Tom Swift and his big dirigible

BAD NEWS

Martin Jardine, for he it was, and in company with the dwarf, either had no intention of concealing his movements, or, now that he was caught, relinquished such an intention, for when Tom Swift stepped from the doorway he met the man and Jim Chock coming in.

“Oh, excuse me, Mr. Swift,” Jardine began lightly, as though asking for a light for his cigar, “but I met Chock after I left you and he begged so hard that I intercede for him that I agreed to do so. I saw a light in your office and guessed you were still here, so I turned in. So now let’s talk things over.”

“Excuse me,” Tom said. “I have nothing against you personally, Chock,” he said. “But you and Koku would be sure to quarrel, and that would mean disruption in the shop. I can’t have that.”

“I wouldn’t quarrel with your giant, Mr. Swift. Though he sure did get me r’iled,” said the dwarf.

“I understand. Perhaps it wasn’t altogether your fault. But Koku has been with me many years. I know his ways and his failings, and I am not going to part with him.”

“But, Mr. Swift,” broke in Jardine. “Think how useful a man as small as Chock will be on the dirigible.”

“I have considered, and I can’t have him. After you take the ship over you can do as you please. Until I complete it and turn it over to you, I have the final say as regards the working force. The contracts call for that.”

“Yes, I know, Mr. Swift——”

“Now, there is no use prolonging the discussion,” Tom interrupted. “I am tired and need rest. This is a closed matter!”

“All right,” Jardine seemed to assent graciously enough. “I guess you’ll have to stay away, Jim,” he said to the little man. “But I’ll put you aboard when the Silver Cloud is my own.”

“You may do as you please then,” Tom said. “And I will now bid you good-night.”

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning about those changes,” Jardine said, and Tom did not think it worth while to say it would be useless.

The young inventor remained in his office doorway until he had seen Jardine and the dwarf leave the premises, and then, going to the main gate, Tom said to the watchman:

“Don’t let that dwarf in here again, even if he comes with Mr. Jardine.”

“I didn’t let him in this time,” said the man.

“You didn’t! Then how did he get in?”

“Blessed if I know, Mr. Swift. I had orders to let in Mr. Jardine, and I did, twice to-night. But the dwarf wasn’t with him either time.”

“Then Chock must have been hidden in here all the while,” said Tom. “That looks bad! I don’t like this a bit. He must have been in here and met Jardine the second time that man came back.”

“Maybe the dwarf climbed under the fence, same as he tried to do before,” suggested the watchman. “The charged wire isn’t yet in place.”

“I must see to that at once—first thing in the morning,” Tom said. “I can’t have things like this going on.”

He gave orders that the plant was to be closely watched that night and put extra men on duty in the hangar where the dirigible was. But he could think of no reason why Jardine would want to damage his own property or smuggle the dwarf in.

“It’s a queer game,” mused Tom, as he went to bed. “As Ned said, he must be a nut. I’ll be glad when I’ve finished with him.”

However, troubles often vanish with darkness, and the next day, somewhat to Tom Swift’s surprise, Jardine neither made any reference to his midnight visit with the dwarf nor did he speak of the unusual changes he wanted made in the Silver Cloud. When he and Tom made the usual inspection of work on the big machine Jardine said:

“Everything is coming along well, Mr. Swift. I am more than pleased! Now don’t work too hard over this yourself. Take a few days off. While I’d like to get the dirigible as soon as possible, I don’t want you to kill yourself. Everything is fine! Go along as you are.”

“Well, I’ll be darned!” said Tom to Ned, when they were alone. “He must talk in his sleep or something, to go on this way after what he said last night.”

“Just a nut!” murmured Ned, with a chuckle, as he made a circular motion with one finger near his head. “Wheels—going around,” he added. “But you needn’t worry as long as he pays you.”

“I suppose not,” assented Tom, laughing a little.

For the next week nothing happened, except a lot of hard work. Tom Swift pushed the labor on the dirigible and, to his delight, Mr. Jardine did not come near the works. Nor did he send any word about nonsensical changes or the hiring of the dwarf. That odd creature was not seen again, and Tom gave orders that he was not to be admitted. The charged wire at the bottom of the fence was again adjusted and the place was well guarded.

