 Chapter 20 of Tom Swift and his Electric Runabout Tom Swift and his Electric Runabout by Victor Appleton Chapter 20 On Time Close around the electric auto crowded the members of the holdup gang. Their eyes seemed to glare through the holes in their black mass. Instantly Tom thought of the other occasion when he was halted by masked figures. Could these by any possibility be the same individuals? Was this a trick of Andy Foger and his cronies? Tom tried to pierce through the disguises. Clearly the persons were men, not boys, and they wore the ragged clothes of tramps. Also there was an air of dogged determination about them. Well, are you going to shell out, asked the leader, taking a step nearer, or will we have to take it? Bless my very existence. You don't mean to say that you're going to take the money. I mean, how do you know we have any money? And Mr. Damon hastily corrected himself. What right have you to stop us in this way? Don't you know that every minute counts we are in a hurry? I know it, spoke the leading masked figure with a laugh. I know you have considerable money in that shebang. And I know what you hope to do with it. Prevent the run on the Shopton National Bank. But we need that money as much as some other people do. And what's more, we're going to have it. Come on, shell out. Oh, why didn't we bring a gun? Lamented Mr. Damon in a low voice to Tom. Isn't there anything we can do? Can't you give them an electric shock, Tom? I'm afraid not. If it wasn't for that hay wagon, we could turn on the current and make a run for it. But we'd only go into the ditch if we tried to pass now. The load of hay was down the road. But as Tom looked, he noticed a curious thing. It seemed to be nearer than it was when the attack of the masked men came. The wagon actually seemed to have backed up. Once more the thought came to the lab that possibly the load of fodder might be one of the factors on which the thieves counted. They might have used it to make the auto halt, and the man, or men, on it were probably in collusion with the foot-pads. There was no doubt about it. The load of hay was coming nearer, backing up instead of moving away. Tom couldn't understand it. He gave a swift glance at the robbers. They had not appeared to notice this, or, if they had, they gave no sign. Then we can't do anything, murmured Mr. Damon. I don't see that we can, replied the young inventor, in a low voice. And the money we worked so hard to get won't do the bank any good. And Mr. Damon sighed. It's tough luck, agreed Tom. Come now. Fork over that cash, called the leader, advancing still closer. None of that talked between you there. If you think you can work some trick on us, you're mistaken. We're desperate men, and we're well armed. The first show of resistance you make, and we shoot. Get that, fellows? He added to his followers, and they nodded grimly. Well, remarked Mr. Damon, with an air of submission, I only want to warn you that you are acting illegally, and that you are perpetrating a desperate crime. Oh, we know that all right, answered one of the men, and Tom gave a start. He was sure he had heard that voice before. He tried to remember it, tried to penetrate the disguise, but he could not. I'll give you ten seconds more to hand over that bag of money, went on the leader. If you don't, we'll take it, and some of you may get hurt in the process. There seemed to be nothing else to do. With a white face, but with anger showing in his eyes, Mr. Damon reached down to get the valise. Tom had retained his grip of the steering wheel and the starting lever. He hoped, at the last minute, he might see a chance to dash away and escape, but that load of hay was in the path. He noted that it was now quite near, but the thieves paid no attention to it. Tom might have reversed the power and sent his machine backward, but he could not see to steer it if he went in that direction, and he would soon have gone into the ditch. There was nothing to do save to hand over the cash, it seemed. Mr. Damon had the bag raised from the car, and the leader of the thieves was reaching up for it when there came a sudden interruption. From the load of hay there sounded a fuselage of pistol shots, cracking out with viciousness. This was instantly followed by the appearance of three men who came running from around the load of hay, down the road toward the thieves. Each man carried a pitchfork, and as they ran, one of the trio shouted, Right Adam boys, jab your hayforks, clean through the scoundrels. By heck I guess we'll show them we know how to tackle a hold-up gang as well as a next fellow. Right Adam now, charge them, stick your forks right through them. Again there sounded a fuselage of pistol shots. The thieves turned as one man and glanced at the relief so unexpectedly approaching. They gave one look at the three determined looking farmers with their sharp, glittering pitchforks, and then, without a word, they turned and fled, leaping into the bushes that lined the roadway. The underbrush closed after them and they were hidden from sight. On came the three farmers waving their effective weapons, the pistol shots still ringing out from the load of hay. Tom could not understand it, and could see no one firing, could detect no smoke. Are they gone? Did they rob you? asked the foremost of the trio, a burly, grizzled farmer. Thust my buttons, but I guess we skeered them all right. Bless my shoe-buttons, but you certainly have, cried Mr. Damon, descending from the automobile, and ringing the hand of the farmer, while Tom thrust the bag of money under his legs, and waited for further developments. The pistol shots rang out until one of the men called, That'll do, bub. We scared them like Mrs. Zenabee's pet cat. You needn't crack that whip anymore. Whip? cried Tom. Was that a whip? That's what it was, explained the leading farmer. Bub Armstrong, my nephew, can crack it to beat the band. And, as if in proof of this, they emerged from behind the load of hay a small lad. Carrying a large whip, to which he gave a few trial cracks, like pistol shots, as if to show his ability. It's all right, bub, his uncle assured him. We made him run. But I don't exactly understand, spoke Mr. Damon. I thought you