Victor Appleton (house Name) (6 page)

"No, sah! No, indeedy, sah!" replied the colored man. "Yo' doan't
catch dis yeah nigger lookin' around!"

"Why not?"

"Why not? 'Cause I'll tell yo' why not. I'm so stiff an' I'm so
nearly broke t' pieces, dat if I turn mah head around it suah will
twist offen mah body. No, sah! No, indeedy, sah, I ain't gwine t'
turn 'round. But am yo' suah dat mah mule Boomerang ain't hurted?"

"No, he's not hurt a bit, and I'm sure you are not. I didn't strike
you hard, for I had almost stopped my machine. Try to get up. I'm
positive you'll find yourself all right. I'm sorry it happened."

"Oh, dat's all right. Doan't mind me," went on the colored man. "It
was mah fault fer gittin in de road. But dat mule Boomerang am
suttinly de most outrageous quadruped dat ever circumlocuted."

"Why do you call him Boomerang?" asked Tom, wondering if the negro
really was hurt.

"What fo' I call him Boomerang? Did yo' eber see dem Australian
black mans what go around wid a circus t'row dem crooked sticks dey
calls boomerangs?"

"Yes, I've seen them."

"Well, Boomerang, mah mule, am jest laik dat. He's crooked, t' begin
wid, an' anudder t'ing, yo' can't never tell when yo' start him whar
he's gwine t' land up. Dat's why I calls him Boomerang."

"I see. It's a very proper name. But why don't you try to get up?"

"Does yo' t'ink I can?"

"Sure. Try it. By the way, what's your name?"

"My name? Why I was christened Eradicate Andrew Jackson Abraham
Lincoln Sampson, but folks most ginnerally calls me Eradicate
Sampson, an' some doan't eben go to dat length. Dey jest calls me
Rad, fo' short."

"Eradicate," mused Tom. "That's a queer name, too. Why were you
called that?"

"Well, yo' see I eradicates de dirt. I'm a cleaner an' a whitewasher
by profession, an' somebody gib me dat name. Dey said it were fitten
an' proper, an' I kept it eber sence. Yais, sah, I'se Eradicate
Sampson, at yo' service. Yo' ain't got no chicken coops yo' wants
cleaned out, has yo'? Or any stables or fences t' whitewash? I
guarantees satisfaction."

"Well, I might find some work for you to do," replied the young
inventor, thinking this would be as good a means as any of placating
the darky. "But come, now, try and see if you can't stand. I don't
believe I broke any of your legs."

"I guess not. I feels better now. Where am dat work yo' was speakin'
ob?" and Eradicate Sampson, now that there seemed to be a prospect
of earning money, rose quickly and easily.

"Why, you're all right!" exclaimed Tom, glad to find that the
accident had had no serious consequences.

"Yais, sah, I guess I be. Whar did yo' say, yo' had some
whitewashin' t' do?"

"No place in particular, but there is always something that needs
doing at our house. If you call I'll give you a job."

"Yais, sah, I'll be sure to call," and Eradicate walked back to
where Boomerang was patiently waiting.

Tom told the colored man how to find the Swift home, and was
debating with himself whether he ought not to offer Eradicate some
money as compensation for knocking him into the air, when he noticed
that the negro was tying one wheel of his wagon fast to the body of
the vehicle with a rope.

"What are you doing that for?" asked Tom.

"Got to, t' git downhill wid dis load ob fence posts," was the
answer. "Ef I didn't it would he right on to de heels ob Boomerang,
an' wheneber he feels anyt'ing on his heels he does act wuss dan a
circus mule."

"But why don't you use your brake? I see you have one on the wagon.
Use the brake to hold back going downhill."

"'Scuse me, Mistah Swift, 'scuse me!" exclaimed Eradicate quickly.
"But yo' doan't know dat brake. It's wuss dan none at all. It doan't
work, fer a fact. No, indeedy, sah. I'se got to rope de wheel."

Tom was interested at once. He made an examination of the brake, and
soon saw why it would not hold the wheels. The foot lever was not
properly connected with the brake bar. It was a simple matter to
adjust it by changing a single bolt, and this Tom did with tools he
took from the bag on his motor-cycle. The colored man looked on in
open-mouthed amazement, and even Boomerang peered lazily around, as
if taking an interest in the proceedings.

