Victor Appleton (house Name) by Tom Swift, His Motor Cycle Page B
Authors: Tom Swift, His Motor Cycle
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matter from the alarm sent out in all directions from
Dunkirk, where Mr. Blackford lived.
"You don't mean to tell me you're the young man who was chloroformed
and robbed!" exclaimed the constable, looking at Tom as if he
doubted his word.
"I'm the young man," declared our hero. "Have you seen anything of
the thieves?"
"Not a thing, though I've instructed all my men to keep a sharp
lookout for a red automobile, with three scoundrels in it. My men
are to make an arrest on sight."
"How many men have you?"
"Two," was the rather surprising answer; "but one has to work on a
farm daytimes, so I ain't really got but one in what you might call
active service."
Tom restrained a desire to laugh. At any rate, the aged constable
meant well.
"One of my men seen a red automobile, a little while before you come
in my office," went on the official, "but it wasn't the one wanted,
'cause a young woman was running it all alone. It struck me as
rather curious that a woman would trust herself all alone in one of
them things; wouldn't it you?"
"Oh, no, women and young ladies often operate them," said Tom.
"I should think you'd find one handier than the two-wheeled
apparatus you have out there," went on the constable, indicating the
motor-cycle, which Tom had stood up against a tree.
"I may have one some day," replied the young inventor. "But I guess
I'll be moving on now. Here's my address, in case you hear anything
of those men, but I don't imagine you will."
"Me either. Fellows as slick as them are won't come back this way
and run the chance of being arrested by my men. I have two on duty
nights," he went on proudly, "besides myself, so you see we're
pretty well protected."
Tom thanked him for the trouble he had taken, and was soon on his
way again. He swept on along the quiet country roads anxious for the
time when he could consult with his father over what would be the
best course to take.
When Tom was about a mile away from his house he saw in the road
ahead of him a rickety old wagon, and a second glance at it told him
the outfit belonged to Eradicate Sampson, for the animal drawing the
vehicle was none other than the mule, Boomerang.
"But what in the world is Rad up to?" mused Tom, for the colored man
was out of the wagon and was going up and down in the grass at the
side of the highway in a curious fashion. "I guess he's lost
something," decided Tom.
When he got nearer he saw what Eradicate was doing. The colored man
was pushing a lawn-mower slowly to and fro in the tall, rank grass
that grew beside the thoroughfare, and at the sound of Tom's
motor-cycle the negro looked up. There was such a woe-begone
expression on his face that Tom at once stopped his machine and got
off.
"What's the matter, Rad?" Tom asked.
"Mattah, Mistah Swift? Why, dere's a pow'ful lot de mattah, an'
dat's de truff. I'se been swindled, dat's what I has."
"Swindled? How?"
"Well, it's dis-a-way. Yo' see dis yeah lawn-moah?"
"Yes; it doesn't seem to work," and Tom glanced critically at it. As
Eradicate pushed it slowly to and fro, the blades did not revolve,
and the wheels slipped along on the grass.
"No, sah, it doan't work, an' dat's how I've been swindled, Mistah
Swift. Yo' see, I done traded mah ole grindstone off for dis yeah
lawn-moah, an' I got stuck."
"What, that old grindstone that was broken in two, and that you
fastened together with concrete?" asked Tom, for he had seen the
outfit with which Eradicate, in spare times between cleaning and
whitewashing, had gone about the country, sharpening knives and
scissors. "You don't mean that old, broken one?"
"Dat's what I mean, Mistah Swift. Why, it was all right. I mended it
so dat de break wouldn't show, an' it would sharpen things if yo'
run it slow. But dis yeah lawn-moah won't wuk slow ner fast."
"I guess it was an even exchange, then," went on Tom. "You didn't
get bitten any worse than the other fellow did."
"Yo' doan't s'pose yo' kin fix dis yeah moah so's I kin use it, does
yo', Mistah
Dunkirk, where Mr. Blackford lived.
"You don't mean to tell me you're the young man who was chloroformed
and robbed!" exclaimed the constable, looking at Tom as if he
doubted his word.
"I'm the young man," declared our hero. "Have you seen anything of
the thieves?"
"Not a thing, though I've instructed all my men to keep a sharp
lookout for a red automobile, with three scoundrels in it. My men
are to make an arrest on sight."
"How many men have you?"
"Two," was the rather surprising answer; "but one has to work on a
farm daytimes, so I ain't really got but one in what you might call
active service."
Tom restrained a desire to laugh. At any rate, the aged constable
meant well.
"One of my men seen a red automobile, a little while before you come
in my office," went on the official, "but it wasn't the one wanted,
'cause a young woman was running it all alone. It struck me as
rather curious that a woman would trust herself all alone in one of
them things; wouldn't it you?"
"Oh, no, women and young ladies often operate them," said Tom.
"I should think you'd find one handier than the two-wheeled
apparatus you have out there," went on the constable, indicating the
motor-cycle, which Tom had stood up against a tree.
"I may have one some day," replied the young inventor. "But I guess
I'll be moving on now. Here's my address, in case you hear anything
of those men, but I don't imagine you will."
"Me either. Fellows as slick as them are won't come back this way
and run the chance of being arrested by my men. I have two on duty
nights," he went on proudly, "besides myself, so you see we're
pretty well protected."
Tom thanked him for the trouble he had taken, and was soon on his
way again. He swept on along the quiet country roads anxious for the
time when he could consult with his father over what would be the
best course to take.
When Tom was about a mile away from his house he saw in the road
ahead of him a rickety old wagon, and a second glance at it told him
the outfit belonged to Eradicate Sampson, for the animal drawing the
vehicle was none other than the mule, Boomerang.
"But what in the world is Rad up to?" mused Tom, for the colored man
was out of the wagon and was going up and down in the grass at the
side of the highway in a curious fashion. "I guess he's lost
something," decided Tom.
When he got nearer he saw what Eradicate was doing. The colored man
was pushing a lawn-mower slowly to and fro in the tall, rank grass
that grew beside the thoroughfare, and at the sound of Tom's
motor-cycle the negro looked up. There was such a woe-begone
expression on his face that Tom at once stopped his machine and got
off.
"What's the matter, Rad?" Tom asked.
"Mattah, Mistah Swift? Why, dere's a pow'ful lot de mattah, an'
dat's de truff. I'se been swindled, dat's what I has."
"Swindled? How?"
"Well, it's dis-a-way. Yo' see dis yeah lawn-moah?"
"Yes; it doesn't seem to work," and Tom glanced critically at it. As
Eradicate pushed it slowly to and fro, the blades did not revolve,
and the wheels slipped along on the grass.
"No, sah, it doan't work, an' dat's how I've been swindled, Mistah
Swift. Yo' see, I done traded mah ole grindstone off for dis yeah
lawn-moah, an' I got stuck."
"What, that old grindstone that was broken in two, and that you
fastened together with concrete?" asked Tom, for he had seen the
outfit with which Eradicate, in spare times between cleaning and
whitewashing, had gone about the country, sharpening knives and
scissors. "You don't mean that old, broken one?"
"Dat's what I mean, Mistah Swift. Why, it was all right. I mended it
so dat de break wouldn't show, an' it would sharpen things if yo'
run it slow. But dis yeah lawn-moah won't wuk slow ner fast."
"I guess it was an even exchange, then," went on Tom. "You didn't
get bitten any worse than the other fellow did."
"Yo' doan't s'pose yo' kin fix dis yeah moah so's I kin use it, does
yo', Mistah
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