were in lead with those thieves, stopping us as you did with your big load. So did I, admitted Tom. Haha, laughed the farmer. That's a pretty good joke. Excuse me for laughing. My name's Lyon, Jethro Lyon, of Selina Township, and these is my two sons, Adie and Bert. You see, we're on our way to Shopton, and my nephew, bub, he went along. We thought you was some of them sassy automobile fellas at first, when you hollered to us you wanted to pass. Then, when we looked back, we seen them burglars going to rob you. At least, that's what we suspicioned, and he paused, suggestively. That was it, Tom said. Well, when we seen that, we held a sort of consultation on that load of hay, where they couldn't see us. It was so big, you know, he needlessly explained. Well, we calculated, we could help you, so I just quietly backed up until we was nearing up. I told bub to take the long whip, and crack it for all he was worth, so it would sound like reinforcements approaching with guns, and he done it. He certainly done it, added Bert. Well, resumed Mr. Lyon, then me and my sons we just slipped down off the front seat, and come a-running with our pitch-ports. I reckoned them burglars would run when they see us, and hurt us, and they'd done so. Yep, they done so, added aid like an echo. I can't tell you how much obliged we are to you, said Mr. Damon. We have sixty thousand dollars in this police, and they would have had it in another minute, and the bank would have failed. Sixty thousand dollars, gasped Mr. Lyon and his sons and nephew echoed the words. Mr. Damon briefly explained about the money, and he and the young inventor again thanked their rescuers, who had so unexpectedly, and in such a novel manner, put the thieves to flight. And you got to get to Shopton before three o'clock with that cash? asked Mr. Lyon. That's what we hope to do, replied Tom, but I'm afraid we won't now. It's half past two, and don't you say another word, interrupted Mr. Lyon. I know what you mean. My haze in the road. But don't let that worry you none. I'll pull out of your road in a jiffy, and if we do go down in the ditch, why, we can throw part of the load, lighten the wagon, and pull out again. You got to hustle if you get to Shopton by three o'clock. I can do it with the clear road, declared Tom, confidently. Then you'll have the clear road, Mr. Lyon assured him. Come on, boys, let's get the hay to one side. The farmers pulled into the ditch. As they had feared, the wagon went in almost to the hubs, but they did not mind, and even as Tom and Mr. Damon shot past them, they fell to work, tossing off part of the fodder to lighten the wagon. The young inventor and his companion waved a grateful farewell to them as they fairly tore past, for Tom had turned on almost the full current. Do you suppose that was the happy harry gang or some members of it who were not captured and sent to jail? asked Mr. Damon. I don't believe so, answered the lad, shaking his head. Maybe they didn't really want to rob us. Perhaps they only wanted to delay us, so we wouldn't get to the bank on time. Bless my topknot, you may be right, cried Mr. Damon. Further conversation became difficult, as they struck a rough part of the road, where the vehicle swayed and jolted to an alarming degree. But Tom never slack in pace. On and on they rushed, Mr. Damon, frequently looking at his watch. We've got twenty minutes left, Harry Mark, as they came out on the smooth stretch of road that led directly into Shopton. Then Tom turned all the reserve power into the motor. The machinery almost groaned as the current surged into the wires, but it took up the load, and the electric car, swaying more than ever, dashed ahead with its burden of wealth. Now they were in town, now speeding down the street, leading to the bank. One or two policemen shouted after them, for they were violating the speed laws, but it was no time to stop for that. On and on they dashed. They came in sight of the bank. A long line of persons was still in front. They seemed more excited than in the morning, for the hour of three was approaching, and they feared the bank would close its doors never to open them again. The run is still on, observed Mr. Damon. But it will soon be over, predicted Tom. Some news of the errand of the automobile must have penetrated the crowd, for as Tom swung past the front entrance to the bank to go up the rear alley, he was greeted with a cheer. They've got the cash, a man cried. I'm satisfied now. I don't draw out my deposit. I want to see the cash before I'll believe it, said another. Tom slowed up to make the turn into the alley. As he did so, he glanced across the street to the new bank. In the window stood Andy Foger and his father. There was a look of surprise on their faces as they saw the arrival of the powerful car, and Tom fancied also a look of chagrin. Up the alley went the car, police keeping the crowd from following. The porter was at the door. So also was Mr. Penderdast and Mr. Swift, while some of the other officers were grouped behind them. Did you get the money? gasped the president. We did, answered Tom. Are we on time, dad? Just on time, my boy. They're paying out the last of the cash now. You're on time. Thank fortune. End of chapter 20. Recording by Tom Weiss Chapter 21 of Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout by Victor Appleton Chapter 21 Off to the Big Race From their task of handing out money to eager depositors, the wearied tellers looked up as Tom and Mr. Damon entered with the big valise crammed full of money. It was opened and the bundles of bills turned out on a table. Perhaps you'd better make an announcement to the crowd, Mr. Pendergast, suggested Mr. Swift, tell them we now have cash enough to meet all demands and that the bank will be kept open until everyone is paid. I will, agreed the agent president. His announcement was received with cheers and had exactly the effect the inventor hoped it would. Many learning that the bank was safe and that they could have their money whenever they wanted it concluded not to withdraw it, thus saving the interest. Scores in the waiting crowd turned out of line and went home. Their example was contagious and, though many still remain to get