“Well, Ned,” said Tom one afternoon, when unusually good progress had been made on the dirigible, “I think I’ll take a few days off and run up to see Mary.”

“Good idea!” agreed the financial manager. “Give her my love and remember me to your dad and the Nestors.”

“I will. Don’t you want to come along?”

“I’d like to, but I don’t believe it would be best for us both to be away at the same time, Tom. I’ll take an outing when you come back.”

“Be sure you do.”

Tom Swift made the second trip to Mt. Camon in a smaller but more speedy car, and it need not be said that Mary was delighted to see him. The unexpectedness of his visit made it the more delightful.

“Oh, I’m so glad you came!” she murmured. “I feel safer now.”

“Why, nothing has happened, has there?” Tom asked.

“Oh, no. But I can’t get over thinking there may.”

“That crazy gardener hasn’t been around again, has he?”

“No, the poor fellow is in jail yet, I guess.”

“Then don’t worry,” Tom advised.

“Well, bless my porous plaster!” cried Mr. Damon when he saw Tom a little later. “You’re a sight for sore eyes! Up for good?”

“No, only for a few days this time. But I expect my next visit will be a longer one. I hope to finish the season here.”

The hotel was well filled, many new guests having arrived, and when Tom went down to the dining room he saw a stylishly dressed woman at the table next to the one where he had a place with his father, Mary, and her parents. The lady wore many diamonds, yet without an air of display. With her were two children in their teens, the boy Harry and the girl Laura.

As Tom left his seat after dinner, Mary having preceded him, he paused a moment to let the be-diamonded lady pass out first, but she stopped and spoke to him.

“Excuse me,” she said in pleasant tones, “but aren’t you Tom Swift, the eminent inventor?”

“I don’t want to say how eminent I am,” said Tom modestly. “But that is my name.”

“I am glad to meet you,” she went on. “I was told you were here; but your people, whom I have come to know slightly, said you were not expected for some time.”

“I ran up unannounced between jobs, so to speak,” said Tom. “I am at work on a big dirigible.”

“That is what I want to speak to you about,” went on the lady in a low voice. “Could I have a few minutes’ talk with you alone?”

“What’s this?” thought Tom. “Is this a prospective customer for another airship to rival the Silver Cloud, or does she want to engage passage on the first trip?”

“Run along, my dears,” said the lady to her children. “Will you come out on the veranda with me, Mr. Swift?” she went on. “I am sure your wife will excuse you a moment, won’t you, Mrs. Swift?” This to Mary.

“Of course, Mrs. Jardine! I didn’t know you knew my husband.”

“I took the liberty of introducing myself,” the lady smilingly replied, while many thoughts surged through Tom’s head as he heard Mary call his companion “Mrs. Jardine.”

“Are you the wife of the man for whom I am building the big dirigible?” Tom Swift asked when he and Mrs. Jardine were in a secluded place on the big hotel veranda. “Excuse me for not recognizing you.”

“How could you, never having seen me before? I am Mrs. Jardine, but not the one you suppose,” and her voice had in it a quality Tom could not fathom.

“I am Mrs. Lawrence Jardine,” she went on.

“Lawrence Jardine?” Tom murmured, more and more puzzled.

“The sister-in-law of Martin Jardine for whom, I believe, you are making a big airship.”

“Yes, certainly,” Tom said. “Martin Jardine is the name.”

“He is my husband’s brother,” went on the lady, and her air grew more serious. “I have been anxious to get word to you, but I did not just know how to go about it,” she added. “But when my husband sent me and the children to this hotel and I found that your family were guests here and that you were coming, I decided to wait and see you. I have important news for you—bad news I am afraid.”

“Bad news!” murmured Tom. The puzzle was more complicated.

“Yes. While it is true that Martin Jardine is in partnership with his brother, my husband, I do not believe that Martin had any authority to go ahead and order that big airship built. In fact, I am quite sure he had not. He did it on his own responsibility, and I feel sure my husband and the other members of the firm will disapprove of it. I should advise you to stop work at once.”

“This is bad news, indeed!” exclaimed Tom. “But can’t I get in touch with your husband and settle this matter?” All the suspicions regarding Martin Jardine rushed to the fore again.

