Chapter Six

Andy Foger Will Contest



One afternoon, as Tom was working away in the shop on his

sky racer, adjusting one of the rear rudders, and pausing

now and then to admire the trim little craft, he heard some

one approaching. Looking out through a small observation

peephole made for this purpose, he saw Mrs. Baggert hurrying

toward the building.



"I wonder what's the matter?" he said aloud, for there was

a look of worriment on the lady's face. Tom threw open the

door. "What is it, Mrs. Baggert?" he called. "Some one up at

the house who wants to see me?"



"No, it's your father!" panted the housekeeper, for she

was quite stout. "He is very ill again, and I can't seem to

get Dr. Gladby on the telephone. Central says he doesn't

answer."



"My father worse!" cried Tom in alarm, dropping his tools

and hurrying from the shop. "Where's Eradicate? Send him for

the doctor. Perhaps the wires are broken. If he can't locate

Dr. Gladby, get Dr. Kurtz. We must have some one. Here, Rad!

Where are you?" he called, raising his voice.



"Heah I be!" answered the colored man, coming from the

direction of the garden, which he had been weeding.



"Get cut your mule, and go for Dr. Gladby. If he isn't

home, get Dr. Kurtz. Hurry, Rad!"



"I's mighty sorry, Massa Tom," answered the colored man,

"but I cain't hurry, nohow."



"Why not?"



"Because Boomerang done gone lame, an' he won't run. I'll

go mahse'f, but I cain't take dat air mule."



"Never mind. I'll go in the Butterfly," decided Tom

quickly. "I'll run up to the house and see how dad is, and

while I'm gone, Rad, you get out the Butterfly. I can make

the trip in that. If Dr. Kurtz had a 'phone I could get him,

but he lives over on the back road, where there isn't a

line. Hurry, Rad!"



"Yes, sah, Massa Tom, I'll hurry!"



The colored man knew how to get the monoplane in shape for

a flight, as he had often done it.



Tom found his father in no immediate danger, but Mr.

Swift had had a slight recurrence of his heart trouble, and

it was thought best to have a doctor. So Tom started off in

his air craft, rising swiftly above the housetop, and sailed

off toward the old-fashioned residence of Dr. Kurtz, a

sturdy, elderly German physician, who sometimes attended Mr.

Swift. Tom decided that as long as Dr. Gladby did not answer

his 'phone, he could not be at home, and this, he learned

later, was the case, the physician being in a distant town

on a consultation.



"My, this Butterfly seems big and clumsy beside my

Humming-Bird," mused Tom as he slid along through the air,

now flying high and now low, merely for practice. "This

machine can go, hut wait until I have my new one in the air!

Then I'll show 'em what speed is!"



He was soon at the physician's house, and found him in.



"Won't you ride back with me in the monoplane?" asked Tom.

"I'm anxious to have you see dad as soon as you can.



"Vot! Me drust mineself in one ob dem airships? I dinks

not!" exclaimed Dr. Kurtz ponderously. "Vy, I vould not

efen ride in an outer-mobile, yet, so vy should I go in von

contrivance vot is efen more dangerous? No, I gomes to your

fader in der carriage, mit mine old Dobbin horse. Dot vill

not drop me to der ground, or run me up a tree, yet! Vot?"



"Very well," said Tom, "only hurry, please."



The young inventor, in his airship, reached home some time

before the slow-going doctor got there in his carriage. Mr.

Swift was no worse, Tom was glad to find, though he was

evidently quite ill.



"So, ve must take goot care of him," said the doctor, when

he had examined the patient. "Dr. Gladby he has done much

for him, und I can do little more. You must dake care of

yourself, Herr Swift, or you vill--but den, vot is der use of

being gloomy-minded? I am sure you vill go more easy, und

not vork so much."



"I haven't worked much," replied the aged inventor. "I

have only been helping my son on a new airship."



"Den dot must stop," insisted the doctor. "You must haf

gomplete rest--dot's it--gomplete rest."



"We'll do just as you say, doctor," said Tom. "We'll give

up the aeroplane matters, dad, and go away, you and I, where

we can t see a blueprint or a pattern, or hear the sound of

machinery. We'll cut it all out."



"Dot vould he goot," said Dr. Kurtz ponderously.



"No, I couldn't think of it," answered Mr. Swift. "I want

you to go in that race, Tom--and win!"



"But I'll not do it, dad, if you're going to be ill."



"He is ill now," interrupted the doctor. "Very ill, Dom

Swift."



"That settles it. I don't go in the race. You and I'll go

away, dad--to California, or up in Canada. We'll travel for

your health."



"No! no!" insisted the old inventor gently. "I will be all

right. Most of the work on the monoplane is done now, isn't

it, Tom?"



"Yes, dad."



"Then you go on, and finish it. You and Mr. Jackson can do

it without me now. I'll take a rest, doctor, but I want my

son to enter that race, and, what's more, I want him to

win!"



"Vell, if you don't vork, dot is all I ask. I must forbid

you to do any more. Mit Dom, dot is different. He is young

und strong, und he can vork. But you--not, Herr Swift, or I

doctor you no more." And the physician shook his big head.



"Very well. I'll agree to that if Tom will promise to

enter the race," said the inventor.



"I will," said Tom.



The physician took his leave shortly after that, the

medicine he gave to Mr. Swift somewhat relieving him. Then

the young inventor, who felt in a little better spirits,

went back to his workshop.



"Poor dad," he mused. "He thinks more of me and this

aeroplane than he does of himself. Well, I will go in the

race, and I'll--yes, I'll win!" And Tom looked very

determined.



He was about to resume work on his craft when something

about the way one of the forward planes was tilted attracted

his attention.



"I never left it that way," mused Tom. "Some one has been

in here. I wonder if it was Mr. Jackson?"



