Tom Swift and His Submarine Boat - Howard R. Garis (classic novels for teens .TXT) 📗
- Author: Howard R. Garis
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“But we’ll have her in the water next Friday.” promised Mr. Swift.
“Aren’t you superstitious about Friday?” asked the balloonist.
“Not a bit of it,” replied the aged inventor. “Tom,” he added, “I wish you would go in the house and get me the roll of blueprints you’ll find on my desk.”
As the lad neared the cottage he saw, standing in front of the place, a small automobile. A man had just descended from it, and it needed but a glance to show that he was Mr. Addison Berg.
“Ah, good morning, Mr. Swift,” greeted Mr. Berg. “I wish to see your father, but as I don’t wish to lay myself open to suspicions by entering the shop, perhaps you will ask him to step here.”
“Certainly,” answered the lad, wondering why the agent had returned. Getting the blueprints, and asking Mr. Berg to sit down on the porch, Tom delivered the message.
“You come back with me, Tom,” said his father. “I want you to be a witness to what he says. I’m not going to get into trouble with these people.”
Mr. Berg came to the point at once.
“Mr. Swift,” he said, “I wish you would reconsider your determination not to enter the Government trials. I’d like to see you compete. So would my firm.”
“There is no use going over that again,” replied the aged inventor. “I have another object in view now than trying for the Government prize. What it is I can’t say, but it may develop in time—if we are successful,” and he looked at his son, smiling the while.
Mr. Berg tried to argue, but it was of no avail Then he changed his manner, and said:
“Well, since you won’t, you won’t, I suppose. I’ll go back and report to my firm. Have you anything special to do this morning?” he went on to Tom.
“Well, I can always find something to keep me busy,” replied the lad, “but as for anything special—”
“I thought perhaps you’d like to go for a trip in my auto,” interrupted Mr. Berg. “I had asked a young man who is stopping at the same hotel where I am to accompany me, but he has unexpectedly left, and I don’t like to go alone. His name was—let me see. I have a wretched memory for names, but it was something like Roger or Moger.”
“Foger!” cried Tom. “Was it Andy Foger?”
“Yes, that was it. Why, do you know him?” asked Mr. Berg in some surprise.
“I should say so,” replied Tom. “He was the cause of what might have resulted in something serious for me,” and the lad explained about being imprisoned in the tank.
“You don’t tell me!” cried Mr. Berg. “I had no idea he was that kind of a lad. You see, his father is one of the directors of the firm by whom I am employed. Andy came from home to spend a few weeks at the seaside, and stopped at the same hotel that I did. He went off yesterday afternoon, and I haven’t seen him since, though he promised to go for a ride with me. He must have come over here and entered your shop unobserved. I remember now he asked me where the submarine was being built that was going to compete with our firm’s, and I told him. I didn’t think he was that kind of a lad. Well, since he’s probably gone back home, perhaps you will come for a ride with me, Tom.”
“I’m afraid I can’t go, thank you,” answered the lad. “We are very busy getting our submarine in shape for a trial. But I can imagine why Andy left so hurriedly. He probably learned that a doctor had been summoned for me, though, as it happened, I didn’t need one. But Andy probably got frightened at what he had done, and left. I’ll make him more sorry, when I meet him.”
“Don’t blame you a bit,” commented Mr. Berg. “Well, I must be getting back.”
He hastened out to his auto, while Tom and his father watched the agent.
“Tom, never trust that man,” advised the aged inventor solemnly.
“Just what I was about to remark,” said his son. “Well, let’s get back to work. Queer that he should come here again, and it’s queer about Andy Foger.”
Father and son returned to the machine shop, while Mr. Berg puffed away in his auto. A little later, Tom having occasion to go to a building near the boundary line of the cottage property which his father had hired for the season, saw, through the hedge that bordered it, an automobile standing in the road. A second glance showed him that it was Mr. Berg’s machine. Something had gone wrong with it, and the agent had alighted to make an adjustment.
The young inventor was close to the man, though the latter was unaware of his presence.
“Hang it all!” Tom heard Mr. Berg exclaim to himself. “I wonder what they can be up to? They won’t enter the Government contests, and they won’t say why. I believe they’re up to some game, and I’ve got to find out what it is. I wonder if I couldn’t use this Foger chap?”
“He seems to have it in for this Tom Swift,” Mr. Berg went on, still talking to himself, though not so low but that Tom could hear him. “I think I’ll try it. I’ll get Andy Foger to sneak around and find out what the game is. He’ll do it, I know.”
By this time the auto was in working order again, and the agent took his seat and started off.
