Tom Swift and His Big Tunnel | Page 5

In other cases the inventions were of the utterly hopeless
class, incapable of perfection, like some perpetual motion apparatus. In
these cases Tom turned a deaf ear, though if the inventor were in want
our hero relieved him.
But this case did not seem to be like anything Tom had ever met with
before.
"Contracting trouble--blasting," repeated the youth, as he mused over
what he had heard.
"That's it," the man went on. "Permit me to introduce myself" and he
held out a card, on which was the name
MR. JOB TITUS
Down in the lower left-hand corner was a line:
"Titus Brothers, Contractors."
"I am glad to meet you, "Mr. Titus," Tom said warmly, offering his
hand. "I don't know anything about the contracting business, but if you
do blasting I suppose you use explosives, and I know a little about

them."
"So I have heard, and that's why I came to you," the contractor went on.
"Now if you'll give me a few minutes of your time--"
"You had better come up to the house," interrupted Tom. "We can talk
more quietly there."
Calling a young fellow who was at work near by to occupy the
gate-house, Tom led Mr. Titus toward the Swift homestead, and, a little
later, ushered him into the library.
"Now I'll listen to you," the youth said, "though I can't promise to aid
you."
"I realize that," returned Mr. Titus. "This is a sort of last chance I'm
taking. My brother and I have heard a lot about you, and when he wrote
to me that he was unable to proceed with his contract of tunneling the
Andes Mountains for the Peruvian government, I made up my mind
you were the one who could help us if you would."
"Tunneling the Andes Mountains!" exclaimed Tom.
"Yes. The firm represented by my brother and myself have a contract to
build a railroad for the Peruvian government. At a point some distance
back in the district east of Lima, Peru, we are making a tunnel under
the mountain. That is, we have it started, but now we can't advance any
further."
"Why not?"
"Because of the peculiar character of the rock, which seems to defy the
strongest explosive we can get. Now I understand you used a powder in
your giant cannon that--"
Mr. Titus paused in his explanation, for at that moment there arose such
a clatter out on the front piazza as effectually to drown conversation.
There was a noise of the hoofs of a horse, the fall of a heavy body, a

tattoo on the porch floor and then came an excited shout:
"Whoa there! Whoa! Stop! Look out where you're kicking! Bless my
saddle blanket! Ouch! There I go!"
Chapter II
Explanations

"What in the world is that?" cried Mr. Job Titus, in alarm.
Tom Swift did not answer. Instead he jumped up from his chair and ran
toward the front door. Mr. Titus followed. They both saw a strange
sight.
Standing on the front porch, which he seemed to occupy completely,
was a large horse, with a saddle twisted underneath him. The animal
was looking about him as calmly as though he always made it a
practice to come up on the front piazza when stopping at a house.
Off to one side, with a crushed hat on the back of his head, with a coat
split up the back, with a broken riding crop in one hand and a
handkerchief in the other, sat a dignified, elderly gentleman.
That is, he would have been dignified had it not been for his position
and condition. No gentleman can look dignified with a split coat and a
crushed hat on, sitting under the nose of a horse on a front piazza, with
his raiment otherwise much disheveled, while he wipes his scratched
and bleeding face with a handkerchief.
"Bless my--bless my--" began the elderly gentleman, and he seemed at
a loss what particular portion of his anatomy or that of the horse, to
bless, or what portion of the universe to appeal to, for he ended up with:
"Bless everything, Tom Swift!"
"I heartily agree with you, Mr. Damon!" cried Tom. "But what in the
world happened?"

"That!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, pointing with his broken crop at the
horse on the piazza. "I was riding him when he ran away--just as my
motorcycle tried to climb a tree. No more horses for me! I'll stick to
airships," and slamming his riding crop down on the porch floor with
such force that the horse started back, Mr. Damon arose, painfully
enough if the contortions on his face and his grunts of pain went for
anything.
"Let me help you!" begged Tom, striding forward. "Mr. Titus, perhaps
you will kindly lead the horse down off