their deposits, the run was broken. Only part of the $60,000 Tom and Mr. Damon had brought through after a race with time was needed. But had it not been for the moral effect of the cash arriving as it did, the bank would have failed. You have a great car, Tom Swift, complimented Mr. Pendergast, when the excitement had somewhat cooled down and the story of the hold-up had been told. I think so myself, agreed the young inventor modestly. I must get ready for the races now. And as for those farmers, I think I'll send them a reward, went on the president. They deserve something for the trouble they had with the load of hay. I certainly shall send them a reward, which he did, and a substantial one too. Of course, the hold-up was at once reported to the police after the run had quieted it down, but Chief Simmonson surprised Tom by saying that he had expected it. The gang that held you up, said the police officer, was one that escaped from a jail about twenty miles away. I got a tip, after you left, that they were going to rob you, for in some way they learned about the money you and Mr. Damon were to bring back from the bank. The unfortunate part of it was that the tip I got was to the effect that the hold-up would take place just outside of Clayton. I telephoned to the police there just after you left, and they said they'd send out a posse, but the gang changed their plans and held you up near here, where I wasn't expecting it. But I'll get them yet. Chief Simmonson did not arrest the gang, but some other police officers did, and they were taken back to jail. They were not prosecuted for the attempted robbery of Tom, as it was considered difficult to fix the guilt on them, but they received such a long additional sentence for breaking jail that it will be many years before they are released. When Tom reached home that night, he found some mail from the officials of the Touring Club of America. It was to the effect that arrangements for the big contest had been completed, and that contesting cars must be on the ground by September 1st. That gives me two weeks yet, thought our hero. He read further of the regulations covering the race. Each car must proceed from the hometown or city of the owner and go to the track under its own power. This was a new regulation, it was stated, and was adopted to better develop the industry of building electric autos. Two passengers, or one in addition to the driver, must be carried, it was stated, and this one would also be expected to be in the car during the entire race. Regarding the race proper, it was stated that at first it had been decided to make it a 24-hour endurance contest, but that for certain reasons this was changed, as it was found that few storage batteries could go this length of time without a number of rechargings. Therefore, the race was to be won for distance, 500 miles on the new Long Island track, and the car first covering that distance would win. Cars were allowed to change their batteries as often as they needed to, but all time lost would count against them. There were other rules and regulations of minor importance. Well, remarked Tom, as he read through the circulars, I must get my car in shape. It will be quite a trip to Long Island, and I think my best plan will be to go direct to the cottage we had when we were building the submarine, and from there proceed to the track. That will comply with the rules, I think. But who will I get to go with me? I suppose Mr. Damon or Mr. Sharp will be willing. I'll ask them. He broached the matter to his two friends that night, and they both agreed to go to Long Island in the car, though only Mr. Sharp would accompany Tom in the race. The next two weeks were busy ones for Tom. He worked night and day over his car, getting it in shape for the big event. The young inventor made some changes in his battery, and also adopted a new gear which would give him greater speed. He also completed the exterior of the car, giving it several coats of purple paint and varnish so that when it was finished, though it was different in shape from most autos, it was as fine an appearing car as one could wish. He arranged to carry two extra wheels with tires inflated, and under the seats or to know, as he called it, Tom fitted up a complete tire repairing outfit. Mr. Sharp agreed to ride there, and in case there was need to use more than two spare wheels during the race, the rubber shoes or inner tubes could be mended while the car was swinging around the track. Mr. Damon would ride in front with Tom on the cross-country trip, and occasionally relieve him at steering, or would help to manage the electrical connections. Spare fuses, electric parts, wires, and different things he thought he might need the young inventor stored in his car. He also found means to install a small additional storage battery to give added power in case of emergency. Tom learned from the racing officials that if he made a trip from Shopton to the cottage on the coast near the city of Atlantis, and later traveled from there to the track, it would fulfill the conditions of the contest. Finally, all was in readiness, and one morning, having spent the better part of the night going over his machine to see that he had forgotten nothing, Tom invited Mr. Damon and Mr. Sharp to enter and prepare for the trip to Long Island. Well, Tom, I certainly hope you win that race, remarked Mrs. Baggart as she stood in the doorway, waving a farewell. If I do, I'll buy you a pair of diamond earrings to match the diamond ring I gave from the money I got from the wreck, promised to lad with a laugh, and if you seize that Andy Foger, and it eradicates Samson, while he rubbed the long years of boomerang his mule, if you seize him, just run over him once or twice for my sake, Mr. Swift. I'll do it for my own too, agreed Tom. The youth shook hands with his father, who wished him good luck, and then, after a final look at his car, he climbed to his seat and turned on the power. There was a low hum from the motor, and the electric started off. Would it return a winner or loser of the big race? Chapter 22 Of Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout by Victor Appleton, Chapter 22, In A Ditch Through the streets of