to keep me busy,"
replied the lad, "but as for anything special--"
"I thought perhaps you'd like to go for a trip in my
auto," interrupted Mr. Berg. "I had asked a young man who is
stopping at the same hotel where I am to accompany me, but
he has unexpectedly left, and I don't like to go alone. His
name was--let me see. I have a wretched memory for names,
but it was something like Roger or Moger."
"Foger!" cried Tom. "Was it Andy Foger?"
"Yes, that was it. Why, do you know him?" asked Mr. Berg
in some surprise.
"I should say so," replied Tom. "He was the cause of what
might have resulted in something serious for me," and the
lad explained about being imprisoned in the tank.
"You don't tell me!" cried Mr. Berg. "I had no idea he was
that kind of a lad. You see, his father is one of the
directors of the firm by whom I am employed. Andy came from
home to spend a few weeks at the seaside, and stopped at the
same hotel that I did. He went off yesterday afternoon, and
I haven't seen him since, though he promised to go for a
ride with me. He must have come over here and entered your
shop unobserved. I remember now he asked me where the
submarine was being built that was going to compete with our
firm's, and I told him. I didn't think he was that kind of
a lad. Well, since he's probably gone back home, perhaps you
will come for a ride with me, Tom."
"I'm afraid I can't go, thank you," answered the lad. "We
are very busy getting our submarine in shape for a trial.
But I can imagine why Andy left so hurriedly. He probably
learned that a doctor had been summoned for me, though, as
it happened, I didn't need one. But Andy probably got
frightened at what he had done, and left. I'll make him
more sorry, when I meet him."
"Don't blame you a bit," commented Mr. Berg. "Well, I must
be getting back."
He hastened out to his auto, while Tom and his father
watched the agent.
"Tom, never trust that man," advised the aged inventor
"Just what I was about to remark," said his son. "Well,
let's get back to work. Queer that he should come here
again, and it's queer about Andy Foger."
Father and son returned to the machine shop, while Mr.
Berg puffed away in his auto. A little later, Tom having
occasion to go to a building near the boundary line of the
cottage property which his father had hired for the season,
saw, through the hedge that bordered it, an automobile
standing in the road. A second glance showed him that it was
Mr. Berg's machine. Something had gone wrong with it, and
the agent had alighted to make an adjustment.
The young inventor was close to the man, though the latter
was unaware of his presence.
"Hang it all!" Tom heard Mr. Berg exclaim to himself. "I
wonder what they can be up to? They won't enter the
Government contests, and they won't say why. I believe
they're up to some game, and I've got to find out what it
is. I wonder if I couldn't use this Foger chap?"
"He seems to have it in for this Tom Swift," Mr. Berg went
on, still talking to himself, though not so low but that Tom
could hear him. "I think I'll try it. I'll get Andy Foger to
sneak around and find out what the game is. He'll do it, I
By this time the auto was in working order again, and the
agent took his seat and started off.
"So that's how matters lie, eh?" thought Tom. "Well, Mr.
Berg, we'll be doubly on the lookout for you after this. As
for Andy Foger, I think I'll make him wish he'd never locked
me in that tank. So you expect to find out our 'game,' eh,
Mr. Berg? Well, when you do know it, I think it will
astonish you. I only hope you don't learn what it is until
we get at that sunken treasure, though."
But alas for Tom's hopes. Mr. Berg did learn of the object
of the treasure-seekers, and sought to defeat them, as we
shall learn as our story proceeds.
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Room | Tom
Swift And His Submarine Boat