Chapter 9 Tom Swift and His Great Oil Gusher by Victor Appleton
THE MIDNIGHT PROWLER
Tom and Ned looked up, a little startled, and saw their eccentric friend, Mr. Wakefield Damon.
“Bless my gum shoes!” exclaimed Mr. Damon, wiping his glasses and settling into the chair that Tom pulled over for him. “I came in on you like a thief in the night, and by a coincidence I hear you talking about thieves.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to put it as strongly as that,” said Tom, with a laugh. “But all the same the actions of that oil crowd don’t seem to be those of responsible business men. We’ve been having no end of trouble with them, one way and another.”
“I’m afraid perhaps I made a mistake in introducing them to you,” said Mr. Damon, with a slightly worried look. “Thompson was the only one of them I knew, and even with him my acquaintance was slight. By the way, did you get that second payment? Ned, here, was telling me that they seemed to be trying to sidestep it.”
“It came in to-day,” replied Tom. “But we had a heap of trouble in getting it. Here it is,” and he handed it over for his friend’s inspection.
Mr. Damon scrutinized it carefully and heaved a sigh of relief.
“Well, that puts you on easy street, anyway,” he said. “They’ll have to come across with the rest now to save what they’ve already invested. But I’m afraid somebody else is in for a trimming.”
“What do you mean by that?” inquired Tom, with quickened interest.
“I heard something when I was on my last trip to New York that set me thinking,” replied Mr. Damon. “I dropped into one of the clubs as the guest of a friend of mine who is a member, and among the people to whom I was introduced was a large Texas oil producer. Of course, that interested me at once, apart from the fact that he was a most entertaining talker. He told me a lot about his own experiences there, and in the course of the conversation got going about the many “wild-catters” that infest the oil fields.
“You know the wild-catter is to the legitimate oil man very much what the bucket-shop keeper is to the solid Wall Street broker. He hates him as he does ivy poison. The shady tricks in which the wild-catter indulges cast a stigma on the whole oil-producing business.
“Well, this man, in giving me some illustrations of wildcat methods, happened to mention the name of Thompson. Said he was one of the most suave and polished individuals that roamed over the oil fields.
“I didn’t let on that I knew any one of that name, but from the description he gave me of his personal appearance and manners, I feel sure that it’s this fellow you’re making this material for. I led him on to tell me what he knew of him, and if what he said is true, this Thompson ought to have his picture in the rogues’ gallery. Not that he ever will probably. He’s too shrewd for that. Always manages somehow or other to keep just within the law.
“Among other things, this new acquaintance of mine said that he’d heard that Thompson and his partners were trying to put something over on an old blind man who owns a likely property at Goby, I think it was, close to one of the big gushers that has come in recently. The old man didn’t want to sell or lease, and the Thompson crowd were determined to make him. Just how they were going to bamboozle him or coerce him, my informant didn’t know, but he had heard enough before he left to be sure that some shenanigan was on foot. Said he’d bet a hundred dollars to a plugged nickel that before many moons had passed the gang would have the property and the blind man would find himself buncoed.”
“So that’s the kind of fellows they are!” exclaimed Tom hotly. “If I weren’t held by my contract I wouldn’t do another jot of work for them.”
“Oh, well, it isn’t a dead certainty that that Thompson and our Thompson are the same man,” said Mr. Damon. “It’s a common enough name, as far as that goes.”
“Still, I think they’re identical,” insisted Tom.
“At any rate, you’ll be through with the job soon and then you’ll be rid of them for good and all. By the way, how’s the work coming on?”
“All right,” replied Tom. “Unless something unforeseen happens we’ll be through on schedule time.”
“What’s that thing on the grounds that looks like a derrick?” asked Mr. Damon. “It wasn’t there when I went away. Seems to have gone up almost over night, like Jonah’s gourd.”
“Oh, it’s a contrivance that I had built to test an idea of mine,” answered Tom.
At once Mr. Damon was after the hint like a terrier after a rat.
“Invented something new?” he asked eagerly.
“Not quite yet,” replied Tom, with a smile. “But I’ve hit on an idea that may amount to something when I’ve worked it out more thoroughly.”
“Good for you!” cried Mr. Damon enthusiastically. “I knew you wouldn’t be at this thing long before you struck something that would make anything that had gone before look like thirty cents. More power to you, my boy. What does your father think of it?”
“It hits him hard,” replied Tom. “I’ve gone into the thing pretty thoroughly with him and I’ve benefited a lot by his suggestions. He thinks it will mean an immense saving in time, expense and man power. So far, we haven’t run up against any obstacle that seems insurmountable. Still, you never can tell till it actually gets to working. It may turn out to be a flivver after all.”
“Bless my modesty!” snorted Mr. Damon unbelievingly. “Hear Tom Swift talk about flivvering! That’s one thing he’s never done yet.”
“There’s got to be a first time for everything,” bantered Tom.
“It’ll be a long time coming,” retorted Mr. Damon. “One thing I’m certain of,” he went on; “and that is you’ll have a mighty fine market for your invention when you get it perfected. You’ll have all the big companies bidding against each other to get hold of it. I tell you, my boy, there’ll be a fortune in it.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Tom. “But the pot of gold is still at the foot of the rainbow and it may be a long tramp until I reach it.”
Although Tom expressed himself in this cautious way, he felt quite certain in his own heart that he had hit upon a great invention. This concerned itself with the drill with its sharp cutting edge, or bit. Up to that time dependence had been placed upon having a hard tempered edge that cut into and splintered the rock by its sharpness, its weight and the distance from which it fell.
This was much. But Tom’s theory was that where there was much there could always be added more. Suppose a circular motion could be given to the bit at the moment of contact and the bit itself so shaped that in addition to the crushing power given by the weight and fall there would be a grinding, scooping movement that would eat into the very heart of the soil or rock, making each stroke vastly more efficient. If he could double its effectiveness, he would wipe out at once half the time required, half the wear and tear on the machinery, half the man power required, and vastly reduce the overhead expense. It would mean an incalculable saving to the oil industry, and to Tom himself it would mean a fortune.
His father agreed with him that he had hit upon an idea that went to the core of the matter. Then followed long days and nights of experimenting, until at last just as the dawn was lighting up the sky on one memorable morning Tom leaped from his seat in wild exultation and fairly shouted:
“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!”
After the first few minutes of jubilation, he went over his figures and diagrams again. Yes, if there was anything in mathematics, he had proved that the new drill and bit would do what was expected of them.
But the invention had first to be demonstrated in actual working, and he pushed forward energetically the work in his experimental plant.
About a week later he was working alone in the office, when, shortly after midnight, there was a knock at the door and Koku, whose night it was for self-imposed duty, entered. His eyes were rolling in agitation, and he had his fingers on his lips as though to impose silence.
“What is it, Koku?” asked Tom, somewhat startled by the air of mystery.
“S-sh,” warned Koku. “Man down at fence. Saw light.”
Instantly Tom was outside. He looked down toward the stockade that enclosed the experimental plant, but could see nothing.
“Guess you must have been dreaming, Koku,” he whispered.
“No,” said Koku. “Light come. Light go. There is now.”
Tom, too, saw a sudden gleam, as suddenly extinguished, that evidently came from a flashlight.
“Come, Koku,” he commanded, and moved down stealthily toward the fence.