Shopton went Tom Swift and his friends. News of the big contest the young inventor was about to take part in had circulated around town, and there were not wanting many to wish him good luck. The lad responded smilingly to the farewells he received. As they passed the bank, Ned Newton came out on the steps. Wish I were going along, he called. So do I, replied Tom. How's everything? Is the bank all right since the run? For he had not had time to pay much attention to the institution, since his memorable race against time to get the money. Stronger and better than ever was Ned's answer as he came to the curb, where Tom slowed up. I hear, he added in a whisper, that the other fellows are going out of business, Foger and his crowd, you know. They loaned money on unsecured notes to make a good showing, and now they can't get it back, but we're all right. Hope you win the race. So do I. What will a certain person do while you're away when on Ned with a wink? I don't know what you mean, replied Tom, trying not to blush. Do you mean my dad or Mrs. Baggart? Neither you old hypocrite you I met, Miss Mary Nestor. Oh, haven't you heard, inquired Tom innocently, she is going to Long Island to visit some friends, and she'll be at the race. You lucky dog, murmured Ned with a laugh, as he went into the bank. Once more the electric auto started off, and was soon on the quiet country road, where Tom speeded it up moderately. He hoped to be able to make the entire distance to the shore cottage on the single charge of current he had put into the battery at home, and, as there was no special need for haste, he wanted to save his power. The machine was running smoothly, and seemed able to make a long race against time. The travelers ate lunch that day at Pendleton, a town some distance from Shopton. They had covered a substantial part of their trip. After a brief rest, they started on again. Tom had planned to spend two days and one night on the road, hoping to be able to reach the shore cottage on the evening of the second day. There, after recharging the battery, he would spend a night or two, and proceed to the track, ready for the race. They found the roads fairly good, with bad stretches here and there, which made it necessary for them to slow down. This delayed them, and they found the shadows lengthening and darkness approaching, when they were still several miles from Bird Field, where they intended to sleep. Will it be all right to travel at night? asked Mr. Damon, a bit nervously. Why are you thinking of holdup men? inquired Mr. Sharp. No, but I was wondering about the conditions of the roads, replied the eccentric man. We don't want to run into a rock, or collide with something. I guess this will light up the road far enough in advance, so that we can see where we are going, suggested Tom, as he switched on the powerful electric searchlight. Though it was not dark enough to illuminate the highway to the best advantage, the powerful gleam shone dazzlingly in front of the swiftly moving auto. I guess that will show up every pebble in the road, commented the balloonist. It's very powerful. Tom turned off the light, as, until it was darker, he could see to better advantage unaided by it. He slowed down the speed somewhat, but was still going at a good rate. There's a bridge somewhere about here, remarked the lad, when they had gone on a mile further. I remember seeing it on my road map. It's not very strong, and we'll have to run slow over it. Bless my guzzard, I hope we don't go through it, cried Mr. Damon. Is your car very heavy, Tom? Not heavy enough to break the bridge. Ah, there it is. Guess I'll turn on the light so we can see what we're doing. Just ahead of them loomed up the superstructure of a bridge, and Tom turned the searchlight switch. At the instant he did so, whether he did not keep a steady hand on the steering wheel, or whether the auto went into a rut from which it could not be turned, did not immediately develop, but the car suddenly shot from the straight road and swerved to one side. There was a lurch, and the front wheel sank down. Look out, we're going into the river, yelled Mr. Damon. Tom jammed on the brakes and shut off the current. The auto came to a sudden stop. The young inventor turned the searchlight downward to illuminate the ground directly in front of the car. Are we in the river? asked Mr. Sharp. No, replied Tom in great chagrin, we're in a muddy ditch, one at the side of the road. Wheels in over the hubs. There should have been a guardrail here. We're stuck for fair. End of Chapter 22. Recording by Tom Weiss. Chapter 23. Of Tom Swift and his Electric Runabout. This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss. Tom Swift and his Electric Runabout. By Victor Appleton. Chapter 23. The power gone. Bless my overshoes, cried Mr. Damon, stuck in the mud, eh? Hard and fast, added Tom in disgust. What's to be done? Enquired Mr. Sharp. I should say we'll have to stay here until daylight, and wait for some other auto to come along and pull us out, was Mr. Damon's opinion. It's might unpleasant, too, for there doesn't seem to be any place around here where we can spend the night in any kind of comfort. If we had the submarine or the airship now, it wouldn't so much matter. No, and this won't matter a great deal, remarked the young inventor quickly. We'll soon be out of this, but it will be hard work. What do you mean? asked Mr. Sharp. I mean that we've got to pull ourselves out of this mud hole, explained the lad, as he prepared to descend. I was afraid something like this would happen, so I came prepared for it. I've got ropes and pulleys with me in the car. We'll fasten the rope to the machine, attach one pulley to the bridge, another to the car, and I guess we can get out of the mud. We'll try anyhow. Well, I must say you look pretty far ahead, complimented Mr. Damon. From a box under the to-know, Tom took out a thin, but strong rope and two compound pulleys, which would enable considerable force to be applied. Mr. Sharp detached one of the powerful oil lamps, and the three travelers took a look at the auto. It was indeed deep in the mud, and it seemed like a hopeless task to try to get it out unaided. But Tom insisted that they