Chapter 17 Tom Swift and His Airline Express by Victor Appleton
THE AIRLINE STARTS
Mary Nestor’s reason for putting her question to the young inventor was because Tom was speeding up the electric auto and guiding it along the road in the direction of the runaway horse. For that the animal was in a frenzy and was now running away was apparent to both the young people.
“What are you going to do, Tom?” repeated Mary.
“I’m going to save Mr. Jacks if I can before he gets to the dangerous part of the road,” answered the young inventor. “If I can run up alongside of him, I may be able to lift him out of his carriage in case there is a likelihood of his going down the gully. Is the road very narrow there, Mary?”
“Yes, it is—hardly wide enough for two between the side of the cliff on the left and the edge of the gully on the right.”
“Then there’s not much chance of driving the runabout between him and the edge of the gully,” reasoned Tom. “I might go in myself. Luckily he’s driving on the left side of his buggy and this car has a right-hand drive. I can reach right over and grab him. And when I get near enough to do that, Mary, I want you to take the steering wheel of this car and hold it steady. Can you do that?”
“I’ll try, Tom.”
“You’ve got to do it if we’re to save his life.”
“Very well then, Tom, I will,” returned Mary in a quiet voice, and Tom knew she would not fail him. “How fast the horse is going!” she added.
The light buggy whirled around a curve on two wheels in a manner to make Mary catch her breath. Tom gave a low whistle. Then as the runabout made the same curve, Tom saw that the road ahead was straight but narrow. On one side, the left, rose a high cliff of rock, and on the right hand was a deep gully, the road running along its very edge.
“Oh, Tom, do you think you can catch him in time?” asked Mary anxiously. “There’s another curve, just ahead, and if the horse goes around that as fast as it is going now it will go over the edge and Mr. Jacks will be killed!”
“I’ve got to get him before that happens,” declared Tom grimly. “The horse will never be born that can beat my runabout.” Not idly had Tom’s electric machine been called “the speediest car on the road,” and now it surely was speeding.
Though the frantic horse did his best, it was naught against the power of the batteries concealed in Tom’s car, and in a few moments the young inventor was driving along the narrow road on even terms with the swaying carriage in which sat a white-faced man. He was sawing on the reins and trying by his voice to halt the horse, but without effect.
“The curve is just ahead, Tom,” warned Mary.
“All right,” he answered. “You take the wheel now. I’m going to stand up, reach over, and pull him into this car. Keep close to the face of the cliff—it’s our only chance!”
A moment later Tom rose in his seat, and as his hands left the steering wheel Mary leaned over and took charge of guiding the car. Exerting all his strength, Tom caught hold of Mr. Jacks under the arms and fairly pulled him from his seat. Luckily the old man was frail and light, or Tom could not have done it.
“Here! Here!” cried the frightened horseman. “What—what——”
But the breath was fairly choked out of him as Tom hauled him into the runabout and jammed him down on the seat between Mary and himself. Then Tom grabbed the wheel, and put on the brakes with all his might, for the dangerous curve was just ahead.
On sped the maddened horse, the buggy bouncing up off the uneven road. Just as the runabout slowed to a stop the mad animal swung around the curve. It did not make it, for its speed was too great, and a moment later Mary gave a cry of pity as the ill-fated brute shot over the edge of the cliff, dragging the light buggy with it. There was a rattle of gravel, a shower of stones, a weird cry from the horse, which must have sensed its doom, and then the end came.
Down the precipitous cliff had plunged the animal, crashing to death on the rocks below amid the splinters of the little carriage. Up above on the road, close to the rocky face of the cliff, sat the three in the runabout—a trembling, aged man, a white-faced girl, and Tom Swift, flushed by his exertions.
“Well—well,” stuttered Jason Jacks, when he could get his breath, “I guess I’ve had a narrow escape. My—my horse went over the cliff, didn’t he?”
“I’m afraid he did,” answered Tom grimly.
“Well, I’m just as glad,” went on the millionaire.
“Oh, Mr. Jacks!” exclaimed Mary.
“Ha! you know me, do you, young lady? Well, the reason I said that is because if he’s that kind of an animal, likely to run away without warning on a dangerous road—as he did—I don’t want ever to drive him again, and I wouldn’t want anybody else to. I only bought him the other day, and I’m glad I found out his trick in time. But let me see—you know me. Do I know you?” and he glanced sharply at the now blushing girl.
“I think you know my father, Mr. Jacks,” she replied. “He is Mr. Nestor, and I have seen you at our house.”
“Oh, of course! To be sure—Mary Nestor. Well, I’m much obliged to you—and more obliged to this young man for saving my life. What’s your name?” he asked bluntly.
“Tom Swift.”
“Tom Swift. Oh, yes, I’ve heard that name before. You have a plant in Shopton, haven’t you? You make motor boats and such things?”
“Yes, I have invented a few things,” Tom modestly admitted.
“Um—yes,” murmured the millionaire. “I’ve heard of you. Well, I’m too much upset to thank you properly now. Could you leave me at my home?”
“Glad to,” answered Tom. “Do you want to drive around the road at the bottom of the cliff and find out about your horse?”
“I guess there isn’t much left of him, young man,” was the grim answer. “He’s had his last run. It was a narrow escape for me. How did you happen to be right on the spot?”
“Just by chance,” Tom replied.