“My husband is in Mexico prospecting for new mines and oil wells,” said Mrs. Jardine. “I have not heard from him for some time, but I have sent him word about his brother’s mad project. I think you had better have nothing more to do with the Silver Cloud.”

“This is most surprising!” Tom exclaimed.

“I feared it would be. I am sorry.”

“So am I,” Tom said. “This will make a big difference to me.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Martin was always odd. You must have noticed it, Mr. Swift.”

“I have. But he seemed to have good business sense, and he has met his payments promptly.”

“I think he will not meet any more after my husband hears of his latest freakish project. You are well out of it if you have lost nothing.”

“Oh, we can’t get out of it so easily,” Tom said. “We have invested large sums ourselves, and hoped to be paid back. This certainly is bad news,” and with a troubled face Tom paced the veranda.

A CHANGE OF PLANS

Mary came to the door of the hotel and looked out where Tom Swift was pacing up and down, while Mrs. Jardine watched him anxiously.

“Oh, Tom!” Mary called.

“Yes,” he answered, starting out of his troubled reverie. “What is it?”

“Will you make up a hand at bridge? We are one short, and mother is so fond of her game. Mr. Damon, too.”

“Oh, all right,” Tom answered, with a glance at Mrs. Jardine. “Will you excuse me?” he said to her.

“Certainly,” she murmured.

No one, probably, ever felt less like playing bridge than did Tom Swift that evening after having heard the disquieting news. He could not get it out of his mind, and yet he must. So he forced himself to exchange light hotel gossip with his wife and the others and, in addition, had to remember what was trumps, whether the lead was in the hand of the dummy or elsewhere, and keep track of the cards played. It was hard work, but he and Mary managed to take the odd trick more than once and won the rubber against Mr. Damon and Mrs. Nestor.

But all the while he was wondering how he could get another talk with Mrs. Jardine and find out more particulars without letting Mary and his father know the disastrous news. For it was disastrous in several ways. It was a blow to the prestige of the Swift plant and a big money loss if they were to have the big dirigible left on their hands.

“I ought to get word back to Ned and Mr. Jackson to stop everything if what Mrs. Jardine tells me is true,” mused Tom, as he walked out on the veranda after the game to get a breath of outer air before going to bed. Then he saw Mrs. Jardine again and as Mary had remained inside, Tom had a clear coast for extracting information.

But a further talk only confirmed what Mrs. Jardine had first told him—that her brother-in-law, Martin Jardine, was an irresponsible schemer and had, several times before, involved the firm in enterprises which had to be abandoned.

“He has wonderful ideas sometimes,” Mrs. Jardine said of Martin. “But he is a dreamer and is also very eccentric. I have no authority for telling you to stop work; but that would be my advice. I have tried to get in touch with my husband in Mexico. I have sent messages to several places where he may call, and I have told him to communicate with you at your shop at once.”

“Thank you. I shall take your advice and cease work on the dirigible, pending some word from your husband. And I think I had better get back to headquarters to receive any messages that may come from him. He would not know I am here, and if he called up my shop, no one there would feel authorized to do what he told them; but I’ll take precautionary measures.”

This Tom Swift did at once by sending a night letter to Mr. Jackson, telling him to stop work on the dirigible until the young inventor could get back.

“This is the second time my temporary vacation has been cut short,” Tom mused, as he went up to his room, planning to leave early the next morning. “Confound that crazy Martin Jardine, anyhow!”

Mary was disappointed, of course, when Tom told her he had to go away again; but when he explained that it had to do with the dirigible she made no objections, for she knew what the completion of the Silver Cloud would mean to Tom Swift’s reputation. Nor did he tell her how near the project was to being wrecked. Neither did he say anything to his father, for Mr. Swift needed quiet and repose. Time enough for that when he himself knew more of the situation.

Tom appeared at the works two days later, to find Ned, Mr. Jackson, and the foremen of the various shops in a quandary over his message to cease operations.

“What’s the idea?” Ned asked, for Tom’s telegram had not gone into details. He did not want word of the fiasco to get out. “Stopping work on the biggest thing we’ve ever turned out, Tom!”

“It had to be done,” Tom said, regretfully enough. “It may be only temporary, but I fear for the worst. I’m expecting a message any time now.”

