Chapter 22 Tom Swift and His Airline Express by Victor Appleton
KENNY BREAKS DOWN
The quiet following the storm came as a great relief to Tom and Ned, alone up there in the cockpit of the plane. Though their friends were within a few feet of them, they really seemed quite isolated, for they could neither see nor hear the others in the car below them.
“Well, I’m glad we’re out of that,” remarked Tom, with a long breath—the first, seemingly, that he had taken in some time.
“Same here!” commented Ned. They were able to converse now by means of the speaking tube which connected the forward and aft cockpits, having only to overcome the roar of the motors and not the fierce rattle of the storm.
“And I guess if we do it inside of nineteen hours we’ve accomplished a lot,” went on Tom. “The Broadway Limited thinks it’s doing wonders if it goes from New York to Chicago in eighteen, but we have them skinned by several miles.”
“You said it!” cried Ned, with justified enthusiasm. “But do you think you’ll lose all of two hours, Tom?”
“Fully that,” Tom admitted, rather ruefully. “I did hope we might make it in sixteen hours and a few minutes, as I said we could do. But that storm actually cut two hours, if not more, off our schedule. However, it can’t be helped.”
So rapidly was the Osprey making time now that it seemed as if the Golden Gate were rushing forward and opening wide to receive the wonderful craft and her occupants. It is the sun, setting in a glory of gold outside the harbor of San Francisco that gives the poetical name to the city, as much so, perhaps, as the yellow nuggets it produced in the days that never will return.
There came a signal from the car. It was Ted Dolan calling up to Tom:
“Do you want to be relieved?”
“Thank you, no,” the young inventor answered. “I’ll stick now and make the landing.”
“I thought you might want to do so,” Ted said. “But if the storm played you out, Art and I will take her for a little while and you and Mr. Newton can come up again just before making the landing.”
“No, I’ll stick,” announced Tom. “How about you?” he asked his chum.
“I’m game, of course. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. They ought to reward you publicly in some way, Tom!”
“Reward! What for?”
“For establishing this airline express—crossing the United States in the daylight hours of a single day.”
“Reward nothing! If I can do it, the only reward I want is for Jason Jacks and others who can afford it to invest money in the project and get it firmly established.”
“Oh, they’ll do that all right, Tom. Is that the landing field below us?”
Ned pointed to a green level stretch outside the city of San Francisco. They had approached it rapidly, for the Osprey, as if determining to live up to her name, was fairly zooming toward the Pacific.
“That’s it,” was the answer. “There’s quite a crowd there, too! Hope I don’t muss anybody’s hair as I go down. Confound the people! Why don’t they know enough to keep out of the way when they see an aeroplane coming down right among ’em?”
Well might Tom ask this, for the crowd, which had assembled in anticipation of seeing the landing, was swarming all over the field in spite of the efforts of the police to keep a free place for the machine to come down.
“I’ll give ’em a bit of a scare,” decided Tom. Quickly shifting the rudder of his plane, it appeared for a moment as if he was going to crash down where the crowd was thickest. With yells of alarm the people scattered, and this left a clear space, which was what Tom wanted.
“Now for a landing, Ned!” he called to his chum. “Mark the time!”
“Mark it is!” answered Ned, who sat with his watch in one hand and a pencil in the other, ready to make the record on the official slip of paper he held on his knee. “It’s over eighteen hours, though, Tom,” he said regretfully.
“I’m afraid it is, Ned. But it can’t be helped. Better luck next time!”
“Hope so,” was the response.
A moment later, amid the wild and enthusiastic cheers of the crowd, Tom brought the Osprey to earth, the first time she had touched it since leaving Denver. The car landed with a gentle thud, rolled along a little way and then came to a stop while the crowd of reporters, cameramen, and general curiosity seekers rushed forward in an overwhelming wave. It was a reproduction of the same scenes that had taken place in Chicago and Denver, only this was more intensified, for it marked the end of the journey.
But before Tom would reply to the score of questions hurled at him by the reporters he called to Ned:
“What time do you make it?”
The manager figured rapidly.
“Eighteen hours and sixteen minutes from Long Island to San Francisco,” he answered.
“Not so bad,” murmured Tom. “But we’re going to do better than that the next time.”
And then, as he stepped down from the plane, he was surrounded by an excited and curious crowd.
“Tell us about it! What was the exact running time? Did you have any accidents? How do you feel? When are you going to make the return trip?”
These, and dozens of other questions, were fairly volleyed at Tom by the newspaper men, and he answered as best he could. By this time he was used to the printed publicity that followed his work, and he knew the value of it. So he was always courteous and kind to the reporters and photographers, patiently posing for the latter and letting them take as many pictures as they wanted.
It was a great feat, and every one realized that. As soon as enterprising reporters had telephoned the facts in to their papers in San Francisco, whistles were blown and bells were rung to celebrate the event. Tom was a popular hero, much as he disliked the role.
