Victor Appleton (house Name)

"That's the way to do it! Whoop her up, Andy! Shove the spark lever
over, and turn on more gasolene! We'll make a record this trip."

Two lads in the tonneau of a touring car, that was whirling along a
country road, leaned forward to speak to the one at the steering
wheel. The latter was a red-haired youth, with somewhat squinty
eyes, and not a very pleasant face, but his companions seemed to
regard him with much favor. Perhaps it was because they were riding
in his automobile.

"Whoop her up, Andy!" added the lad on the seat beside the driver.
"This is immense!"

"I rather thought you'd like it," remarked Andy Foger, as he turned
the car to avoid a stone in the road. "I'll make things hum around
Shopton!"

"You have made them hum already, Andy," commented the lad beside
him. "My ears are ringing. Wow! There goes my cap!"

As the boy spoke, the breeze, created by the speed at which the car
was traveling, lifted off his cap, and sent it whirling to the rear.

Andy Foger turned for an instant's glance behind. Then he opened the
throttle still wider, and exclaimed:

"Let it go, Sam. We can get another. I want to see what time I can
make to Mansburg! I want to break a record, if I can."

"Look out, or you'll break something else!" cried a lad on the rear
seat. "There's a fellow on a bicycle just ahead of us. Take care,
Andy!"

"Let him look out for himself," retorted Foger, as he bent lower
over the steering wheel, for the car was now going at a terrific
rate. The youth on the bicycle was riding slowly along, and did not
see the approaching automobile until it was nearly upon him. Then,
with a mean grin, Andy Foger pressed the rubber bulb of the horn
with sudden energy, sending out a series of alarming blasts.

"It's Tom Swift!" cried Sam Snedecker. "Look out, or you'll run him
down!"

"Let him keep out of my way," retorted Andy savagely.

The youth on the wheel, with a sudden spurt of speed, tried to cross
the highway. He did manage to do it, but by such a narrow margin
that in very terror Andy Foger shut off the power, jammed down the
brakes and steered to one side. So suddenly was he obliged to swerve
over that the ponderous machine skidded and went into the ditch at
the side of the road, where it brought up, tilting to one side.

Tom Swift, his face rather pale from his narrow escape, leaped from
his bicycle, and stood regarding the automobile. As for the
occupants of that machine, from Andy Foger, the owner, to the three
cronies who were riding with him, they all looked very much
astonished.

"Are we—is it damaged any, Andy?" asked Sam Snedecker.

"I hope not," growled Andy. "If my car's hurt it's Tom Swift's
fault!"

He leaped from his seat and made a hurried inspection of the
machine. He found nothing the matter, though it was more from good
luck than good management. Then Andy turned and looked savagely at
Tom Swift. The latter, standing his wheel up against the fence,
walked forward.

"What do you mean by getting in the way like that?" demanded Andy
with a scowl. "Don't you see that you nearly upset me?"

"Well, I like your nerve, Andy Foger!" cried Tom. "What do you mean
by nearly running me down? Why didn't you sound your horn? You
automobilists take too much for granted! You were going faster than
the legal rate, anyhow!"

"I was, eh?" sneered Andy.

"Yes, you were, and you know it. I'm the one to make a kick, not
you. You came pretty near hitting me. Me getting in your way! I
guess I've got some rights on the road!"

"Aw, go on!" growled Andy, for he could think of nothing else to
say. "Bicycles are a back number, anyhow."

"It isn't so very long ago that you had one," retorted Tom. "First
you fellows know, you'll be pulled in for speeding."

"I guess we had better go slower, Andy," advised Sam in a low voice.
"I don't want to be arrested."

"Leave this to me," retorted Andy. "I'm running this tour. The next
time you get in my way I'll run you down!" he threatened Tom. "Come
on, fellows, we're late now, and can't make a record run, all on
account of him," and Andy got back into the car, followed by his
cronies, who had hurriedly alighted after their thrilling stop.

"If you try anything like this again you'll wish you hadn't,"
declared Tom, and he watched the automobile party ride off.

"Oh, forget it!" snapped back Andy, and he laughed, his companions
joining.

Tom Swift said nothing in reply. Slowly he remounted his wheel and
rode off, but his thoughts toward Andy Foger were not very pleasant
ones. Andy was the son of a wealthy man of the town, and his good
fortune in the matter of money seemed to have spoiled him, for he
was a bully and a coward. Several times he and Tom Swift had
clashed, for Andy was overbearing. But this was the first time Andy
had shown such a vindictive spirit.

