Chapter 15 Tom Swift and His Sky Train by Victor Appleton
A LITTLE VICTIM
“Well, that settles it!” and there was almost a hint of tragedy in Tom Swift’s voice.
“What’s wrong now?” Ned asked, anxiously.
“That was Mary,” went on Tom. “She just broke the string of pearls that I gave her for a wedding present and she insists that I drop everything and take her down to the jeweler’s to have them restrung. So I guess I’ve got to let things slide here at the shop, Ned, and do what my wife asks.”
“Sure!” agreed the financial manager with a chuckle. “I’m glad it’s no worse than that. I can run things here for a while. You owe it to your wife to take her out a bit, anyhow.”
“You’re a fine one to talk about wives!” challenged Tom. “And you and Helen aren’t married yet!”
“Give us time!” Ned begged. “And get on out of here! You’ve been too close to your work, lately. Take your wife for a ride.”
“Got to work close, Ned, if I want my sky train to beat the Acton’s. I can’t afford to loaf on the job.”
“Nobody would ever accuse you of loafing, Tom. But you should take some time off now and again. Give my regards to Mary.”
“I’ll do that little thing. And I guess you’ll have to call up Jardine—either brother will do—and make sure they’ll let us have the Silver Cloud.”
“Check!” murmured Ned as he went back to his work, having seen Tom put on his hat. The young inventor was soon at his house. Mary heard his machine in the drive and came hurrying out to meet him.
“Oh, Tom, isn’t it awful!” she burst out, holding forth her cupped hands. “My lovely pearls—that you gave me for a wedding present—all broken—scattered!”
“You don’t mean the pearls are broken, do you, Mary? Only the string,” and Tom put his arms around his wife.
“Yes, it’s only the string, but the pearls flew all over!”
“Couldn’t you gather them up?”
“Yes, I got every one. I counted them twice to make sure.”
“Then what are you worrying about?”
“Oh, Tom,” Mary answered, almost tearfully. “It’s you I’m worrying about. You’re working too hard. You’re looking pale and——”
“Yes?” her husband asked.
“And, and—I’ve heard it’s bad luck to break a wedding gift. I don’t believe that—I’m not superstitious—but when my string of pearls broke, it made me think of our wedding, and of you, and—and I decided to get you away from work for a few hours.”
“You gave me quite a start when you first telephoned, Mary, saying something terrible had happened,” went on Tom as his wife, having carefully wrapped the pearls in a handkerchief, got into the car beside him.
“Well, wasn’t it terrible when I heard my pearls rattling every which way across the room?” Mary demanded. “And when I realized you needed a rest?”
“Well, I guess it was!” Tom had to admit.
The stop at the jeweler’s did not take long and Mary was much comforted when the clerk told her he would string her pearls in a new style, much more fashionable, and in a manner to prevent them ever scattering again, should the cord break.
“How nice!” she said. “I guess after all, Tom, we aren’t going to have any bad luck!”
“Of course not!” he agreed.
Neither of them knew then what was soon to happen.
Bearing in mind what Ned had said, and realizing that he had been sticking rather close to his job, of late, and not taking Mary out for much recreation, Tom decided to devote the remainder of the day to a ride in the country. He and his wife had some refreshments at a wayside inn and, early in the evening, came driving back to Shopton, each much refreshed and happier over the little outing.
Tom was sending the car along at a moderate speed through back streets, to avoid traffic in the centre of the town, when another machine, coming unexpectedly, and without a horn warning, from a side thoroughfare, nearly collided with Tom’s automobile. Only the fact that he was going slowly prevented at least a slight crash.
“What’s the matter with you?” Tom shouted at the other motorist, who did not stop or look back. He was an old man, not used to driving or giving others their rights of the road, Tom decided. But his righteous anger at the man was suddenly diverted as Mary screamed:
“Oh, Tom! Look out!”
Tom’s eyes swung from a glaring look at the old man in the disappearing car around front once more, and just in time to see a boy, about five years old, suddenly rushing from a side lane directly into the path of his car.
A blast on the horn, the throwing out of the clutch and the putting on of the foot and emergency brakes were automatic with Tom Swift. The auto slowed up with a screeching slide, but too late to avoid the little victim. The child ran into the rear mudguard and wheel, and was not directly struck. However, the small chap went down in a crumpled heap at the side of the car and Mary covered her eyes with her hands.
“Too bad!” Tom exclaimed as he leaped out and ran back to pick up the unconscious form of the child. There was a slight cut on the head, which was bleeding, but since the wheels had not gone over any part of the body Tom was sure the injuries could not be serious.
“Poor little kid!” said Tom. “He ran right into me instead of me running into him. He didn’t look where he was going—running out of the lane the way he did.”
“Is he—is he dead?” faltered Mary.
“No, and not hurt much, I think. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to drive, Mary. I’ll hold him in my arms.”
“Drive where, Tom?”
“To Mercy Hospital. It isn’t far. But if you can’t drive, maybe you will hold the little fellow on your lap. He’s bleeding a bit and you have on a light dress——”
“Yes, I’ll drive, Tom.”
“Are you all right now?” Tom asked, looking anxiously at his wife. “This doesn’t amount to much, really. But if you’re too nervous——”
“Oh, I’m quite all right now,” said Mary, shifting over to the driver’s seat. “It was silly of me to give way as I did. But I thought we had gone over him.”
“No, he just bumped into us,” Tom said. “It’s queer, though,” he went on, “he doesn’t seem to belong around here, and there’s no crowd coming out as always happens at an auto accident. I wonder where his folks are?”
It was strangely quiet in the neighborhood. There were one or two modest houses along the street on which Tom had been driving when the accident happened, but no one came out of them to give aid or answer questions as to where the little boy lived. The lane from which he had run was a narrow thoroughfare evidently connecting with the street beyond, but there were no houses in the lane.
“The first thing is to get him to a hospital,” Tom decided. “I can make inquiries afterward. Let’s go, Mary!” he said as he climbed in with the unconscious form in his arms.
It was a great relief to both Tom and Mary to have the surgeon at the hospital soon inform them that the child was only cut and bruised, and not seriously at that.
“It’s no more than would have happened if he had run into a wall,” the doctor said. “He gave himself a nasty bang on the head and that knocked him out for a time. But he’s coming around now all right. Is he your boy? If he is, I’d have his eyes looked at.”
“No, he isn’t my boy,” Tom said. “I don’t know who he is. He ran out of a lane right into me. I was going slowly at the time. But what about his eyes?”
“He’ll go blind in a little while unless something is done,” said the surgeon quietly.