“So that’s how matters lie, eh?” thought Tom. “Well, Mr. Berg, we’ll be doubly on the lookout for you after this. As for Andy Foger, I think I’ll make him wish he’d never locked me in that tank. So you expect to find out our ‘game,’ eh, Mr. Berg? Well, when you do know it, I think it will astonish you. I only hope you don’t learn what it is until we get at that sunken treasure, though.”
But alas for Tom’s hopes. Mr. Berg did learn of the object of the treasure-seekers, and sought to defeat them, as we shall learn as our story proceeds.
When the young inventor informed his father what he had overheard Mr. Berg saying, the aged inventor was not as much worried as his son anticipated.
“All we’ll have to do, Tom,” he said, “is to keep quiet about where we are going. Once we have the Advance afloat, and try her out, we can start on our voyage for the South American Coast and search for the sunken treasure. When we begin our voyage under water I defy any one to tell where we are going, or what our plans are. No, I don’t believe we need worry about Mr. Berg, though he probably means mischief.”
“Well, I’m going to keep my eyes open for him and Andy Foger,” declared Tom.
The days that followed were filled with work. Not only were there many unexpected things to do about the submarine, but Mr. Sharp was kept busy making inquiries about the sunken treasure ship. These inquiries had to be made carefully, as the adventurers did not want their plans talked of, and nothing circulates more quickly than rumors of an expedition after treasure of any kind.
“What about the old sea captain you were going to get to go with us?” asked Mr. Swift of the balloonist one afternoon. “Have you succeeded in finding one yet?”
“Yes; I am in communication with a man I think will be just the person for us. His name is Captain Alden Weston, and he has sailed all over the world. He has also taken part in more than one revolution, and, in fact, is a soldier of fortune. I do not know him personally, but a friend of mine knows him, and says he will serve us faithfully. I have written to him, and he will be here in a few days.”
“That’s good. Now about the location of the wreck itself. Have you been able to learn any more details?”
“Well, not many. You see, the Boldero was abandoned in a storm, and the captain did not take very careful observations. As nearly as it can be figured out the treasure ship went to the bottom in latitude forty-five degrees south, and longitude twenty-seven east from Washington. That’s a pretty indefinite location, but I hope, once we get off the Uruguay coast, we can better it. We can anchor or lay outside the harbor, and in the small boat we carry go ashore and possibly gain more details. For it was at Montevideo that the shipwrecked passengers and sailors landed.”
“Does Captain Weston know our object?” inquired Tom.
“No, and I don’t propose to tell him until we are ready to start,” replied Mr. Sharp. “I don’t know just how he’ll consider a submarine trip after treasure, but if I spring it on him suddenly he’s less likely to back out. Oh, I think he’ll go.”
Somewhat unexpectedly the next day it was discovered that certain tools and appliances were needed for the submarine, and they had been left in the house at Shopton, where Eradicate Sampson was in charge as caretaker during the absence of Mr. Swift and his son and the housekeeper.
“Well, I suppose we’ll have to go back after them,” remarked Tom. “We’ll take the airship, dad, and make a two-days’ trip of it. Is there anything else you want?”
“Well, you might bring a bundle of papers you’ll find in the lower right hand drawer of my desk. They contain some memoranda I need.”
Tom and Mr. Sharp had become so used to traveling in the airship that it seemed no novelty to them, though they attracted much attention wherever they went. They soon had the Red Cloud in readiness for a flight, and rising in the air above the shop that contained the powerful submarine, a craft utterly different in type from the aeroplane, the nose of the airship was pointed toward Shopton.
They made a good flight and landed near the big shed where the bird of the air was kept. It was early evening when they got to the Swift homestead, and Eradicate Sampson was glad to see them.
Eradicate was a good cook, and soon had a meal ready for the travelers. Then, while Mr. Sharp selected the tools and other things needed, and put them in the airship ready for the start back the next morning, Tom concluded he would take a stroll into Shopton, to see if he could see his friend, Ned Newton. It was early evening, and the close of a beautiful day, a sharp shower in the morning having cooled the air.
Tom was greeted by a number of acquaintances as he strolled along, for, since the episode of the bank robbery, when he had so unexpectedly returned with the thieves and the cash, the lad was better known than ever.
“I guess Ned must be home,” thought our hero as he looked in vain for his chum among the throng on the streets. “I’ve got time to take a stroll down to his house.”
Tom was about to cross the street when he was startled by the sound of an automobile horn loudly blown just at his side. Then a voice called:
“Hey, there! Git out of the way if you don’t want to be run over!”
He looked up, and saw a car careening along. At the wheel was the red-haired bully, Andy Foger, and
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