could do it, and the rope was soon attached, the hook of one pulley being slipped around one of the braces of the bridge. Now altogether, cried the lad, as he and his friends grasped the long rope. They gave a great heave. At first it seemed like pulling on a stone wall. The rope strained, and the pulleys creaked. I guess we will pull the bridge over, gasped Mr. Sharp. Something's got to give way, puff Tom. Now once more, altogether, suddenly they felt the rope moving. The pulleys creaked still more, and by the light of the lamp, they could see that the auto was slowly being pulled backward, out of the mud, and onto the hard road. In a few minutes it was ready to proceed again. The rope and pulleys were put away, and after Tom had made an examination of the car to see that it had sustained no damage, they were off again, making good time to the hotel in Bergfield, where they spent the night. They had an early breakfast, and as Tom went out to the barn to look at his car, he saw it surrounded by a curious throng of men and boys. One of the boys was turning some of the handles and levers. Here, quit that, yelled Tom, and the metalson lad leaped down in fright. Do you want to start the car and have it smash into something? demanded the young inventor. Nothing happened, retorted the lad. I pulled every handle on it, and it didn't move. Good reason, muttered Tom, for he had taken the precaution to remove a connecting plug, without which the machine could not be started. The three were soon underway again, and covered many miles over the fine country roads, the weather conditions being delightful. On inquiry, they found that by taking an infrequently used highway, they could save several miles. It was over an unoccupied part of country, rather wild and desolate, but they did not mind that. They were whizzing along, talking of Tom's chances for winning the race, when, after climbing a slight grade, the auto came to a sudden stop on the summit. What's the matter? asked Mr. Sharp. Why are you stopping here, Tom? I didn't stop, was the surprising answer, and the lad shoved the starting lever back and forth. But there was no response. There was no hum from the motor. The machine was dead. That's queer, murmured the young inventor. Maybe if Hughes blew out, suggested Mr. Damon, that seeming to be his favorite form of trouble. If it had, you'd have known it, remarked Mr. Sharp. There's plenty of current in the battery, according to the registering gauge, murmured the lad. I can't understand it. He reversed the current, thinking the wires might have become crossed. But the machine would move neither backward nor forward, yet the dial indicated that there was enough power stored away to send it a hundred miles or more. Perhaps the dial hand has become caught, suggested Mr. Sharp. That sometimes happens on a steam gauge and indicates a high pressure when there isn't any. Hit it slightly and see if the hand swings back. Tom did so. At once the hand fell to zero, indicating that there was not an ampere of current left. The battery was exhausted, but this fact had not been indicated on the gauge. I see now, cried Tom. It was those fellows at the hotel barn. They monkeyed with the mechanism, short-circuited the battery, and jammed the gauge so I couldn't tell when my power was gone. If I had known there wasn't enough to carry us, I could have recharged the battery at the hotel. But I figured that I had enough current for the entire trip, and so there would have been. If it hadn't leaked away, now we're in a pretty pickle. Bless my hat-band, cried Mr. Damon. Does that mean we can't move? Guess that's about it, answered Mr. Sharp, and Tom nodded. Well, why can't we go on to some place where they sell electricity and get enough to take us where we want to go, as the odd character whose ideas of machinery were somewhat hazy? The only trouble is we can't carry the heavy car with us, replied Tom. It's too big to pick up and take to a charging station. Then we've got to wait until someone comes along with a team of horses and tows us in, commented Mr. Sharp, and that will be some time on this lonely road. Tom shook his head despondently. He went all over the car again, but was forced to the first conclusion. That the reserve current had leaked away, in consequence of the meddling prank of the youth at the hotel. The situation was far from pleasant, and the delay would seriously interfere with their plans. Suddenly, as Tom was pacing up and down the road, he heard from afar a peculiar humming sound. He paused to listen. Trolley car, observed Mr. Sharp. Maybe one of us could go somewhere on the trolley and get help. There it is, and he pointed to the electric vehicle, moving along about half a mile away at the foot of a gentle slope. At the sight of the car, Tom uttered a cry. I have it, he exclaimed. None of us need go for help. It's right at hand. His companions looked curiously, as the young inventor pointed triumphantly to the fast disappearing electric. CHAPTER XXXIV Of Tom Swift and his electric runabout. This is a LibreBox recording. All LibreBox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibreBox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss. Tom Swift and his electric runabout. By Victor Appleton. CHAPTER XXIV ON THE TRACK What do you mean? asked Mr. Damon. Will the electric trolley pull us to a charging station? No, we'll not need to go to a station, answered the youth. If we can get my car to the trolley tracks, I can charge my battery from there. And I think we can push the auto near enough. It's downhill, and I've got a long wire so we won't have to go too close. Good, cried Mr. Sharp. But attached the rope to the front of the car, Tom. Mr. Damon and I will pull it. You'll have to ride in it to steer it. We can take turns at riding, was Tom's answer. For he did not want his companions to do all the work. Not since. You ride, said Mr. Damon. You're lighter than we are and can steer better. It won't be any trouble at all to pull this car downhill. It proved to be an easy task, and in a short time the dead auto was near enough to the electric line to permit Tom to run his charging wire over to it. Why, bless my soul, exclaimed Mr. Damon, looking