"There," said Tom at length, as he tightened the nut. "That brake
will work now, and hold the wagon on any hill. You won't need to
rope the wheel. You didn't have the right leverage on it."

"'Scuse me, Mistah Swift, but what's dat yo' said?" and Eradicate
leaned forward to listen deferentially.

"I said you didn't have the right leverage."

"No, sah, Mistah Swift, 'scuse me, but yo' made a slight mistake. I
ain't never had no liverage on dis yeah wagon. It ain't dat kind ob
a wagon. I onct drove a livery rig, but dat were some years ago. I
ain't worked fo' de livery stable in some time now. Dat's why I know
dere ain't no livery on dis wagon. Yo'll 'scuse me, but yo' am
slightly mistaken."

"All right," rejoined Tom with a laugh, not thinking it worth while
to explain what he meant by the lever force of the brake rod. "Let
it go at that. Livery or no livery, your brake will work now. I
guess you're all right. Now don't forget to come around and do some
whitewashing," and seeing that the colored man was able to mount to
the seat and start off Boomerang, who seemed to have deep-rooted
objections about moving, Tom wheeled his motor-cycle back to the
road.

Eradicate Sampson drove his wagon a short distance and then suddenly
applied the brake. It stopped short, and the mule looked around as
if surprised.

"It suah do work, Mistah Swift!" called the darky to Tom, who was
waiting the result of his little repair job. "It suah do work!"

"I'm glad of it."

"Mah golly! But yo' am suttinly a conjure-man when it comes t'
fixin' wagons! Did yo' eber work fer a blacksmith?"

"No, not exactly. Well, good-by, Eradicate. I'll look for you some
day next week."

With that Tom leaped on his machine and speeded off ahead of the
colored man and his rig. As he passed the load of fence posts the
youth heard Eradicate remark in awestricken tones:

"Mah golly! He suttinly go laik de wind! An' t' t'ink dat I were hit
by dat monstrousness machine, an' not hurted! Mah golly! T'ings am
suttinly happenin'! G'lang, Boomerang!"

"This machine has more possibilities in it than I suspected," mused
Tom. "But one thing I've got to change, and that is the gasolene and
spark controls. I don't like them the way they are. I want a better
leverage, just as Eradicate needed on his wagon. I'll fix them, too,
when I get home."

He rode for several hours, until he thought it was about dinner
time, and then, heading the machine toward home, he put on all the
speed possible, soon arriving where his father was at work in the
shop.

"Well, how goes it?" asked Mr. Swift with a smile as he looked at
the flushed face of his son.

"Fine, dad! I scooted along in great shape. Had an adventure, too."

"You didn't meet any more of those men, did you? The men who are
trying to get my invention?" asked Mr. Swift apprehensively.

"No, indeed, dad. I simply had a little run-in with a chap named
Eradicate Andrew Jackson Abraham Lincoln Sampson, otherwise known as
Rad Sampson, and I engaged him to do some whitewashing for us. We do
need some white washing done, don't we, dad?"

"What's that?" asked Mr. Swift, thinking his son was joking.

Then Tom told of the happening.

"Yes, I think I can find some work for Eradicate to do," went on Mr.
Swift. "There is some dirt in the boiler shop that needs
eradicating, and I think he can do it. But dinner has been waiting
some time. We'll go in now, or Mrs. Baggert will be out after us."

Father and son were soon at the table, and Tom was explaining what
he meant to do to improve his motor-cycle. His father offered some
suggestions regarding the placing of the gasolene lever.

"I'd put it here," he said, and with his pencil he began to draw a
diagram on the white table cloth.

"Oh, my goodness me, Mr. Swift!" exclaimed Mrs. Baggert. "Whatever
are you doing?" and she sprang up in some alarm.

"What's the matter? Did I upset my tea?" asked the inventor
innocently.

"No; but you are soiling a clean tablecloth. Pencil-marks are so
hard to get out. Take a piece of paper, please."

"Oh, is that all?" rejoined Mr. Swift with a smile. "Well, Tom, here
is the way I would do that," and substituting the back of an
envelope for the tablecloth, he continued the drawing.

Tom was looking over his father's shoulder interestedly, when Mrs.
Baggert, who was taking off some of the dinner dishes, suddenly
asked:

"Are you expecting a visitor, Mr. Swift?"

"A visitor? No. Why?" asked the inventor quickly.