“It will be a shame to have to scrap all this,” said Garret Jackson, looking up at the huge mass towering over their heads in the hangar. “Why, a couple of weeks more, and she’ll be ready for the air!”

“It is too bad,” Tom said. “It will mean a big money loss to us.”

“Yes,” assented Ned. “It has cost a lot more than we originally calculated on, and though Jardine has met his payments according to contract, they have not been enough. We should have stipulated for more money.”

“I don’t believe we’ll get any more,” said Tom grimly, and he related all Mrs. Lawrence Jardine had told him about her erratic brother-in-law.

Tom and his intimate associates were in consultation over the matter when the telephone in the private office rang and when the girl announced “long distance,” Tom had a feeling, he said later, that it had something to do with the Jardine matter.

This proved true, for Tom soon heard the voice of Lawrence Jardine talking to him from Mexico City and saying:

“Stop all work on that dirigible ordered by my brother. He had no authority to go ahead.”

“Isn’t your firm responsible?” Tom inquired.

“Not in this case. Martin acted beyond his rights. We shall not make any further payments.”

“I think you are bound to,” Tom said quietly.

“Nothing doing, Mr. Swift. I am on my way home and I’ll stop to see you. But don’t finish that airship!”

“I won’t—that is, not for your firm,” Tom replied. “But it seems a pity to scrap it. All right, Mr. Jardine. I’ll wait until I see you up here.”

It was tedious waiting in Shopton until the older brother and real head of the Jardine firm should arrive from Mexico; but there was nothing else to do. So all work on the dirigible was halted. Meanwhile Tom Swift tried to get in touch with the eccentric Martin, but without effect.

At length, one day while Tom was in his office, Koku came in, very quietly for so big a man, and announced:

“Mans to see you, Master.”

“Show him in,” Tom directed, as Koku handed him the card of Lawrence Jardine.

The young inventor was soon face to face with the older brother and real head of the Jardine company. Lawrence Jardine was a hard-headed business man, quite different from the eternal cigar-smoking Martin. Though he had good business sense, he could not be moved from his position that as the dirigible was ordered by Martin, the latter was without authority and the firm would repudiate the matter. Tom and Ned talked it over and realized that Lawrence Jardine was within his legal rights.

“But there is a moral side to it,” Tom said. “I took this order from your brother in good faith, and he seemed cloaked with full authority to enter into negotiations.”

“Martin is a fool!” burst out his brother. “It isn’t the first time he has dangerously involved our concern and spent money foolishly. No, I’m through, and I won’t have the dirigible at any price!”

“Won’t you take a look at it first?” suggested Ned. “It will be a big advertisement for your oralum metal plates.”

“It’s entirely too big an advertisement!” snapped Lawrence. “I tell you, I don’t want it!”

Tom tried to influence him, telling him of the various advantages of the new dirigible, how far it could cruise, and what a load it could carry above the clouds, but the head of the Jardine company was obdurate.

“I’m through!” he said, and his voice cracked like a whip.

“Well,” remarked Ned, “there are certain uncompleted payments your brother promised to make, amounting to several thousand dollars. We are entitled to them.”

“Try to get the money!” retorted Lawrence.

“That’s plain crooked!” exploded Tom.

“Don’t you call me crooked!” fired back the other.

“Well, your brother is.”

“Not so much crooked as a fool. You can sue if you like, but I’ll not accept the dirigible and you’ll get no more money!”

There followed a hot and heavy discussion, bordering on a quarrel, but Lawrence Jardine could not be moved and in the end he stamped out of the office, leaving Tom and Ned defeated.

“Well, what’s next to be done, Tom?” Ned asked, looking at the plans, specifications, and contracts having to do with the Silver Cloud. His desk was littered with them.

“Hanged if I know,” Tom said moodily.

“Do you think you could sell the dirigible as she is, perhaps to the United States or Germany?” asked Ned. “It would beat even the Graf Zeppelin.”

“I might make a sale,” assented Tom listlessly. “But it would take negotiations of nearly a year to bring it about. Meanwhile everything would be tied up.”

“You think the airship will be a success, don’t you Tom?”