up. There's no overhead trolley wire. The car must run on storage batteries. Third rail, more likely, was the opinion of Mr. Sharp, and so it proved. I can charge from either the third rail or the trolley wire, declared Tom, who was insulating his hands in rubber gloves and getting his wires ready. In a short time he had the proper connections made, and the much-needed current was soon flowing into the depleted battery or batteries, for there were several sets, though the whole source of motive power was usually referred to as a storage battery. How long will it take? asked Mr. Damon. About two hours, answered the lad, will probably have to disconnect our wires several times whenever a trolley car comes past. By my system I can recharge the battery very quickly. Do you suppose the owners of the road will make any objection? asked the balloonist. I'm going to pay for the current I use, explained the young inventor. I have a meter which tells how much I take. The hum of an approaching car was heard, and Tom took the wires from the third rail. The car came to a stop opposite the automobile, the passengers, as well as the crew, looking curiously at the queer racing machine. Tom explained to the conductor what was going on, and asked the fare collector to notify those in charge of the power station that all current used would be paid for. The conductor said this would be satisfactory, he was sure, and the car proceeded, Tom resuming the charging of his battery. Allowing plenty of reserve power to accumulate, and making sure that the gauge would not stick again and deceive him, the owner of the speedy electric was soon ready to proceed again. They had been delayed a little over three hours, for they had to make several shifts as the cars came past. They reached their shore cottage late that night, and after seeing that the runabout was safely locked in the big shed where the submarine had been built, they all went to bed, for they were very tired. Tom sent word the next day to the managers of the race, that he would be on hand at the time stipulated, and announced that he had made part of the trip as required under the power of the auto itself. The next day was spent in overhauling the machinery, tightening up some loose bearings, boiling different parts, and further charging the battery. Tires were looked to, and the ones on the spare wheels were gone over to prepare for any emergency that might arise when the race was started. On the third day, Tom, Mr. Sharp, and Mr. Damon, leaving the cottage, completed the trip to Havenford, Long Island, where the new track had been constructed. They reached the place shortly before noon, and, if they had been unaware of the location, they could not have missed it, for there were many autos speeding along the road toward the scene of the race, which would take place the following day. Several electric cars passed Tom and his friends, whizzing swiftly by, but the young inventor was not going to show off his speed until the time came. Besides, he did not want to risk any risks of an accident. But some of the contestants seemed anxious for impromptu brushes, and more than one called to our hero to speed up and let's see what he can do. But Tom smiled and shook his head. There were many gasoline and some steam autos going out to the new track, which was considered a remarkable piece of engineering. It was in the shape of an octagon, and the turns were considered very safe. It was a five-mile track, and to complete the race, it would be necessary to make a hundred circuits. Through scores of autos, Tom and his friends threaded their way, the young inventor keeping a watchful eye on the various types of machine with which he would soon have to compete. There were many kinds, some were larger and some smaller than his. Many obviously carried very large batteries, but whether they had the speed or not was another question. Some, Ian Sperts, seemed to Tom to be fully as fast as his own, and he began to have some doubts whether he could win the race. But I'm not going to give up until the five-hundredth mile is finished, he thought grimly. They were now in sight of the track and noted many machines speeding around it. Go on in and try your car, Tom, urged Mr. Sharp. Yes, do, added Mr. Damon. Let's see how it travels. I will, after I notify the proper officials that I have arrived, decided the lead. The formalities were soon complied with. Tom received his entry card, after paying the fee, made affidavit that he had completed the entire trip from home under his own power, saved with a little stretch when the car was pulled, which did not count against him, and was soon ready to go on the track. Only electric cars were allowed there. As the young inventor guided his latest effort in the machine line onto the big track, there were murmurs of surprise from the throngs. That's a queer machine, said one. Yes, but it looks speedy, was another's opinion. There's the car for my money, added a third, pointing to a big red electric car, which was certainly whizzing around the track. Tom noted the red car. Behind it was a green one, also moving at a fast rate of speed. Those will be my nearest rivals, but the lead, as he guided his car onto the track. A moment later he was sending the auto ahead at moderate speed, while the other contestants looked at the new arrival, as if trying to discover whether in it they would have a dangerous competitor. