Chapter One

The Prize Offer

"Is this Tom Swift, the inventor of several airships?"

The man who had rung the bell glanced at the youth who

answered his summons.

"Yes, I'm Tom Swift," was the reply. "Did you wish to see me?"

"I do. I'm Mr. James Gunmore, secretary of the Eagle Park

Aviation Association. I had some correspondence with you

about a prize contest we are going to hold. I believe--"

"Oh, yes, I remember now," and the young inventor smiled

pleasantly as he opened wider the door of his home. "Won't

you come in? My father will be glad to see you. He is as

much interested in airships as I am." And Tom led the way to

the library, where the secretary of the aviation society was

soon seated in a big, comfortable leather chair.

"I thought we could do better, and perhaps come to some

decision more quickly, if I came to see you, than if we

corresponded," went on Mr. Gunmore. "I hope I haven't

disturbed you at any of your inventions," and the secretary

smiled at the youth.

"No. I'm through for to-day," replied Tom. "I'm glad to

see you. I thought at first it was my chum, Ned Newton.

He generally runs over in the evening."

"Our society, as I wrote you, Mr. Swift, is planning to

hold a very large and important aviation meet at Eagle Park,

which is a suburb of Westville, New York State. We expect to

have all the prominent 'bird-men' there, to compete for

prizes, and your name was mentioned. I wrote to you, as you

doubtless recall, asking if you did not care to enter."

"And I think I wrote you that my big aeroplane-dirigible,

the Red Cloud, was destroyed in Alaska, during a recent trip

we made to the caves of ice there, after gold," replied Tom.

"Yes, you did," admitted Mr. Gunmore, "and while our

committee was very sorry to hear that, we hoped you might

have some other air craft that you could enter at our meet.

We want to make it as complete as possible, and we all feel

that it would not be so unless we had a Swift aeroplane there."

"It's very kind of you to say so," remarked Tom, "but

since my big craft was destroyed I really have nothing I

could enter."

"Haven't you an aeroplane of any kind? I made this trip

especially to get you to enter. Haven't you anything in

which you could compete for the prizes? There are several to

be offered, some for distance flights, some for altitude,

and the largest, ten thousand dollars, for the speediest

craft. Ten thousand dollars is the grand prize, to be

awarded for the quickest flight on record."

"I surely would like to try for that," said Tim, "but the

only craft I have is a small monoplane, the Butterfly, I

call it, and while it is very speedy, there have been such

advances made in aeroplane construction since I made mine

that I fear I would be distanced if I raced in her. And I

wouldn't like that."

"No," agreed Mr. Gunmore. "I suppose not. Still, I do wish

we could induce you to enter. I don't mind telling you that

we consider you a drawing-card. Can't we induce you, some way?"

"I'm afraid not. I haven't any machine which--"

"Look here!" exclaimed the secretary eagerly. "Why can't

you build a special aeroplane to enter in the next meet?

You'll have plenty of time, as it doesn't come off for three

months yet. We are only making the preliminary arrangements.

It is now June, and the meet is scheduled for early in September.

Couldn't you build a new and speedy aeroplane in that time?"

Eagerly Mr. Gunmore waited for the answer. Tom Swift

seemed to be considering it. There was an increased

brightness to his eyes, and one could tell that he was

thinking deeply. The secretary sought to clinch his argument.

"I believe, from what I have heard of your work in the

past, that you could build an aeroplane which would win the

ten-thousand-dollar prize," he went on. "I would be very

glad if you did win it, and, so I think, would be the

gentlemen associated with me in this enterprise. It would be

fine to have a New York State youth win the grand prize.

Come, Tom Swift, build a special craft, and enter the contest!"

As he paused for an answer footsteps were heard coming

along the hall, and a moment later an aged gentleman opened

the door of the library.

"Oh! Excuse me, Tom," he said, "I didn't know you had

company." And he was about to withdraw.

"Don't go, father," said Tom. "You will be as much

interested in this as I am. This is Mr. Gunmore, of the

Eagle Park Aviation Association. This is my father, Mr.

Gunmore."

"I've heard of you," spoke the secretary as he shook hands

with the aged inventor. "You and your son have made, in

aeronautics, a name to be proud of."

"And he wants us to go still farther, dad," broke in the

youth. "Me wants me to build a specially speedy aeroplane,

and race for ten thousand dollars."

"Hum!" mused Mr. Swift. "Well, are you going to do it,

Tom? Seems to me you ought to take a rest. You haven't been

back from your gold-hunting trip to Alaska long enough to

more than catch your breath, and now--"

"Oh, he doesn't have to go in this right away," eagerly

explained Mr. Gunmore. "There is plenty of time to make a

new craft."

"Well, Tom can do as he likes about it," said his father.

"Do you think you could build anything speedier than your

Butterfly, son?"

"I think so, father. That is, if you'd help me. I have a

plan partly thought out, but it will take some time to

finish it. Still, I might get it done in time."