“Sure, she’ll be a success!” cried the young inventor. “I’m positive of that. Even if the oralum did come from those crazy Jardines, it’s a wonderful metal. It wouldn’t take much to put the Silver Cloud in running order.”

“It would be a big feather in the cap of the Swift company if you could get it going, Tom,” said Ned.

Then, suddenly, a great change came over Tom Swift. He fairly jumped from his chair, his eyes shining, and exclaimed:

“I’ll do it! Bless my propellers, as Mr. Damon would say, but I’ll do it!”

“Do what?” asked Ned.

“I’ll finish the dirigible for myself! It will be mine from top to bottom and end to end! I’ll keep the name, but nothing else. I’ll own the Silver Cloud!”

“Good for you!” shouted Ned as enthusiastically as his chum. “But can you manage it?” he added more soberly.

“Yes. We’ll make new plans. Oh, I don’t mean to change the plan of the airship,” he went on, as Ned looked at the mass of papers. “She is too nearly completed for that. But we’ll think up some plan to raise the rest of the money needed, and I’ll finish and own this ship myself!”

“Then you and I’ll go sailing in it!” cried Ned.

“Surest thing you know!” exclaimed Tom. “Send Mr. Jackson here and I’ll issue orders to rush the work to completion!”

BUCKING A HURRICANE

What at first seemed almost an impossible undertaking gradually became less and less so as the days passed. So about a week after Tom Swift had changed his plans and made what seemed a momentous decision, work was resumed on the Silver Cloud at almost doubled speed.

How the necessary money was raised, partly by straining credit to the uttermost and partly by selling some valuable patents, and how permission was finally squeezed out of Lawrence Jardine to sell at cost price the necessary oralum plates needed to finish the craft—all this, as Tom and Ned said afterward, seemed like part of a nightmare. They had never worked harder in their lives.

But they were successful, and though Lawrence Jardine refused to lend his name, money, or influence to the further completion of the big dirigible, it was continued without his help—save his somewhat grudging acquiescence to sell the oralum plates.

All this time not another word was heard from Martin Jardine nor the grotesque dwarf who seemed like some uncanny familiar spirit of his. They appeared to have dropped out of sight and hearing, and Tom did not try to locate them.

“We’re well through with such folks,” he said to his chum.

“That’s right,” agreed Ned. “I’m glad your father and Mary are away from here enjoying themselves. They’d be upset if they knew all we have gone through.”

“I guess that’s right,” Tom assented wearily.

“How are they up at Mt. Camon?” asked Ned.

“All right. It’s pretty dry there. No rain at all.”

“The whole country is suffering from that,” observed Ned. “There have been a number of small forest fires and there may be more.”

“I hope not!” exclaimed Tom. “If the woods around that hotel where Mary and the folks are ever got to burning, nothing could put the blaze out. I don’t like to think of it!”

“Then don’t,” advised Ned. “The fire wardens are on the watch and they have plenty of help. Now about the notes we have to sign to get that bank loan.”

“Oh, yes,” Tom replied. “Gosh! I hope I can finish that dirigible and sell her, or get some money out of her. If I can’t, I’ll be bankrupt. But this is about the last money we’ll need. I’ll have the craft finished this day week.”

“Let’s hope so,” responded Ned. “We haven’t much credit left and the cash is going fast. Maybe when you’ve made a successful trip, Uncle Sam or one of the commercial companies will buy the Silver Cloud.”

“Maybe, is a slight foundation of hope on which to spend so much money. Anyhow, we’ll soon give her a trial.”

It was decided not to finish the craft completely, that is, the cabin accommodations for passengers would be omitted temporarily.

“What we’ll do,” said Tom, talking the matter over with Ned, “will be to make it mechanically perfect. You and I and the crew can rough it on the trial trip; I mean as to sleeping and eating. Later, if she behaves as I hope she will, we may interest some capitalists and finish the passengers’ cabins in de luxe style for transoceanic travel.”

“Like the Zeppelins,” suggested Ned.

“That’s it. But now we’ll save all the money we can.”

In general, however, the original plans were carried out. The big all metal envelope to hold the lifting gas was finished. The various motor compartments were constructed within it and the powerful propellers, thrust out here and there to get a grip on the air, alone showed the motive power. By putting the motor gondolas inside the envelope much air resistance was done away with. This was one of Tom’s original ideas.