The news of his arrival was flashed back over land wires and by means of radio to New York and the East, though Tom did not wait for Mary and his father to receive the good news in this indirect way. As soon as he had given the reporters the gist of the story, speaking of the terrible storm through which they had run, Tom had his operator get in touch with his home on the radio. In a short time Tom’s voice was heard in the house at Shopton where Mary, her father and mother, and Mr. Swift had been sitting, anxiously waiting. It was night there, though still daylight in San Francisco.
“I’m all right, Dad!” reported the young inventor. “Didn’t make it quite as speedily as I hoped, but I’ll do better on the return trip. How’s Mary?”
“She’s all right,” answered Mr. Swift. “She will speak to you in a moment. But, Tom, be careful. I’m worried about you. A number of mysterious messages have come in over the telephone wires during the day. I’m afraid your enemies are still on your trail.”
“Well, maybe they are, Dad, but I think I have given them the slip,” laughed Tom. “Anyhow, they couldn’t stop me from making this one trip. And now let me talk to Mary.”
They were soon in conversation and the girl was greatly relieved to learn that Tom and his friends were safe.
“But do be careful, won’t you?” she begged.
“I sure will!” Tom promised. “Don’t worry! I haven’t seen any of those fellows out here. Guess it was too far for them.”
He was soon to learn, however, that this was not the case.
Bidding Mary good-bye over the radio and promising to talk to her again as soon as he could, Tom shut off the power on the wireless and made preparations for having his machine guarded during the night. Except for some of the mechanicians who would sleep on board, the others were to go to a hotel. There they would get some much-needed rest and prepare to make the return trip in a few days. Tom wanted time, however, to have the engines carefully gone over. Also he wanted to communicate with the crews in Denver and Chicago and have them alert and ready to speed him on his way when the return trip should be made.
A hasty inspection of the Osprey showed that the plane had sustained no damage in flying through the storm, but could, after a few adjustments, make the return journey.
“Well, what do you say to a good bath, Ned, and a lobster supper?” asked Tom of his chum, when they had summoned an automobile which would take them and Mr. Damon, with Eradicate, to the hotel.
“That sounds good to me,” Ned answered.
“Koku he stay and guard machine,” announced the big giant proudly, for Tom had informed him that was to be his duty.
“Don’t let anybody near it,” cautioned his master.
“Anybody come—Koku make ’um all full holes,” was the grim answer.
“Mebby Ah better stay, too,” suggested Eradicate.
“No, I want you with me, Rad,” Tom said. “I need looking after and so does Ned. We brought only one suit of clothes each, and they need pressing.”
“Dat’s whut I’ll do!” said the old colored man. He was pleased thus to serve his master.
So great was the interest manifested by the papers in Tom’s exploit that he could hardly get away from the reporters long enough to eat. At last he had fairly to beg them to give him a few minutes of quiet, and reluctantly they consented.
But after he had bathed and dined they were at him again, so it was long past midnight when Tom was really free. Mr. Damon, tired with the unusual trip, had retired, and thus Tom and his financial manager found themselves left pretty much alone.
“I don’t feel a bit like sleeping,” Tom said, “I’d only toss and tumble if I went to bed.”
“Same here,” agreed Ned.
“What do you say if we take a run out to the plane?” asked Tom. “I’d like to make sure she’s all right, even with Koku and the others on guard. There’s altogether too much curiosity about her.”
“I’m with you—come on.”
A taxicab took them out to the landing field, but, being a new man, the driver made a wrong approach and found himself on a blind road, half a mile from the Osprey’s landing place.
“Never mind,” said Tom, when the man offered to go back and approach by the proper route. “We can make better time by walking across lots. This will do.”
Tom paid and dismissed the driver and then he and Ned made their way through the darkness, somewhat illuminated by the moon, toward the place where the craft rested. Their approach was unnoticed, which was beginning to make Tom think that perhaps Koku was not as active on guard duty as he might have been, when suddenly from the bushes just ahead of them a man sprang. He started to run away, but Ned, sensing something suspicious in his movements, sprang forward and caught hold of him.
“Who are you?” cried the young financial manager. “What have you been doing? Show a light here, Tom,” for Ned knew his chum carried a pocket flashlight.
When the gleam was thrown on the man’s face Tom cried:
“Kenny! You here!”
Then, to the surprise of Tom and Ned, the fellow broke down and actually began to whimper as if his spirit was broken.
“I give up, Mr. Swift!” he exclaimed. “I can’t fight against you! It’s too big a thing you’ve done. Nobody else could have done it. I’m through with those fellows! But look out—they’ll ruin you if they get the chance. Now have me arrested if you want to—I’m done!”
He stood there, making no effort to escape, a broken, dejected man.