Chapter 17 Tom Swift and His Great Oil Gusher by Victor Appleton
CLOSING THE DEAL
“You are perfectly right, Mr. Goby,” declared Tom. “Men who refuse to submit a contract to a lawyer are to be distrusted on general principles. No honest man would object. As far as myself and my associates are concerned, we are ready, with your approval, to submit our proposition to Judge Wilson and have him draw up the papers.”
“That sounds fair,” replied the blind man. “If you like, I’ll have my daughter telephone to the judge and ask him to come over to-morrow. By the way, where are you stopping in town?” Mr. Goby had taken a liking to the boys, both so frank and friendly.
“Why, the fact is,” answered Tom, “we haven’t made any arrangements yet. We just reached here to-day and came right over. We’ll have to fix that up when we go back.”
“You don’t need to do anything in a rush,” said Mr. Goby heartily. “We have plenty of room here, and maybe we could let you stay with us, especially if we come to a deal to work the farm for oil. You might stay to-night, if you care to.” And so, a little later, with Carol’s consent, it was arranged.
“Seem to be mighty nice people, Ned,” remarked Tom, after the young inventor and his chum had been shown to a room where they might wash and make themselves otherwise presentable.
“You are right, Tom; and I hope we come to a satisfactory arrangement with them.”
“So do I.”
“It would be great to strike something big down here, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, we mustn’t let our imagination run away with us. We’ll have to take what comes.”
They had an excellent supper, prepared by Carol with the assistance of an old colored mammy, and a very delightful evening, spent chiefly by Tom in conversation with Mr. Goby, whom he found to be well informed and an entertaining talker.
Ned had developed a sudden interest in flowers, and was very anxious to have Carol show him her garden. She was not unwilling, for this handsome young man who seemed to have dropped down on them from the skies was not an unwelcome visitor.
“Carol’s a beautiful name,” murmured Ned later that night, as he and Tom were getting ready for bed in the comfortable room to which they had been shown.
Tom stopped in his work of unlacing a shoe and stared at him.
“Sounds like the singing of birds,” mused Ned dreamily.
“For the love of Pete!” cried Tom, “what’s the matter with you?”
“Oh,” said Ned in some confusion, “did I say anything? Guess I must have been thinking out loud.”
The next day Judge Wilson came over to the farm. He was a keen, cultivated man of high standing in the legal profession.
“Swift,” he repeated, when he was introduced to Tom. “That’s a famous name. Any relation to the inventor, Tom Swift?”
Tom flushed with embarrassment.
“A slight relation,” put in Ned, with a laugh. “In fact, he’s the man himself.”
“But you’re only a boy, lad!” exclaimed the judge, in wonderment.
“Old enough to have a number of good inventions to his credit,” affirmed Ned.
“I’m amazed!” cried the judge, when finally convinced that the boy before him was the noted inventor, Tom Swift. “Well, well, this is indeed an honor! I’ve heard a lot about your wonderful inventions—who hasn’t?—but I never expected to have the pleasure of shaking you by the hand.”
As a matter of fact, the recognition stood Tom in good stead. It simplified matters immensely. His standing was established at once, and the tedious delay otherwise necessary in looking up his references was obviated.
They were deep in the discussion of terms, when Ned, who happened to be facing the window, saw an automobile coming up the road. It stopped at the gate and three men got out.
Ned gave a low whistle of surprise as he recognized them, and Tom and the judge looked up inquiringly.
“Hankinshaw and his partners,” explained Ned.
“Friends of yours?” asked the judge.
“No,” replied Ned. “We’ve known them chiefly in a business way. We——”
Further explanations were prevented by a knock on the door. Carol opened it and ushered the three men into the room.
Blank surprise showed in the faces of all of them when they caught sight of Tom and Ned, who had risen on their entrance. The blank looks were quickly succeeded by looks of intense vexation. Thompson and Bragden, as the more diplomatic of the trio, banished these promptly, but Hankinshaw’s brows remained drawn together in a forbidding scowl.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” said Thompson suavely, as the visitors seated themselves. “Who would have thought that you were down in this part of the country? On a little pleasure trip, I suppose?”
“More business than pleasure,” answered Tom coolly.
“Looking for contracts to make some more oil-well machinery?” asked Bragden.
“No,” returned Tom. “Though if any came our way we might consider them. We’re going to do a little digging on our own account.”
“In this neighborhood?” asked Thompson, looking with alarm at the papers that lay on the table near Judge Wilson’s elbow.
“Yes,” replied Tom, who was getting a little impatient at this cross-examination. “Right on this farm, if Mr. Goby and I can come to terms.”
