Tom Swift and his Electric Runabout: Chapter 18: AFTER THE CASH

Tom Swift and his Electric Runabout: Chapter 18: AFTER THE CASH
Tom Swift and his Electric Runabout: Chapter 18: AFTER THE CASH

Other Chapters: Chapters1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25
CHAPTER XVIII

AFTER THE CASH


Tom's proposal as a way out of the difficulty, and the prompt seconding
of it by Mr. Damon, seemed to deprive the other bank officials, Mr.
Swift included, of the power of speech for a few moments. Then, as
there came to the room where the scene had taken place, the sound of
the mob outside, clamoring for cash, Mr. Pendergast, the president,
remarked in a low voice:

"It seems to be the only way. Do you think you can do it, Tom Swift?"

"I'm sure of it, as far as my electric car is concerned," replied the
young inventor. "If we get the cash I'll have it back here on time. The
runabout is all ready for a fast trip."

"Then don't lose any time, Tom," advised his father. "Every minute
counts."

"Yes," added Mr. Damon. "Come on. I've got the securities in my valise,
and we can bring the cash back in the same satchel. Come on, Tom."

The eccentric character caught up his valise, and started from the
room. Tom followed.

"Now, my son, be careful," advised his father. "You know the need of
haste, but don't take unnecessary risks. You'd better go out the back
way, as the crowd is easily excited."

Little more was said. Mr. Swift clasped his son's hand in a firm
pressure, and the bank president nervously bade the lad good-by. Then,
slipping out of the bank, by the rear entrance, the porter closing the
door after them, Tom and Mr. Damon took their places in the electric
machine.

"Just imagine you're racing for that three-thousand-dollar prize,
offered by the Touring Club of America, Tom," observed Mr. Damon, as he
deposited the valise at his feet.

"I don't have to do that," replied the youth. "I'm trying for a bigger
prize than that. I want to save the bank, and defeat the schemes of the
Fogers--father and son."

Tom turned on the power, and the machine rolled out on the main street.
As it turned the corner, leaving the impatient crowd of depositors, now
larger than ever, behind, Mr. Damon glanced over at the new bank, and,
as he did so, he called to Tom:

"There are the Fogers now."

The young inventor looked, and saw Andy and his father on the steps of
the new institution.

At the sight of the electric car, speeding along, Andy turned and spoke
to his parent. What he said seemed to impress Mr. Foger, for he
started, and looked more intently at Tom and Mr. Damon. Then, as Tom
watched, he saw the two excitedly conversing, and a moment later Andy
ran off in the direction in which Sam Snedecker and Pete Bailey lived.

"I wonder if he's up to any tricks?" thought Tom, as he turned on more
power. "Well, if he is, I'll soon be where he can't reach me."

The young inventor did not dare send his car at full speed through the
streets of the town, and it was not until several minutes had passed
that they could go at more than the ordinary rate. But once the open
country was reached Tom "opened her up full," and the song the motor
sung was one of power. The vehicle quickly gathered headway and was
soon fairly whizzing along.

"If we keep this up we'll be there and back in good time," remarked Mr.
Damon.

"Yes, but we can't do it," replied his companion. "The road to Clayton
is a poor one, and we'll soon be on it. Then we'll have to go slow. But
I'll make all the time I can until then."

So, for several miles more they crept along, at times having to reduce
to almost a walking pace, because of bad roads. Mr. Damon looked at his
watch almost every other minute.

"Eleven o'clock," he remarked, as they passed a milestone, "and we're
not half way there. Bless my gizzard, but I'm afraid we won't make it,
Tom. We left about ten, and we ought to be back by two o'clock to do
any good. That's four hours, and it will take some time to transfer the
securities, and get the cash. Every minute counts."

"I know it," answered Tom, "and I'm going to count every minute."

With eager eyes he watched every inch of the road, to steer to the best
advantage. His hands gripped the wheel until his knuckles showed white
with the strain, and, every now and then his right hand adjusted the
speed lever or the controller handle, while his foot was on the
emergency brake, ready to stop the car at the first sign of danger.

And there was danger, not infrequently, for the road was up and down
hill, over frail bridges, and along steep cliffs. It was no pleasure
tour they were on.

When a little over half the distance had been made they came to a
better road, and Tom was able to use full speed ahead. Then the
electric went so fast that, had it not been for the steel wind-shield
in front, Mr. Damon, at any rate, would have been short of breath.

"This is going some!" he cried to Tom. The lad nodded grimly, and
shoved the controller handle over to the last notch. Then came a bad
stretch and they had to slow down again. As they were about out of it
there came a little flash of fire and the motor stopped.

"Bless my overshoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's that; a fuse blown out?"

"No," replied Tom, with a puzzled air. "But something has gone wrong."
Hastily he got out, and made an examination. He found it was only one
of the unimportant wires which had short-circuited, and it was soon
adjusted. But they had lost five precious minutes. Tom tried to make up
for lost time, but came to a hill a little later, and this reduced
their speed.

"Do you think we can make it before twelve?" asked Mr. Damon anxiously.
"We've got to, if we're to get back before three, Tom."

"I'll try," was the calm answer, and Tom's jaw was shut still more
tightly. Once again came more favorable roads and pushing the car to
the limit the occupants were rejoiced, a little later, as they topped a
hill, to come in sight of a fairly large city.

"There's Clayton!" cried Mr. Damon.

Ten minutes later they were rolling through the main street, and as
they stopped in front of the bank, the noon whistles blew shrill and
noisily.

"You did it, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, springing out with the valise of
securities. "Now be ready for the return trip. I'll be with you as soon
as possible."

He went up the bank steps three at a time, like some boy instead of an
elderly man. Tom looked after him for a second and then got down to oil
up his car, and make some adjustments that had rattled loose from the
rough road. Unmindful of the curious throng that gathered he crawled
under the machine with his oil-can.

He had finished his work, and was back in his seat, ready to start, but
Mr. Damon had not reappeared.

"It's taking him a good while to get that cash," thought Tom.  "Maybe
the securities were no good."

But, a few minutes later, Mr. Damon came hurrying from the bank. The
valise he carried seemed much heavier than when he went in.

"It's all right, Tom," he said. "I've got it. Now for the trip home,
and I hope we don't have any accidents. It took longer than I thought
to check over the bonds and receipt for them. But I've got the cash.
Now to save the bank!"

He took his place beside the young inventor, holding the valise between
his knees, while Tom turned on the power and sent his car dashing down
the street, and toward the road that led to Shopton.