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss Tom Swift and his Electric Runabout by Victor Appleton, Chapter 25. Winning the Prize After making two circuits of the track at moderate speed, Tom turned on more power, deciding to see how the machine would behave on the turns going at a fast speed. As it happened, he forged ahead, just as the big red car was coming up behind him. The driver of it took this for a challenge, and threw his controller handle forward. Come on, he cried to our heroes, when even with him. Tom did not want to decline the invitation, and the impromptu race was under way. Soon the green car came rushing up, and for two miles the three kept almost in line. It was evident that neither the green nor the red car drivers wanted to open out, until they saw Tom do so. He was willing to oblige them, and suddenly increased his speed. They did the same, and went ahead of him. Then Tom turned on a little more juice, and got the lead. But the two men were right after him, and they seesawed like this for two more miles. Then, with a cry the man in the red car, with a sudden burst of speed, left Tom and the green car behind. The green car was soon up to its rival, but Tom decided he would not spur. The lad and his friends spent the early part of the night in making a final inspection of the machinery, finding it in good order. Then, with his head filled with visions of the race on the morrow, Tom went to bed. He had made inquiries by telephone of the friends of Miss Nester, and learned that she had not arrived. Tom felt a distinct sense of disappointment. The day of the race could not have been better. It was ideal weather, and conditions at the track were just right. Tom was up early, and went over every inch of his car with a nervous dread that he might find something the matter. The final details of the race were completed, and the entrance given their numbers and places. Tom drew a good position, not the best, but he had no reason to complain. Half an hour before the start he again telephoned to see if Miss Nester had arrived, but she had not, and it was with rather gloomy thoughts that the lad entered his car in which Mr. Sharp had already taken his place. Mr. Damon went to the grandstand to watch the race. I wanted Mary to see me win, thought our hero, for he had grimly set his mind on coming in ahead. There was a great crowd in the grandstand and scattered about the big track, which took in a large extent of territory. In spite of its size five miles around, it seemed solidly packed for the entire length with autos, containing gay parties who had come to see the electric contest. There was a band playing gay errors, as Tom guided his machine through the entrance gate and onto the track. The judges made their final inspection. There were twenty cars entered, but it was obvious that some of them would not last long, as their battery charging was not large enough. Their owners might have relied on recharging, but how they could do this under the usual slow system and hope to win Tom could not see. He hoped to run the entire distance on the single charge, but if by some accident part of his current should leak away, his battery could be charged in a short time by means of his new system to run for a considerable distance, or he could install a new one already charged, for he had two sets on hand. Tom glanced over the cars of his competitors. They were to be sent away in batches, the affair of being a handicap one, with time allowance for the smaller powered cars. Tom noted that his car and the red and the green ones were in the same bunch. Tom's car was purple. Are you all ready? asked the starter of the first group of races. Ready was the low-voiced response. Crack went the pistol, and there followed the hum of the motors as the current set the mechanism to work. Forward went the cars amid the crash of the band and the cheers of the crowd. The big race was underway. Do you feel nervous Tom? asked Mr. Sharp. Not a bit, replied the lad. Around and around the track flew the speedy electrics. It was evident that the holding of a meet solely for cars of this character had brought out many new ideas that would be to the benefit of the industry. Some cars were freaks, and others, like Tom's, showed a distinct advance over previous styles of construction. A 500-mile race around the track is rather a monotonous affair, except for what happens and things very soon began to happen at this race. As Tom had expected, several of the machines were forced to withdraw. Tire troubles beset some, and others found that they were hopelessly out of it because of low power or lack of battery capacity. Tom determined not to let the red or the green car gain any advantage over him, and so he watched those two vehicles narrowly. On the other hand, the red and the green electrics were evidently afraid of one another and of Tom. They all three kept pretty much together for the first 30 miles. By this time, the race had settled down into a steady grind. There was some excitement when the steering gear of one car broke and it crashed into the fence, injuring the driver, but the race went on. The young inventor was holding his own with his two chief rivals and was feeling rather proud of his car when there came from it a report like a pistol shot. Blow out, yelled Tom desperately, steering to one of the several repair stations on the inner side of the track. Be ready with the extra wheel, Mr. Sharp. Right you are, cried the balloonist. The car was scarcely stopped when he had leaped out and had the lifting jack under the left rear wheel where the tire had gone to the bed. He and Tom labored like Trojans to take off the wheel and put on the other. They lost five minutes, and when they got under way again, the red and the green cars were three-quarters of a lap ahead. You've got to catch them, declared sharp firmly. But the red and the green drivers saw their advantage and were determined to hold it. Tom could not catch them without going his limit, and he did not want to do this just yet. However, he had his opportunity when about 200 miles had been covered. Both the red and the green cars had tire troubles, but the red one was delayed scarcely two minutes, as there was a core of mechanics on hand to take off the defective wheel and put on another. Still, Tom regained his lost ground, and once more the race between those three cars was even. In the rear of Tom's car, Mr. Sharp was mending the blown-out tire, though there was still one spare wheel on reserve. Tom, in front, peered eagerly at the track. Nearly side by side raced the red and the green cars, the latter somewhat to the rear. It was at the 350th mile that Tom had another blowout. This time, it took a little longer to change the wheel, and the red and green cars gained a full lap on him. The track was now so dusty that it was difficult to see the contesting cars. Many had dropped out, and more were on the verge of giving up. With the odds against him, Tom started in to regain the lost ground. Narrowly