"He thinks he can run over everything since he got his new auto,"
commented Tom aloud as he rode on. "He'll have a smash-up some day,
if he isn't careful. He's too fond of speeding. I wonder where he
and his crowd are going?"

Musing over his narrow escape Tom rode on, and was soon at his home,
where he lived with his widowed father, Barton Swift, a wealthy
inventor, and the latter's housekeeper, Mrs. Baggert. Approaching a
machine shop, one of several built near his house by Mr. Swift, in
which he conducted experiments and constructed apparatus. Tom was
met by his parent.

"What's the matter, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "You look as if something
had happened."

"Something very nearly did," answered the youth, and related his
experience on the road.

"Humph," remarked the inventor; "your little pleasure-jaunt might
have ended disastrously. I suppose Andy and his chums are off on
their trip. I remember Mr. Foger speaking to me about it the other
day. He said Andy and some companions were going on a tour, to be
gone a week or more. Well, I'm glad it was no worse. But have you
anything special to do, Tom?"

"No; I was just riding for pleasure, and if you want me to do
anything, I'm ready."

"Then I wish you'd take this letter to Mansburg for me. I want it
registered, and I don't wish to mail it in the Shopton post-office.
It's too important, for it's about a valuable invention."

"The new turbine motor, dad?"

"That's it. And on your way I wish you'd stop in Merton's machine
shop and get some bolts he's making for me."

"I will. Is that the letter?" and Tom extended his hand for a
missive his father held.

"Yes. Please be careful of it. It's to my lawyers in Washington
regarding the final steps in getting a patent for the turbine.
That's why I'm so particular about not wanting it mailed here.
Several times before I have posted letters here, only to have the
information contained in them leak out before my attorneys received
them. I do not want that to happen in this case. Another thing;
don't speak about my new invention in Merton's shop when you stop
for the bolts."

"Why, do you think he gave out information concerning your work?"

"Well, not exactly. He might not mean to, but he told me the other
day that some strangers were making inquiries of him, about whether
he ever did any work for me."

"What did he tell them?"

"He said that he occasionally did, but that most of my inventive
work was done in my own shops, here. He wanted to know why the men
were asking such questions, and one of them said they expected to
open a machine shop soon, and wanted to ascertain if they might
figure on getting any of my trade. But I don't believe that was
their object."

"What do you think it was?"

"I don't know, exactly, but I was somewhat alarmed when I heard this
from Merton. So I am going to take no risks. That's why I send this
letter to Mansburg. Don't lose it, and don't forget about the bolts.
Here is a blue-print of them, so you can see if they come up to the
specifications."

Tom rode off on his wheel, and was soon spinning down the road.

"I wonder if I'll meet Andy Foger and his cronies again?" he
thought. "Not very likely to, I guess, if they're off on a tour.
Well, I'm just as well satisfied. He and I always seem to get into
trouble when we meet." Tom was not destined to meet Andy again that
day, but the time was to come when the red-haired bully was to cause
Tom Swift no little trouble, and get him into danger besides. So Tom
rode along, thinking over what his father had said to him about the
letter he carried.

Mr. Barton Swift was a natural inventor. From a boy he had been
interested in things mechanical, and one of his first efforts had
been to arrange a system of pulleys, belts and gears so that the
windmill would operate the churn in the old farmhouse where he was
born. The fact that the mill went so fast that it broke the churn
all to pieces did not discourage him, and he at once set to work,
changing the gears. His father had to buy a new churn, but the young
inventor made his plan work on the second trial, and thereafter his
mother found butter-making easy.

From then on Barton Swift lived in a world of inventions. People
used to say he would never amount to anything, that inventors never
did, but Mr. Swift proved them all wrong by amassing a considerable
fortune out of his many patents. He grew up, married and had one
son, Tom. Mrs. Barton died when Tom was three years old, and since
then he had lived with his father and a succession of nurses and
housekeepers. The last woman to have charge of the household was a
Mrs. Baggert, a motherly widow, and she succeeded so well, and Tom
and his father formed such an attachment for her, that she was
regarded as a fixture, and had now been in charge ten years.

Mr. Swift and his son lived in a handsome house on the outskirts of
the village of Shopton, in New York State. The village was near a
large body of water, which I shall call Lake Carlopa, and there Tom
and his father used to spend many pleasant days boating, for Tom and
the inventor were better chums than many boys are, and they were
often seen together in a craft rowing about, or fishing. Of course
Tom had some boy friends, but he went with his father more often
than he did with them.