"I hope you'll try!" exclaimed the secretary. "May I ask

whether it would be a monoplane or a biplane?"

"A monoplane, I think," answered Tom. "They are much more

speedy than the double-deckers, and if I'm going to try for

the ten thousand dollars I need the fastest machine I can build."

"We have the promise of one or two very fast monoplanes

for the meet," went on Mr. Gunmore. "Would yours be of a

new type?"

"I think it would," was the reply of the young inventor.

"In fact, I am thinking of making a smaller monoplane than

any that have yet been constructed, and yet one that will

carry two persons. The hardest work will be to make the

engine light enough and still have it sufficiently powerful

to make over a hundred miles an hour, if necessary.

"A hundred miles an hour in a small monoplane!

It isn't possible!" cried the secretary.

"I'll make better time than that," said Tom quietly, and

with not a trace of boasting in his tones.

"Then you'll enter the meet?" asked Mr. Gunmore eagerly.

"Well, I'll think about it," promised Tom. "I'll let you

know in a few days. Meanwhile, I'll be thinking out the

details for my new craft. I have been going to build one

ever since I got back, after having seen my Red Cloud

crushed in the ice cave. Now I think I had better begin

active work."

"I hope you will soon let me know," resumed the secretary.

"I'm going to put you down as a possible contestant for the

ten-thousand-dollar prize. That can do no harm, and I hope

you win it. I trust--"

He paused suddenly, and listened. So did Tom Swift and his

father, for they all distinctly heard stealthy footsteps

under the open windows of the library.

"Some one is out there, listening," said Tom in low tones.

"Perhaps it's Eradicate Sampson," suggested Mr. Swift,

referring to the eccentric colored man who was employed by

the inventor and his son to help around the place. "Very

likely it was Eradicate, Tom."

"I don't think so," was the lad's answer. "He went to the

village a while ago, and said he wouldn't be back until late

to-night. He had to get some medicine for his mule,

Boomerang, who is sick. No, it wasn't Eradicate; but some

one was under that window, trying to hear what we said."

As he spoke in guarded tones, Tom went softly to the

casement and looked out. He could observe nothing, as the

night was dark, and the new moon, which had been shining,

was now dimmed by clouds.

"See anything?" asked Mr. Gunmore as he advanced to Tom's side.

"No," was the low answer. I can't hear anything now, either."

"I'll go speak to Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper,"

volunteered Mr. Swift. "Perhaps it was she, or she may know

something about it."

He started from the room, and as he went Tom noticed,

with something of a start, that his father appeared older that

night than he had ever looked before. There was a trace of

pain on the face of the aged inventor, and his step was lagging.

"I guess dad needs a rest and doctoring up," thought the

young inventor as he turned the electric chandelier off by a

button on the wall, in order to darken the room, so that he

might peer out to better advantage. "I think he's been

working too hard on his wireless motor. I must get Dr.

Gladby to come over and see dad. But now I want to find out

who that was under this window."

Once more Tom looked out. The moon had emerged from behind

a thin bank of clouds, and gave a little light.

"See anything?" asked Mr. Gunmore cautiously.

"No," whispered the youth, for it being a warm might, the

windows were open top and bottom, a screen on the outside

keeping out mosquitoes and other insects. "I can't see a

thing," went on Tom, "but I'm sure--"

He paused suddenly. As he spoke there sounded a rustling

in the shrubbery a little distance from the window.

"There's something!" exclaimed Mr. Gunmore.

"I see!" answered the young inventor.

Without another word he softly opened the screen, and

then, stooping down to get under the lower sash (for the

windows in the library ran all the way to the floor), Tom

dropped out of the casement upon the thick grass.

As he did so he was aware of a further movement in the

bushes. They were violently agitated, and a second later a

dark object sprang from them and sprinted along the path.

"Here! Who are you? Hold on!" cried the young inventor.

But the figure never halted. Tom sprang forward,

determined to see who it was, and, if possible, capture

him.

"Hold on!" he cried again. There was no answer.

Tom was a good runner, and in a few seconds he had gained

on the fugitive, who could just be seen in the dim light

from the crescent moon.

"I've got you!" cried Tom.

But he was mistaken, for at that instant his foot caught

on the outcropping root of a tree, and the young inventor

went flat on his face.

"Just my luck!" he cried.

He was quickly on his feet again, and took after the

fugitive. The latter glanced back, and, as it happened, Tom

had a good look at his face. He almost came to a stop, so

startled was he.

"Andy Foger!" he exclaimed as he recognized the bully who

had always proved himself such an enemy of our hero. "Andy

Foger sneaking under my windows to hear what I had to say

about my new aeroplane! I wonder what his game can be? I'll

soon find out!"

Tom was about to resume the chase, when he lost sight of

the figure. A moment later he heard the puffing of an

automobile, as some one cranked it up.

"It's too late!" exclaimed Tom. "There he goes in his

car!" And knowing it would be useless to keep up the chase,

the youth turned back toward his house.

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