he watched his electric power. Slowly he saw it dropping. Would he have enough left to finish out the race? He feared not. The hours were passing. Still there was a hundred miles yet to go, twenty circuits of the track. Some of the spectators were getting weary and leaving. The band played spasmodically. Suddenly Tom saw the red car shoot to one side of the track toward a charging station. The green car followed. That's our cue, cried the young inventor. We need a little more juice, and now is the time to get it. The lad ran to the shed where his charging wires were, and they were connected in a trice. He allowed twenty-five minutes for the charging. As he knew with his improved battery he could get enough current in that time to finish the contest. Before the red and green drivers had finished installing new batteries, for they could not recharge as quickly as could our hero, Tom was on the track again. But in a little while his two rivals were after him. It was now a spectacular race. Around and around swept the three big cars. All the others were practically out of it. The crowd became lively heirs. Mile after mile was reeled off. The day was passing. Tired and covered with dust from the track, Tom still sat at the steering wheel. Two laps more, cried Mr. Sharp, as the starter's pistol gave this warning. Can you get away from him, Tom? The red and green cars were following closely. The young inventor looked back and nodded. He turned on more power almost to the limit that he was saving for the final spurt. But after him still came the two big cars. Suddenly the red car shot ahead, just as the last lap was beginning. The green tried to follow, but there was a flash of fire, a loud report, and Tom knew a fuse had blown out. There was no time for his rival to put in a new one. The race was now between Tom and the red car. Could the lad catch and pass it? They were now only a mile from the finish. The red car was three lengths ahead. With a quick motion, Tom turned on the last bit of power. There seemed to come a roar from his motor, and his car shot ahead. It was on even terms with the red car, when what Tom had been fearing for the last five minutes happened. His fuse blew out. Too bad, it's all up with us, cried Mr. Sharp. No, cried Tom in a ringing voice. I've got an emergency fuse ready. He snapped the switch in place, putting into commission another fuse. The motor that had lost speed began to pick it up again. Tom had pulled back the controller handle, but now he shoved it forward again, notch by notch, until it was at the limit. He had fallen back from the red car and the occupants of that, with a yell of triumph prepared to cross the line a winner. But, like a racehorse that nerves himself for the last desperate spurt, Tom's machine fairly leaked ahead. With his hands gripping the rim of the steering wheel, until it seemed that the bones of his fingers would protrude, Tom sent his car straight for the finishing tape. There was a yell from the spectators. Men were standing up, waving their hats, and shouting. Women were fairly screaming. Mr. Damon was blessing everything within sight. Mr. Sharp, in his excitement, was pushing on the back of the front seats, as if to shove the car ahead. Then, as the pistol announced the close of the race, Tom's car, with what seemed a mighty leap, like a hunter clearing a ditch, forged ahead, and crossed the line a length in advance of the red car. Tom Swift had won. Amid the cheers of the crowd, the lad slowed up and, at the direction of the judges, wheeled back to the stand to receive the prize. A certified check for three thousand dollars was handed him, and he received the congratulations of the racing officials. The driver of the red car also generously praised him. You won fair and square, he said, shaking hands with Tom. The young inventor and his friends drove their car to their shed. As Tom was descending, weary and begrimmed with dust, he heard a voice asking, May I congratulate you also? He wheeled around to confront Mary Nester, immaculate in a summer gown. Why, why, he stammered. I thought you didn't come. Oh, yes I did, she answered, laughing. I wouldn't have missed it for anything. I arrived late, but I saw the whole race. Wasn't it glorious? I'm so glad you won. Tom was too, now, but he shrank back when Miss Nester held out both daintily-gloved hands to him. His hands were covered with oil and dirt. As if I cared for my gloves, she cried, and she took possession of his hands, a proceeding to which Tom was nothing loath. Are you going to race any more, she asked, as he walked along by her side, away from the gathering crowd. I don't know, he replied. My car is speedier than I thought it was. Perhaps I may enter it in other contests. But what Tom Swift did later on will be told in another volume, to be called Tom Swift and his wireless message, or the castaways of earthquake island, a strange tale of shipwreck and mystery. The run back home was made without incident, save for a broken chain easily repaired the day following the race, and Tom later received a number of invitations to give exhibitions of speed. Several automobile manufacturers wanted to secure the rights to his machine, but he said he desired to consider the matter before acting. He did not forget his promise to Mrs. Baggard regarding the diamond earrings, and bought her the finest pair he could find. Come on, Mr. Sharp, propose Tom a week or so after the big race, let's go for a spin in the airship. I want to see how it feels to be among the clouds once more, and they were soon soaring aloft. The new bank, started by Mr. Foger, did not flourish long. It closed its doors in less than six months, but the old institution was stronger than ever. Mr. Berg disappeared, and Tom never learned whether the agent really was the man he had chased and whose watch charm he tore loose, though he always had his suspicions. Nor did it ever develop who crossed the electric wires, so that Tom was so nearly fatally shocked. Andy Foger disliked our hero more than ever, and on several occasions caused him not a little trouble, but Tom was able to look after himself. This is the end of Tom Swift and his electric runabout, recording by Tom Weiss.