The quarters for the crew were simply finished and those for the navigating officers contained no luxuries. The young inventor said he was willing to sleep on the floor of his cabin and eat off his lap to save money for essentials.

Tom received a letter each day from his wife, telling of events at the Mt. Camon hotel. More than once she asked when he was coming up for his vacation. She said that Mrs. Lawrence Jardine and her children were still at the place, and from the fact that Mary was friendly with her Tom guessed that the wife of the head of the Jardine concern had been discreet in not telling of the fiasco.

Tom wrote back that he would be up soon, but he did not tell Mary of a daring plan he had in mind. This was to sail the Silver Cloud over the wooded mountain on top of which the hotel was perched.

“That is if I can get her to go,” Tom said to his chum.

“I never saw anything yet, from a motor cycle to a submarine, you couldn’t get going if you tried hard enough,” returned Ned.

“Well, you can bet I’m going to try!” declared Tom Swift emphatically.

From then on there were days and nights of hard work on the big dirigible. In a way, Tom Swift was glad of the Jardine episode since it left him his own master and he could build the airship as he pleased without the eccentric suggestions of Martin Jardine and the menace of having the grotesque dwarf around.

“Huh!” exclaimed Koku when told that Chock would not return. “If him do I bust him open same as Radicate bust watermelons!”

“That’s going some!” chuckled Tom.

So the work went on, hammer and tongs, tongs and hammer, until at last the oralum envelope was completed and proved gas tight. The motors had been tested and worked very well, but they would do better after a trial spin, Tom said. The quarters for the crew, for Tom, Ned and the executives of his plant, were roughly finished so they could be used, and at last all was in readiness for a trial flight.

Great tanks of the new lifting gas had been charged in readiness, and there was an apparatus aboard the Silver Cloud for making more gas in case of emergency.

“But one filling ought to last for ten thousand miles,” Tom declared to Ned.

“How about food?” asked the young financial man the night before the day set for the test when they were examining the ship and talking matters over.

“We shan’t be in the air long enough for that,” Tom replied.

“Can’t tell. Might get stuck up there,” suggested Ned. “I’m going to ask Mrs. Baggert to make some sandwiches.”

“All right. Now I’ve got to see that those gas pressure gages register properly. Then we’ll be all set.”

The day for the test flight broke calm and clear. Tom was glad of this. There was activity in the plant long before sunrise, and by the time Old Sol’s rosy beams were warming the earth all was in readiness.

Tom Swift was in the navigating cabin, which was in the nose of the ship. Above him was a weather expert, Mr. Kirby Larson, who had been in the United States Government service. Mr. Larson had to himself the little cabin which Martin Jardine had wanted to make into a personal stateroom.

“All ready!” cried Tom to the ground crew of men who were to walk the big dirigible out of the hangar.

“All ready!” came from the captain of this crew.

“Go!” ordered Tom.

Slowly the Silver Cloud left her birthplace, and for the first time emerged into the open. The full lifting power of the gas was not exerted until she was clear of the hangar, and then Tom, having received word that all was clear, cried:

“Let go!”

The ground crew loosed the mooring ropes, the power of the lifting gas began to make itself felt, and the great dirigible slowly rose like some immense but graceful creature of the air.

“Half speed ahead!” Tom signalled to the various motor compartments, and the great machines began to whirl the propellers in unison. The Silver Cloud, looking very like her namesake, went upward and ahead.

A cheer rose from the crowd below, workmen of the Swift plant. But as the ship passed over the high fence and came into view generally, another crowd of townspeople and other curious folk who had heard about the latest Swift achievement set up loud shouts of surprise and approbation.

“She’s the biggest airship in the world!” cried one man.

This was true. For the Silver Cloud was nearly a thousand feet long.

“Well, Ned, she’s going up!” Tom said to his chum, as, together, they stood in the control cabin.

“Of course she is!” exclaimed Ned. “I wish your father were here to see it.”

“I wish those Jardines were here, or at least the head of the company!” snapped Tom.

“Why?”

“Because if he sees she’s a success he might buy her and we’d get our money back.”