He drove back to the millionaire’s home, declining an invitation to come in. Then Tom and Mary went on, and when later in the evening he left her at her home, she said with shining eyes:
“Oh, Tom, suppose he should?”
“Should what, Mary?”
“Give you ten or twenty thousand dollars for saving his life? He could well afford to do it—he’d never miss the money—and then you could finish the new airline machines.”
“I don’t want any reward for saving lives, Mary. Besides, he’d have to give you a share. If you hadn’t been with me I never could have saved him.”
“Nonsense, Tom!”
“No nonsense about it!”
It was the next day that Jason Jacks called at Tom Swift’s office, driving up in a handsome two-horse carriage with a footman in livery. For the old millionaire was eccentric and liked to imagine he was living in the old times. He never could be induced to ride in an automobile.
“I’ve come to reward you, Tom Swift, for saving my life,” began Mr. Jacks, taking out his check book.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Tom, firmly but in respectful tones, “you can’t do anything of the kind.”
“Can’t do what?” Mr. Jacks asked sharply.
“Reward me for saving your life. Any one else would have done the same if he had had the chance, and I would have done the same for any one else.”
“Yes—I suppose so,” slowly admitted Mr. Jacks, and it was easy to see that Tom’s refusal pleased him rather than otherwise. “Human life can’t be bought, though I hold mine at a high price. But look here, young man, since you won’t accept a reward, will you let me do you a favor in return for the one you did me? That’s fair, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” admitted Tom.
“Well, then, I’ve been making inquiries about you, and I hear you are trying to launch a new invention. I don’t go in much for those things myself—I have no use for aeroplanes, motor boats, or automobiles, though I admit they have their place in the world, and I own stock in several motor companies. But I won’t ride in them.
“Now, I hear you are contemplating an airline express to San Francisco, but you haven’t had much success with it so far. Am I right?”
“Yes,” admitted Tom. “I have no hesitation in saying I am a bit short of cash to complete some improvements.”
“Then will you let me help finance the thing?” asked Mr. Jacks. “Oh, on a strictly business basis,” he added quickly, as he saw Tom about to refuse. “I’ll buy stock the same as I would in any other enterprise, and if it succeeds I expect to be paid my profit, the same as other investors. If it fails—well, it won’t be the first time I have lost money, though I don’t make a practice of that,” and he chuckled dryly.
“I’d be glad to sell you some stock,” said Tom quickly.
“All right then, young man, we can do business. I’ll have my secretary see you in a few days. I don’t like to be under obligations to anybody.”
“Neither do I,” retorted Tom; “and I feel sure that you will get a good return on what you invest with me. I’m going to succeed.”
“Well, if you do half as cleverly as you did when you pulled me out of that runaway, you’ll win!” predicted Mr. Jacks.
A few days later he invested fifteen thousand dollars in Tom’s new enterprise, taking stock to that value, and promising that if Tom could make six successful trips each way, between Long Island and the Golden Gate, carrying passengers as arranged, he would invest one hundred thousand dollars more and perhaps even a larger sum.
“Hurray!” cried Tom when he heard this news from Ned, who, of course, had attended to the details of this matter. “Now our success is assured!”
“Oh, I’m so glad!” exclaimed Mary, when he told her.
Busy scenes were the order of the day and night at the Swift plant after this much-needed new capital was paid in. Tom kept his men busy making improvements in the Falcon, and at last the day arrived when a final test was to be made.
Once more Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon, Koku, and some others took their places in the car. Mr. Swift declined to come, saying it was too much for his nerves. The car rolled over the field, was clamped to the chassis of the big aeroplane, and up in the air it rose.
This time there was no accident, and off above the lake and over the country soared the Falcon, flying beautifully. “It’s a success!” cried Ned.
“I want to make a test landing and see how long it takes to unclamp the car and fasten it to the other plane,” said Tom, before he would permit himself to exult.
This test was successfully met, and up rose the second plane, carrying the car, just as if the scene had taken place on the field in Chicago, the end of the first lap of the proposed airline express.
Not until then did Tom permit himself to see visions of complete success. But after another landing had been made and when the car had been rolled to the third plane, it was evident that the scheme could be carried out. The third plane did not go up, not being quite ready.
“Of course,” Tom said to his friends when they were talking it over, “this doesn’t mean that we can make the time which I hope is possible—sixteen hours from coast to coast—but I’m going to make a big effort for those figures.”
In the next few weeks matters were rushed to completion. A landing field was secured on Long Island, another in Chicago, one on the outskirts of Denver, and the last one at the Golden Gate. The route was mapped out with care, and guide posts and signal towers were placed in position.
Then, on a certain day, after many exhaustive tests, it was decided to inaugurate the first schedule of the airline express. The two planes had been sent, one to Chicago and the other to Denver, while the third was waiting on the Long Island field, where the passenger car had been taken.
Newspaper reporters, cameramen, moving picture operators, and many spectators were on hand.
“All aboard!” cried Tom, as he gave the signal to start. As he was about to close the door of the car, which would soon be soaring aloft, a boy ran across the field and thrust into the hands of the young inventor a piece of paper.
“What is it?” demanded Tom.
“Message for you! Man gave me a dollar to deliver it just as you started,” panted the boy.
Then, before he could answer, though he had an ominous feeling, Tom felt the car being lifted off the ground. The airline express had started!