Tom Swift and His Aerial Warship | Page 4

that afternoon to have a little holiday with his chum, but Tom, seated in the midst of his inventions, seemed little inclined to jollity.
Through the open windows came the hum of distant machinery, for Tom Swift and his father were the heads of a company founded to manufacture and market their many inventions, and about their home were grouped several buildings. From a small plant the business had grown to be a great tree, under the direction of Tom and his father.
"Yes, I'm working on something new," admitted Tom, after a moment of silence.
"And, Ned," he went on, "there's no reason why you shouldn't see it. I've been keeping it a bit secret, until I had it a little further advanced, but I've got to a point now where I'm stuck, and perhaps it will do me good to talk to someone about it."
"Not to talk to me, though, I'm afraid. What I don't know about machinery, Tom, would fill a great many books. I don't see how I can help you," and Ned laughed.
"Well, perhaps you can, just the same, though you may not know a lot of technical things about machines. It sometimes helps me just to tell my troubles to a disinterested person, and hear him ask questions. I've got dad half distracted trying to solve the problem, so I've had to let up on him for a while. Come on out and see what you make of it."
"Sure, Tom, anything to oblige. If you want me to sit in front of your photo-telephone, and have my picture taken, I'm agreeable, even if you shoot off a flashlight at my ear. Or, if you want me to see how long I can stay under water without breathing I'll try that, too, provided you don't leave me under too long, lead the way--I'm agreeable as far as I'm able, old man."
"Oh, it isn't anything like that," Tom answered with a laugh. "I might as well give you a few hints, so you'll know what I'm driving at. Then I'll take you out and show it to you."
"What is it--air, earth or water?" asked Ned Newton, for he knew his chum's activities led along all three lines.
"This happens to be air."
"A new balloon?"
"Something like that. I call it my aerial warship, though."
"Aerial warship, Tom! That sounds rather dangerous!"
"It will be dangerous, too, if I can get it to work. That's what it's intended for."
"But a warship of the air!" cried Ned. "You can't mean it. A warship carries guns, mortars, bombs, and--"
"Yes, I know," interrupted Tom, "and I appreciate all that when I called my newest craft an aerial warship."
"But," objected Ned, "an aircraft that will carry big guns will be so large that--"
"Oh, mine is large enough," Tom broke in.
"Then it's finished!" cried Ned eagerly, for he was much interested in his chum's inventions.
"Well, not exactly," Tom said. "But what I was going to tell you was that all guns are not necessarily large. You can get big results with small guns and projectiles now, for high-powered explosives come in small packages. So it isn't altogether a question of carrying a certain amount of weight. Of course, an aerial warship will have to be big, for it will have to carry extra machinery to give it extra speed, and it will have to carry a certain armament, and a large crew will be needed. So, as I said, it will need to be large. But that problem isn't worrying me."
"Well, what is it, then?" asked Ned.
"It's the recoil," said Tom, with a gesture of despair.
"The recoil?" questioned Ned, wonderingly.
"Yes, from the guns, you know. I haven't been able to overcome that, and, until I do, I'm afraid my latest invention will be a failure."
Ned shook his head.
"I'm afraid I can't help you any," he said. "The only thing I know about recoils is connected with an old shotgun my father used to own.
"I took that once, when he didn't know it," Ned proceeded. "It was pretty heavily loaded, for the crows had been having fun in our cornfield, and dad had been shooting at them. This time I thought I'd take a chance.
"Well, I fired the gun. But it must have had a double charge in it and been rusted at that. All I know is that after I pulled the trigger I thought the end of the world had come. I heard a clap of thunder, and then I went flying over backward into a blackberry patch."
"That was the recoil," said Tom.
"The what?" asked Ned.
"The recoil. The recoil of the gun knocked you over.
"Oh, yes," observed Ned, rubbing his shoulder in a reflective sort of way. "I always thought it was something like that. But, at the time I put it down to an explosion, and let