“Of course there’s no great market yet for a giant airship, but if this one is a success we’ll hope you won’t have any trouble in selling her at a profit,” remarked Ned slowly. “But is this as fast as she can go?”

“I should say not!” chuckled Tom. “But I’ve got to start the new motors easily at first.”

In a little while the craft was gathering speed and when she had arisen several thousand feet into the air she was humming along at nearly a hundred miles an hour. She was capable of more than this.

As Tom Swift and Ned Newton were rejoicing over what seemed like a wonderful success a signal from Mr. Larson in the upper weather observatory came to them.

“You had better turn about,” he said.

“Why?” asked Tom.

“We are heading for a low pressure area and I think there is a storm center there. The instruments indicate a powerful wind blowing—one of hurricane strength. Turn back.”

To the surprise of Ned Newton, the young inventor, instead of giving the signal to turn the airship, kept her headed in a straight course.

“What’s the idea?” asked Ned. “You’re running into trouble—into a hurricane!”

“That’s just what I want to do,” replied Tom. “If this craft is any good at all, she can’t be sailed in fair weather only. She’ll have to stand storm and stress; and if she won’t, now is the time to discover it. I’m going to buck the hurricane!”

“Whew!” whistled the young financial man. “Then I’m glad I brought along some sandwiches.”

“Why?”

“We may get shipwrecked and need them.”

“We shan’t get shipwrecked,” said Tom Swift confidently. “But I’d like to see how she acts in a big wind.”

A little later the Silver Cloud began to pitch and toss.

“I think you’re going to get your wish,” cried Ned, clinging to a safety hand rail in the cabin.

There was a call from the weather observer in his high cabin.

“Hurricane just ahead!” he reported. “Turn back!”

“Full speed ahead!” Tom ordered to the motor rooms.

Then the Silver Cloud was battling with a powerful, furious wind.

“Feel that drop!” cried Ned, as the craft was whirled toward the earth. “Will she stand it, Tom?”

“She’s got to stand it!” was the fierce reply of the young inventor.

For a few moments, in spite of the brave words of Tom Swift, it was almost touch and go in the fight between the big dirigible and the powerful wind.

CAUGHT IN THE FOG

Tom Swift, the young inventor, did not give up making the Silver Cloud fight her way into the very teeth of the hurricane, and, though the ship seemed to turn and twist as though to escape the ordeal, he held her to her task. The motors hummed, the big propellers whirled their way, tossing aside the roaring winds, and the Silver Cloud moved ahead.

“Only an all metal ship would stand this!” murmured Tom, as, with Ned beside him, he stood in the control cabin and watched the various gages which indicated the height and speed of the craft.

“Yes, a fabric envelope like those of the Zeppelins, even on a metal frame, would be torn off,” Ned agreed.

He knew something about reading the gages and he noted, with Tom, that now the great craft would be forced down slightly, and again, when getting into some “pocket” where the hurricane was not of such powerful strength, she would ascend.

Her forward speed was cut at times from around a hundred miles an hour, which it had been in the calm atmosphere, to less than thirty. But Tom Swift had not yet used all the power in his motors.

“Here goes for a big test, though!” he presently decided. “The engines have been run on the blocks long enough to wear the pistons smooth, so I think I can chance giving her about all she’ll take. Let’s see if we can’t run through this hurricane.”

Tom signaled for more speed to the motor compartments. The Silver Cloud trembled, but, after a moment of uncertainty, the occupants of the control cabin saw the needle of the speed dial begin to move slowly toward the higher figures.

“Sixty!” called Ned.

“Good!” murmured Tom, who was steering the ship.

“Seventy!” cried Ned.

“She can do better than that!” Tom said.

“Up to a hundred now!” reported Ned a moment later.

“That’s good, considering the wind is dead against her,” Tom agreed. “But if she’s to make a trip around the world, as I hope, she may meet with even worse winds than this, and to beat them she’ll have to do at least a hundred and fifty now.”

“She can’t!” Ned declared. “Never!”

“Well, if I can get to one twenty-five I’ll be satisfied,” Tom said.

The ship throbbed, trembled, and vibrated from end to end. In the motor compartments, which Ned visited in turn, to make sure all was well, the men tense, eager, and anxious, bent over their machines and gages. The one great fear was lest some bearing should overheat or an oil feed or fuel pipe break, thus cutting down the power.

