Tom Swift and His Photo Telephone | Page 8

Rad?" cried the young inventor, anxiously,
as he saw the dangerous position of the man from the airship.
"Yas, sah, Massa Tom! I'se a-camin' wif it!"
"And where's Koku? We'll need him!"
"He's a-camin', too!"
"Here Koku!" exclaimed a deep voice, and a big man came running
around the corner of the house. "What is it, Master?"
"We must get him down, Koku!" said Tom, simply. "I will go up on the
roof. You had better come, too. Rad, go in the house and get a mattress
from the bed. Put it down on the ground where he's likely to fall. Lively
now!"
"Yas, sah, Massa Tom!"
"Me git my own ladder--dat one not strong 'nuff!" grunted Koku, who
did not speak very good English. He had a very strong ladder, of his
own make, built to hold his enormous bulk, and this he soon brought
and placed against the side of the house.
Meanwhile Tom and his father had raised the one Eradicate had
brought, though Tom did most of the lifting, for his father was elderly,
and had once suffered from heart trouble.
"We're coming for you!" cried the young inventor as he began to
ascend the ladder, at the same time observing that the giant was coming
with his. "Can you hold on a little longer?"
"Yes, I guess so. But I dare not move for fear the propellers will strike
me."

"I see. I'll soon shut off the motor," said Tom. "What happened,
anyhow?"
"Well, I was flying over your house. I was on my way to pay you a visit,
but I didn't intend to do it in just this way," and the birdman smiled
grimly. "I didn't see your wireless aerials until I was plumb into them,
and then it was too late. I hope I haven't damaged them any."
"Oh, they are easily fixed," said Tom. "I hope you and your biplane are
not damaged. This way, Koku!" he called to the giant.
"Say, is--is he real, or am I seeing things?" asked the aviator, as he
looked at the big man.
"Oh, he's real, all right," laughed Tom. "Now, then, I'm going to shut
off your motor, and then you can quit hugging that chimney, and come
down."
"I'll be real glad to," said the birdman.
Making his way cautiously along the gutters of the roof, Tom managed
to reach the motor controls. He pulled out the electrical switch, and
with a sort of cough and groan the motor stopped. The big propellers
ceased revolving, and the aviator could leave his perch in safety.
This he did, edging along until he could climb down and meet Tom,
who stood near the ladder.
"Much obliged," said the birdman, as he shook hands with Tom. "My
name is Grant Halling. I'm a newcomer in Mansburg," he added,
naming a town not far from Shopton. "I know you by reputation, so you
don't need to introduce yourself."
"Glad to meet you," said the young inventor, cordially. "Rather a queer
place to meet a friend," he went on with a laugh and a glance down to
the ground. "Can you climb?"
"Oh, yes, I'm used to that. The next thing will be to get my machine

down."
"Oh, we can manage that with Koku's help," spoke Tom. "Koku, get
some ropes, and see what you and Rad can do toward getting the
aeroplane down," he added to the giant. "Let me know if you need any
help."
"Me can do!" exclaimed the big man. "Me fix him!"
Tom and Mr. Halling made their way down the ladder, while the giant
proceeded to study out a plan for getting the airship off the roof.
"You say you were coming over to see me, when you ran into my
wireless aerials?" asked Tom, curiously, when he had introduced his
father to the birdman.
"Yes," went on Mr. Halling. "I have been having some trouble with my
motor, and I thought perhaps you could tell me what was wrong. My
friend, Mr. Wakefield Damon, sent me to you."
"What! Do you know Mr. Damon?" cried Tom.
"I've known' him for some years. I met him in the West, but I hadn't
seen him lately, until I came East. He sent me to see you, and said you
would help me."
"Well, any friend of Mr. Damon's is a friend of mine!" exclaimed Tom,
genially. "I'll have a look at your machine as soon as Koku gets it down.
How is Mr. Damon, anyhow? I haven't seen him in over two weeks."
"I'm sorry to say he isn't very well, Mr. Swift."
"Is he ill? What is the trouble?"
"He isn't exactly ill," went on Mr. Halling, "but he is fretting himself
into a sickness, worrying over his lost fortune."
"His lost