Tom stepped to the door and called for Eradicate. The

colored man came from the direction of the garden, which he

was still weeding.



"Has Mr. Jackson been around, Rad?" asked the lad.



"No, sah. I ain't seed him."



"Have you been in here, looking at the Humming-Bird?"



"No, Massa Tom. I nebber goes in dere, lessen as how yo'

is dere. Dem's yo' orders."



"That's so, Rad. I might have known you wouldn't go in.

But did you see any one enter the shop?"



"Not a pusson, sab."



"Have you been here all the while?"



"All but jes' a few minutes, when I went to de barn to put

some liniment on Boomerang's So' foot."



"H'm! Some one might have slipped in here while I was

away," mused Tom. "I ought to have locked the doors, but I

was in a hurry. This thing is getting on my nerves. I wonder

if it's Andy Foger, or some one else, who is after my

secret?"



He made a hasty examination of the shop, but could

discover nothing more wrong, except that one of the planes

of the Humming-Bird had been shifted.



"It looks as if they were trying to see how it was

fastened on, and how it worked," mused Tom. "But my plans

haven't been touched, and no damage has been done. Only I

don't like to think that people have been in here. They may

have stolen some of my ideas. I must keep this place locked

night and day after this."



Tom spent a busy week in making improvements on his

craft. Mr. Swift was doing well, and after a consultation by

Dr. Kurtz and Dr. Gladby it was decided to adopt a new style

of treatment. In the meanwhile, Mr. Swift kept his promise,

and did no work. He sat in his easy-chair, out in the

garden, and dozed away, while Tom visited him frequently to

see if he needed anything.



"Poor old dad!" mused the young inventor. "I hope he is

well enough to come and see me try for the ten-thousand-

dollar prize--and win it! I hope I do; but if some one

builds, from my stolen plans, a machine on this model, I'll

have my work cut out for me." And he gazed with pride on

the Humming-Bird.



For the past two weeks Tom had seen nothing of Andy Foger.

The red-haired bully seemed to have dropped out of sight,

and even his cronies, Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey, did

not know where he had gone.



"I hope he has gone for good," said Ned Newton, who lived

near Andy. "He's an infernal nuisance. I wish he'd never

come back to Shopton."



But Andy was destined to come back.



One day, when Tom was busy installing a wireless apparatus

on his new aeroplane, he heard Eradicate hurrying up the

path that led to the shop.



"I wonder if dad is worse?" thought Tom, that always being

his first idea when he knew a summons was coming for him.

Quickly be opened the door.



"Some one's comin' out to see you, Massa Tom," said the

colored man.



"Who is it?" asked the lad, taking the precaution to put

his precious plans out of sight.



"I dunno, sah; but yo' father knows him, an' he said fo'

me to come out heah, ahead ob de gen'man, an' tell yo' he

were comin'. He'll be right heah."



"Oh, well, if dad knows him, it's all right. Let him come,

Rad."



"Yes, sah. Heah he comes." And the colored man pointed to

a figure advancing down the gravel path. Tom watched the

stranger curiously. There was something familiar about him,

and Tom was sure he had met him before, yet he could not

seem to place him.



"How are you, Tom Swift?" greeted the newcomer pleasantly.

"I guess you've forgotten me, haven't you?" He held out his

hand, which Tom took. "Don't know me, do you?" he went on.



"Well, I'm afraid I've forgotten your name," admitted the

lad, just a bit embarrassed. "But your face is familiar,

somehow, and yet it isn't"



"I've shaved off my mustache," went on the other. "That

makes a difference. But you haven't forgotten John Sharp,

the balloonist, whom you rescued from Lake Carlopa, and who

helped you build the Red Cloud? You haven't forgotten John

Sharp, have you, Tom?"



"Well, I should say not!" cried the lad heartily. "I'm

real glad to see you. What are you doing around here? Come

in. I've got something to show you," and he motioned to the

shop where the Humming-Bird was housed.



"Oh, I know what it is," said the veteran balloonist.



"You do?"



"Yes. It's your new aeroplane. In fact, I came to see you

about it."



"To see me about it?"



"Yes. I'm one of the committee of arrangements for the

meet to be held at Eagle Park, where I understand you are

going to contest. I came to see how near you were ready, and

to get you to make a formal entry of your machine. Mr.

Gunmore sent me."



"Oh, so you're in with them now, eh?" asked Tom. "Well,

I'm glad to know I've got a friend on the committee. Yes, my

machine is getting along very well. I'll soon be ready for a

trial flight. Come in and look at it. I think it's a bird--a

regular Humming-Bird!" And Tom laughed.



"It certainly is something new," admitted Mr. Sharp as his

eyes took in the details of the trim little craft. "By the

way, Shopton is going to be well represented at the meet."



"How is that? I thought I was the only one around here to

enter an aeroplane."



"No. We have just received an entry from Andy Foger."



"From Andy Foger!" gasped Tom. "Is he going to try to win

some of the prizes?"



"He's entered for the big one, the ten-thousand-dollar

prize," replied the balloonist. "He has made formal

application to be allowed to compete, and we have to accept

any one who applies. Why, do you object to him, Tom?"



"Object to him? Mr. Sharp, let me tell you something. Some

time ago a set of plans of my machine here were stolen from

my house. I suspected Andy Foger of taking them, but I could

get no proof. Now you say he is building a machine to

compete for the big prize. Do you happen to know what style

it is?"



"It's a small monoplane, something like the Antoinette,

his application states, though he may change it later."



"Then he's stolen my ideas, and is making a craft like

this!" exclaimed Tom, as he sank upon a bench, and gazed

from the balloonist to the Humming-Bird, and hack to Mr.

Sharp again. "Andy Foger is trying to beat me with my own

machine!"

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