Nothing like this happened, and when Ned Newton got back to the control cabin he glanced at the speed gage and cried:

“One hundred and thirty!”

“Good!” shouted his chum. “That beats the hurricane!”

A moment later there came a signal from Mr. Larson:

“We have run through the storm.”

This was immediately noticed, for the speed of the ship went to one hundred and sixty miles an hour, there being no head wind now to hold her back. But as such speed was needlessly racing the motors, Tom cut it down to a normal rate of eighty miles.

“Well, you did it,” Ned remarked when, having swept through the hurricane area, they turned about and headed for Shopton on a course that would not again take them into a danger zone.

“The airship did it!” replied Tom. “Give her the credit.”

“Are you satisfied?” asked Ned.

“Not altogether,” Tom admitted. “I can see where I can make some improvements. But they will come later. On the whole, I think she did very well, and in a severe test, too.”

“I’ll say it was severe!” murmured Ned, rubbing some bruised spots where he had been tossed against the cabin walls.

That evening the Silver Cloud was housed in her hangar, safe and sound save for a few minor mishaps. There was great rejoicing in the Swift plant, for it was felt that the work was a big success.

“But I’ll make her better yet,” declared Tom.

“Then the Jardines will be sorry they called the game off,” predicted Ned.

“Maybe,” said Tom, with a grim smile. “We’ll see.”

“Gosh!” Ned suddenly exclaimed.

“What’s the matter?”

“I forgot, in the hurricane, all about eating those sandwiches!” laughed Ned.

There were still more busy days of work in the Swift plant when once again the big dirigible was in her hangar. Several changes were carried out, one motor that had shown a weakness was replaced and different propellers were put on.

A number of new instruments were adjusted and several pieces of apparatus designed for comfort and safety, which had not been installed on the trial trip, were added. Also, the passengers’ main cabin and some of the staterooms were partly finished.

“We could pretty nearly make a trip around the world now,” Ned observed, as he went over the ship one night with his chum.

“Yes,” was the answer. “But I want another test first.”

“We got a good write-up in the papers about the one we had,” Ned stated, showing Tom a bundle of press clippings. “They called it another Swift triumph.”

“Yes,” Tom chuckled. “But they ain’t seen nothin’ yet, as the joke has it. Let ’em wait!”

“It’s queer we haven’t heard a word from the Jardines,” went on Ned. “You’d think they might at least wish us well.”

“I don’t want to hear from that crazy Martin,” Tom said. “But Lawrence seemed businesslike. He might at least make us a rebate for the advertising we’re giving his oralum metal.”

“Sure,” agreed Ned. “But he’s hard-boiled!”

A week later the Silver Cloud was ready for another test. She took the air more easily, for the lifting power of the gas had been increased somewhat, and she moved along more smoothly under the power of her motors.

“Going to buck another hurricane?” asked Ned, with a laugh, as he stood in the control cabin with Tom.

“Not unless we have to. But we can do it.”

They moved speedily through the air, the members of the crew getting more familiar with their duties. There seemed to be no hitch in the smooth performance of the great airship.

“I’ll head south,” Tom decided after a while.

“You’ll have to go higher than this if you do,” Ned told him. “You know the Moochie range of mountains lie south and there are some pretty tall peaks.”

“We can clear them,” Tom declared. “But I will go higher.”

The Silver Cloud rose above those masses of vapor for which she was named and sailed through the brilliant sunlight. Then she passed over a large lake, heading for the high mountains. In a little while a warning came from the weather observer:

“Fog ahead!”

“Confound the luck!” exclaimed Tom, for fog is one element no airship, however powerful, has ever been able to conquer.

“Go up!” advised Ned.

But when Tom called for a more detailed report, Mr. Larson said the fog was more dense above than below, so the ship descended.

They were now cruising, though at reduced speed, through what was a dense, white vapor, and even Tom Swift was rather apprehensive.

Suddenly a signal of alarm came from Mr. Larson.

“Stop! Back up!” he called through the telephone.

Tom’s hand was on the lever to signal the motor rooms when there came a sudden jar, a dull thud, and the ship stood still, held fast in what seemed to be a bank of dense fog.