Chapter Three

The Plans Disappear

Mr. Swift was lying on the floor, where he had fallen, in

front of his bed, as he was preparing to retire. There was

no mark of injury upon him, and at first, as he knelt down

at his father's side, Tom was at a loss to account for what

had taken place.

"How did it happen? When was it?" he asked of Mrs. Baggert,

as he held up his father's head, and noted that the aged man

was breathing slightly.

"I don't know what happened, Tom," answered the

housekeeper, "but I beard him fall, and ran upstairs, only

to find him lying there, just like that. Then I called you.

Hadn't you better have a doctor?"

"Yes; we'll need one at once. Send Eradicate Tell him to

run--not to wait for his mule--Boomerang is too slow. Oh,

no! The telephone, of course! Why didn't I think of that at

first? Please telephone for Dr. Gladby, Mrs. Baggert. Ask

him to come as soon as possible, and then tell Garret

Jackson to step here. I'll have him help me get father into

bed."

The housekeeper hastened to the instrument, and was soon

in communication with the physician, who promised to call at

once. The engineer was summoned from another part of the

house, and then Eradicate was aroused.

Mrs. Baggert had the colored man help her get some kettles

of hot water in readiness for possible use by the doctor.

Mr. Jackson aided Tom to lift Mr. Swift up on the bed, and

they got off some of his clothes.

"I'll try to see if I can revive him with a little

aromatic spirits of ammonia," decided Tom, as he noticed

that his father was still unconscious. He hastened to

prepare the strong spirits, while he was conscious of a

feeling of fear and alarm, mingled with sadness.

Suppose his father should die? Tom could not bear to think

of that. He would be left all alone, and how much he would

miss the companionship and comradeship of his father none

but himself knew.

"Oh! but I mustn't think he's going to die!" exclaimed the

youth, as he mixed the medicine.

Mr. Swift feebly opened his eyes after Tom and Mr. Jackson

had succeeded in forcing some of the ammonia between his

lips.

"Where am I? What happened?" asked the aged inventor

faintly.

"We don't know, exactly," spoke Tom softly. "You are ill,

father. I've sent for the doctor. He'll fix you up. He'll be

here soon."

"Yes, I'm--I'm ill," murmured the aged man. "Something

hurts me--here," and he put his hand over his heart.

Tom felt a nameless sense of fear. He wished now that he

had insisted on his parent consulting a physician some time

before, when Mr. Swift first complained of a minor ailment.

Perhaps now it was too late.

"Oh! when will that doctor come?" murmured Tom

impatiently.

Mrs. Baggert, who was nervously going in and out of the

room, again went to the telephone.

"He's on his way," the housekeeper reported. "His wife

said he just started out in his auto."

Dr. Gladby hurried into the room a little later, and cast

a quick look at Mr. Swift, who had again lapsed into

unconsciousness.

"Do you think he--think he's going to die?" faltered Tom.

He was no longer the self-reliant young inventor. He could

meet danger bravely when it threatened himself alone, but

when his father was stricken he seemed to lose all courage.

"Die? Nonsense!" exclaimed the doctor heartily. "He's not

dead yet, at all events, and while there's life there's

hope. I'll soon have him out of this spell."

It was some little time, however, before Mr. Swift again

opened his eyes, but he seemed to gain strength from the

remedies which Dr. Gladby administered, and in about an hour

the inventor could sit up.

"But you must be careful," cautioned the physician. "Don't

overdo yourself. I'll be in again in the morning, and now

I'll leave you some medicine, to be taken every two hours."

"Oh, I feel much better," said Mr. Swift, and his voice

certainly seemed Stronger. "I can't imagine what happened.

I came upstairs, after Tom had received a visit from the

minister, and that's all I remember."

"The minister, father!" exclaimed Tom, in great amazement.

"The minister wasn't here this evening! That was Mr.

Gunmore, the aviation secretary. Don't you remember?"

"I don't remember any gentleman like that calling here

to-night," Mr. Swift said blankly. "It was the minister, I'm

sure, Tom."

"The minister was here last night, Mr. Swift," said the

housekeeper.

"Was he? Why, it seems like to-night. And I came upstairs

after talking to him, and then it all got black, and--and--"

"There, now; don't try to think," advised the doctor.

"You'll be all right in the morning."

"But I can't remember anything about that aviation man,"

protested Mr. Swift. "I never used to be that way--

forgetting things. I don't like it!"

"Oh, it's just because you're tired," declared the

physician. "It will all come back to you in the morning.

I'll stop in and see you then. Now try to go to sleep." And

he left the room.

Tom followed him, Mrs. Baggert and Mr. Jackson remaining

with the sick man.

"What is the matter with my father, Dr. Gladby?" asked Tom

earnestly, as the doctor prepared to take his departure.

"Is it anything serious?"

"Well," began the medical man, "I would not be doing my

duty, Tom, if I did not tell you what it is. That is, it is

comparatively serious, but it is curable, and I think we can

bring him around. He has an affection of the heart, that,

while it is common enough, is sometimes fatal.

"But I do not think it will be so in your father's case.

He has a fine constitution, and this would never have

happened had he not been run down from overwork. That is the

principal trouble. What he needs is rest; and then, with the

proper remedies, he will be as well as before."

