Tom Swift and His Sky Racer | Page 4

made in aeroplane construction since I
made mine that I fear I would be distanced if I raced in her. And I
wouldn't like that."
"No," agreed Mr. Gunmore. "I suppose not. Still, I do wish we could
induce you to enter. I don't mind telling you that we consider you a
drawing-card. Can't we induce you, some way?"
"I'm afraid not. I haven't any machine which--"
"Look here!" exclaimed the secretary eagerly. "Why can't you build a
special aeroplane to enter in the next meet? You'll have plenty of time,

as it doesn't come off for three months yet. We are only making the
preliminary arrangements. It is now June, and the meet is scheduled for
early in September. Couldn't you build a new and speedy aeroplane in
that time?"
Eagerly Mr. Gunmore waited for the answer. Tom Swift seemed to be
considering it. There was an increased brightness to his eyes, and one
could tell that he was thinking deeply. The secretary sought to clinch
his argument.
"I believe, from what I have heard of your work in the past, that you
could build an aeroplane which would win the ten-thousand-dollar
prize," he went on. "I would be very glad if you did win it, and, so I
think, would be the gentlemen associated with me in this enterprise. It
would be fine to have a New York State youth win the grand prize.
Come, Tom Swift, build a special craft, and enter the contest!"
As he paused for an answer footsteps were heard coming along the hall,
and a moment later an aged gentleman opened the door of the library.
"Oh! Excuse me, Tom," he said, "I didn't know you had company."
And he was about to withdraw.
"Don't go, father," said Tom. "You will be as much interested in this as
I am. This is Mr. Gunmore, of the Eagle Park Aviation Association.
This is my father, Mr. Gunmore."
"I've heard of you," spoke the secretary as he shook hands with the
aged inventor. "You and your son have made, in aeronautics, a name to
be proud of."
"And he wants us to go still farther, dad," broke in the youth. "Me
wants me to build a specially speedy aeroplane, and race for ten
thousand dollars."
"Hum!" mused Mr. Swift. "Well, are you going to do it, Tom? Seems
to me you ought to take a rest. You haven't been back from your
gold-hunting trip to Alaska long enough to more than catch your breath,

and now--"
"Oh, he doesn't have to go in this right away," eagerly explained Mr.
Gunmore. "There is plenty of time to make a new craft."
"Well, Tom can do as he likes about it," said his father. "Do you think
you could build anything speedier than your Butterfly, son?"
"I think so, father. That is, if you'd help me. I have a plan partly thought
out, but it will take some time to finish it. Still, I might get it done in
time."
"I hope you'll try!" exclaimed the secretary. "May I ask whether it
would be a monoplane or a biplane?"
"A monoplane, I think," answered Tom. "They are much more speedy
than the double-deckers, and if I'm going to try for the ten thousand
dollars I need the fastest machine I can build."
"We have the promise of one or two very fast monoplanes for the
meet," went on Mr. Gunmore. "Would yours be of a new type?"
"I think it would," was the reply of the young inventor. "In fact, I am
thinking of making a smaller monoplane than any that have yet been
constructed, and yet one that will carry two persons. The hardest work
will be to make the engine light enough and still have it sufficiently
powerful to make over a hundred miles an hour, if necessary.
"A hundred miles an hour in a small monoplane! It isn't possible!" cried
the secretary.
"I'll make better time than that," said Tom quietly, and with not a trace
of boasting in his tones.
"Then you'll enter the meet?" asked Mr. Gunmore eagerly.
"Well, I'll think about it," promised Tom. "I'll let you know in a few
days. Meanwhile, I'll be thinking out the details for my new craft. I
have been going to build one ever since I got back, after having seen

my Red Cloud crushed in the ice cave. Now I think I had better begin
active work."
"I hope you will soon let me know," resumed the secretary. "I'm going
to put you down as a possible contestant for the ten-thousand-dollar
prize. That can do no harm, and I hope you win it. I trust--"
He paused suddenly, and listened. So did Tom Swift and his father, for
they all distinctly heard stealthy footsteps under the