"Because I just saw a man going in the machine shop," went on the
housekeeper.

"A man! In the machine shop!" exclaimed Tom, rising from his chair.
Mr. Swift also got up, and the two hurried from the house. As they
reached the yard they saw a man emerging from the building where Mr.
Swift was constructing his turbine motor. The man had his back
turned toward them and seemed to be sneaking around, as though
desirous of escaping observation.

"What do you want?" called Mr. Swift.

The man turned quickly. At the sight of Mr. Swift and Tom he made a
jump to one side and got behind a big packing-box.

"That's queer," spoke Tom. "I wonder what he wants?"

"I'll soon see," rejoined Mr. Swift, and he started on a run toward
where the man was hiding. Tom followed his father, and as the two
inventors reached the box the man sprang from behind it and down the
yard to a lane that passed in back of the Swift house. As he ran he
was seen to stuff some papers in his pocket.

"My plans! He's stolen some of my plans!" cried Mr. Swift. "Catch
him, Tom!"

Tom ran after the stranger, whose curious actions had roused their
suspicions, while Mr. Swift entered the motor shop to ascertain
whether anything had been stolen.

Down through the yard Tom speeded, in and out among the buildings,
looking on every side for a sight of the bold stranger. No one was
to be seen.

"He can't be very far ahead." thought Tom. "I ought to catch him
before he gets to the woods. If he reaches there he has a good
chance of getting away."

There was a little patch of trees just back of the inventor's house,
not much of a woods, perhaps, but that is what they were called.

"I wonder if he was some ordinary tramp, looking for what he could
steal, or if he was one of the gang after dad's invention?" thought
Tom as he sprinted ahead.

By this time the youth was clear of the group of buildings and in
sight of a tall, board fence, which surrounded the Swift estate on
three sides. Here and there, along the barrier, were piled old
packing-cases, so that it would be easy for a fugitive to leap upon
one of them and so get over the fence. Tom thought of this
possibility in a moment.

"I guess he got over ahead of me," the lad exclaimed, and he peered
sharply about. "I'll catch him on the other side!"

At that instant Tom tripped over a plank and went down full length,
making quite a racket. When he picked himself up he was surprised to
see the man he was after dart from inside a big box and start for
the fence, near a point where there were some packing-cases piled
up, making a good approach to the barrier. The fugitive had been
hiding, waiting for a chance to escape, and Tom's fall had alarmed
him.

"Here! Hold on there! Come back!" cried the youth as he recovered
his wind and leaped forward.

But the man did not stay. With a bound he was up on the pile of
boxes, and the next moment he was poised on top of the fence. Before
leaping down on the other side, a jump at which even a practiced
athlete might well hesitate, the fleeing stranger paused and looked
back. Tom gazed at him and recognized the man in an instant. He was
the third of the mysterious trio whom the lad had seen in the
Mansburg restaurant.

"Wait a minute! What do you want sneaking around here?" shouted Tom
as he ran forward. The man returned no answer, and an instant later
disappeared from view on the other side of the fence.

"He jumped down!" thought Tom. "A big leap, too. Well, I've got to
follow. This is a queer proceeding. First one, then the second, and
now the third of those men seem determined to get something here. I
wonder if this one succeeded? I'll soon find out."

The lad was up on the pile of packing-cases and over the fence in
almost record time. He caught a glimpse of the fugitive running
toward the woods. Then the boy leaped down, jarring himself
considerably, and took after the man.

But though Tom was a good runner he was handicapped by the fact that
the man had a start of him, and also by the fact that the stranger
had had a chance to rest while hiding for the second time in the big
box, while Tom had kept on running. So it is no great cause for
wonder that Mr. Swift's son found himself being distanced.

Once, twice he called on the fleeing one to halt, but the man paid
no attention, and did not even turn around. Then the youth wisely
concluded to save his wind for running. He did his best, but was
chagrined to see the man reach the woods ahead of him.

"I've lost him now," thought Tom. "Well, there's no help for it."

Still he did not give up, but kept on through the patch of trees. On
the farther side was Lake Carlopa, a broad and long sheet of water.

"If he doesn't know the lake's there," thought our hero, "he may
keep straight on. The water will be sure to stop him, and I can
catch him. But what will I do with him after I get him? That's
another question. I guess I've got a right to demand to know what he
was doing around our place, though."