“Cutting in under us, eh?” snarled Hankinshaw. “Poaching on our preserves.”
“That remark is quite uncalled for,” remarked Judge Wilson, entering the conversation for the first time since the introduction. “Why do you use the phrase ‘our preserves’? These gentlemen have no option or claim of any kind on the property, have they, Mr. Goby?” he continued, turning to the blind man.
“Not at all,” replied the owner of the farm. “They have discussed the matter with me several times, but no agreement has been reached.”
“No written agreement perhaps,” broke in Thompson. “But I certainly thought that we had reached a verbal agreement, or at least a practical understanding the last time we were over here.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Bragden, backing up his partner.
“Sure we did,” growled Hankinshaw.
“Nothing of the kind,” returned Mr. Goby indignantly. “That is wholly your own assumption. I distinctly told you then, as I had told you before, that you would have to take the matter up with Judge Wilson and that I would do nothing without his approval.”
The judge looked at the three men keenly.
“I have always been within easy reach,” he remarked. “May I ask why you have not brought the matter to my attention?”
“Our plan has always been to save expense and delay by dealing directly with the owners of property,” replied Thompson.
“Even when that owner happens to be a blind man?” asked the judge, with a tinge of sarcasm in his tone.
“His daughter could read the papers to him,” replied Thompson defensively.
“A blind man and an inexperienced young girl,” mused Judge Wilson, and before the contempt expressed, Thompson and Bragden winced, while Hankinshaw glared.
“Do you give me authority to deal with these gentlemen, Mr. Goby?” asked the judge.
“Absolutely,” returned the blind man. “Whatever you say or do will be wholly satisfactory to me.”
“That being the case, gentlemen,” said the judge, turning to the three partners, “I think we will not detain you any longer. You are doubtless busy men and have many things to attend to.”
It was a clear case of dismissal. Thompson fumed white with anger, as he and Bragden rose from their chairs.
“You may regret this,” said Thompson threateningly, moving toward the door.
“Possibly,” replied Judge Wilson indifferently, turning toward his papers.
“You bet you will,” bullied Hankinshaw, who remained obstinately planted in his chair.
Tom sprang to his feet.
“Miss Goby,” he said, “would you mind stepping from the room for a moment?”
The young girl vanished through a door at the back.
Tom went to the front door and threw it open.
“Just to save Mr. Hankinshaw the trouble,” he remarked.
“I’ll go when I get ready,” snarled Hankinshaw, who was fighting mad at the collapse of his scheme. “I’ll——”
He stopped short as the gigantic form of Koku blocked the door.
“Come in, Koku,” said Tom. “By the way, Hankinshaw, you remember Koku, don’t you? You met him the night that you couldn’t sleep. He’s a genial sort of fellow, and——”
But Hankinshaw at the sight of Koku had risen from his chair with alacrity and followed his partners from the room.
When they had gone, Tom and Ned and the judge got down to business, and it was not long before they had settled on terms.
Tom had agreed previously with Ned and Mr. Damon that they would go into the oil venture as partners with equal investments and equal profits or losses. And the terms that were made with Mr. Goby were not only fair, but generous. He was to receive a large lump sum at once for the privilege accorded Tom and his partners of drilling on his farm. If the venture failed, he would still have the farm and a large sum of money. If oil were struck, he was to have a good share of the profits. So that either way he would win.
With the contract signed, Tom and Ned set to work. Through the aid of Judge Wilson, they were able to secure the services of experienced and reliable drillers. Much of their material had already arrived, and other necessaries were secured from the owners of abandoned wells in the vicinity.
In a surprisingly short time, a derrick was rigged, the machinery installed, and all was ready for the venture.
“Now,” said Tom, on the morning they started work, as he patted lovingly his new patent drill, “don’t fall down on me. Show me what you can do.”
While he was busy with these preparations, Tom had not come across any of the Hankinshaw crowd, but from various sources he heard that they were furious at their failure to get hold of the Goby farm and that they were making dire threats of getting even. But he was too busy to pay any attention to these. He felt perfectly confident of his ability to take care of himself no matter what they might do. Not so Mr. Damon.
“They’ll be after us, Tom,” said the eccentric man, one day, and his manner showed his nervousness.
“You bet they’ll be after us,” put in Ned. “Especially if we strike oil.”
“We’ll keep our eyes trimmed for them,” answered the young inventor. “For Hankinshaw especially,” he added soberly. He had seen a look in that rascal’s eyes that proved the unscrupulous fellow was becoming desperate.