Tom Swift in Captivity | Page 2

to come along with me."
"Where are you going?"
"Oh, anywhere. Just to take a little run in the upper regions, and clear
some of the cobwebs out of my head. I declare, I guess I've got the
spring fever. I haven't done anything since we got back from Russia
last fall, and I'm getting rusty."
"You haven't done ANYTHING!" exclaimed Ned, following his
chum's example by tossing aside the book. "Do you call working on
your new invention of a noiseless airship nothing?"
"Well, I haven't finished that yet. I'm tired of inventing things. I just

want to go off, and have some good fun, like getting shipwrecked on a
desert island, or being lost in the mountains, or something like that. I
want action. I want to get off in the jungle, and fight wild beasts, and
escape from the savages!"
"Say! you don't want much," commented Ned. "But I feel the same way,
Tom."
"Then come on out and take a run, and maybe we'll get on the track of
an adventure," urged the young inventor. "We won't go far, just twenty
or thirty miles or so."
The two youths emerged from the house and started across the big lawn
toward the aeroplane sheds, for Tom Swift owned several speedy
aircrafts, from a big combined aeroplane and dirigible balloon, to a
little monoplane not much larger than a big bird, but which was the
most rapid flier that ever breathed the fumes of gasolene.
"Which one you going to take, Tom?" asked Ned, as his chum paused
in front of the row of hangars.
"Oh, the little double-seated monoplane, I guess that's in good shape,
and it's easy to manage. When I'm out for fun I hate to be tinkering with
levers and warping wing tips all the while. The Lark practically flies
herself, and we can sit back and take it easy. I'll have Eradicate fill up
the gasolene tank, while I look at the magneto. It needs a little adjusting,
though it works nearly to perfection since I put in some of that new
platinum we got from the lost mine in Siberia."
"Yes, that was a trip that amounted to something. I wouldn't mind
going on another like that, though we ran lots of risks."
"We sure did," agreed Tom, and then, raising his voice he called out:
"Rad, I say Rad! Where are you? I want you!"
"Comin', massa Tom, comin'," answered an aged colored man, as he
shuffled around the corner of the shed. "What do yo'-all want ob me?"

"Put some gasolene in the Lark, Rad. Ned and I are going to take a little
flight. What were you doing?"
"Jest groomin' mah mule Boomerang, Massa Tom, dat's all. Po'
Boomerang he's gittin' old jest same laik I be. He's gittin' old, an' he
needs lots ob 'tention. He has t' hab mo' oats dan usual, Massa Tom, an'
he doan't feel 'em laik he uster, dat's a fac', Massa Tom."
"Well, Rad, give him all he wants. Boomerang was a good mule in his
day."
"An' he's good yet, Massa Tom, he's good yet!" said Eradicate Sampson
eagerly. "Doan't yo' all forgit dat, Massa Tom." And the colored man
proceeded to fill the gasolene tank, while Tom adjusted the electrical
mechanism of his aeroplane, Ned assisting by handing him the tools
needed. Eradicate, who said he was named that because he "eradicated"
dirt, was a colored man of all work, who had been in the service of the
Swift household for several years. He and his mule Boomerang were
fixtures.
"There, I guess that will do," remarked Tom, after testing the magneto,
and finding that it gave a fat, hot spark. "That ought to send us along in
good shape. Got all the gas in, Rad?"
"Every drop, Massa Tom."
"Then catch hold and help wheel the Lark out. Ned, you steady her on
that side. How are the tires? Do they need pumping up?"
"Hard as rocks," answered Tom's chum, as he tapped his toe against the
rubber circlets of the small bicycle wheels on which the aeroplane
rested.
"Then they'll do, I guess. Come on now, and we'll give her a test before
we start off. I ought to get a few hundred more revolutions per minute
out of the motor with the way I've adjusted the magneto. Rad, you and
Ned hold back, while I turn the engine over."

The youth and the colored man grasped the rear supports of the long,
tail-like part of the monoplane while Tom stepped to the front to twist
the propeller blades. The first two times there was no explosion as he
swung the delicate wooden blades about, but the third time the engine
started off with a roar, and a succession of explosions