"But that strange lapse of memory, doctor?"

"Oh, that is nothing. It is due to the fact that he has

been using his brain too much. The brain protests, and

refuses to work until rested. Your father has been working

rather hard of late hasn't he?"

"Yes; on a new wireless motor."

"I thought so. Well, a good rest is what he needs, and

then his mind and body will be in tune again. I'll be around

in the morning."

Tom was somewhat relieved by the doctor's words, but not

very much so, and he spent an anxious night, getting up

every two hours to administer the medicine. Toward morning

Mr. Swift fell into a heavy sleep, and did not awaken for

some time.

"Oh, you're much better!" declared Dr. Gladby when he saw

his patient that day.

"Yes, I feel better," admitted Mr Swift.

"And can't you remember about Mr. Gunmore calling?" asked

Tom.

The aged inventor shook his head, with a puzzled air.

"I can't remember it at all," he said. "The minister is

the last person I remember calling here."

Tom looked worried, but the physician said it was a common

feature of the disease from which Mr. Swift suffered, and

would doubtless pass away.

"And you don't remember how we talked about me building a

speedy aeroplane and trying for the ten-thousand-dollar

prize?" asked Tom.

"I can't remember a thing about it," said the inventor,

with a puzzled shake of his head, "and I'm not going to try,

at least not right away. But, Tom, if you're going to build

a new aeroplane, I want to help you. I'll give you the

benefit of my advice. I think my new form of motor can be

used in it."

"Now! now! No inventions--at least not just yet!" objected

the physician. "You must have a good rest first, Mr. Swift,

and get strong. Then you and Tom can build as many airships

as you like."

Mr. Swift felt so much better about three days later that

he wanted to get right to work planning the airship that was

to win the big prize, but the doctor would not hear of it.

Tom, however, began to make rough sketches of what he had

in mind changing them from time to time, He also worked

on a type of motor, very light, and modeled after one his father

had recently patented.

Then a new idea came to Tom in regard to the shape of his

aeroplane, and he worked several days drawing the plans for

it. It was a new idea in construction, and he believed it

would give him the great speed he desired.

"But I'd like dad to see it," he said. "As soon as he's

well enough I'll go over it with him."

That time came a week later, and with a complete set of

the plans, embodying his latest ideas, Tom went into the

library where his father was seated in an easy-chair. Dr.

Gladby had said it would not now harm the aged inventor to

do a little work. Tom spread the drawings out in front of

his father, and began to explain them in detail.

"I really think you have something great there, Tom!"

exclaimed Mr. Swift, at length. "It is a very small

monoplane, to be sure, but I think with the new principle

you have introduced it will work; but, if I were you, I'd

shape those wing tips a little differently."

"No, they're better that way," said Tom pleasantly, for he

did not often disagree with his father. "I'll show you from

a little model I have made. I'll get it right away."

Anxious to demonstrate that he was right in his theory,

Tom hurried from the library to get the model of which he

had spoken. He left the roll of plans lying on a small table

near where his father was seated.

"There, you see, dad," said the young inventor as he re-

entered the library a few minutes later, "when you warp the

wing tips in making a spiral ascent it throws your tail

wings out of plumb, and so--"

Tom paused in some amazement, for Mr. Swift was lying back

in his chair, with his eyes closed. The lad started in alarm,

laid aside his model, and sprang to his father's side.

"He's had another of those heart attacks!" gasped Tom. He

was just going to call Mrs. Baggert, when Mr. Swift opened

his eyes. He looked at Tom, and the lad could see that they

were bright, and did not show any signs of illness.

"Well, I declare!" exclaimed the inventor. "I must have

dozed off, Tom, while you were gone. That's what I did.

I fell asleep!"

"Oh!" said Tom, much relieved. "I was afraid you were ill

again. Now, in this model, as you will see by the plans,

it is necessary--"

He paused, and looked over at the table where he had left

the drawings. They were not there!

"The plans, father!" Tom exclaimed. "The plans I left on

the table! Where are they?"

"I haven't touched them," was the answer. "They were on

that table, where you put them, when I closed my eyes for a

little nap. I forgot all about them. Are you sure they're missing?"

"They're not here!" And Tom gazed wildly about the room.

"Where can they have gone?"

"I wasn't out of my chair," said Mr. Swift, "I ought not

to have gone to sleep, but--"

Tom fairly jumped toward the long library window, the same

one from which he had leaped to pursue Andy Foger. The

casement was open, and Tom noted that the screen was also

unhooked, It had been closed when he went to get the model,

he was sure of that.

"Look, dad! See!" he exclaimed, as he picked up from the

floor a small piece of paper.

"What is it, Tom?"

"A sheet on which I did some figuring. It is no good, but

it was in with the plans. It must have dropped out."

"Do you mean that some one has been in here and taken the

plans of your new aeroplane, Tom?" gasped his father.

"That's just what I mean! They sneaked in here while you

were dozing, took the plans, and jumped out of the window

with them. On the way this paper fell out. It's the only

clue we have. Stay here, dad. I'm going to have a look." And

Tom jumped from the library window and ran down the path

after the unknown thief.

****

Top of Page

< BACK    NEXT >

| Home | Reading Room | Tom Swift And His Sky Racer