Tom Swift in the City of Gold | Page 3

the strangest part of it. Mr. Illingway
goes on to say that there is no gold in that part of Africa, and for a time
he was at a loss how to account for the golden image. He made some
inquiries and learned that it was once the property of a white traveler
who made his home with the tribe that now worships the image of gold.
This traveler, whose name Mr. Illingway could not find out, was much
liked by the Africans. He taught them many things, doctored them
when they were sick, and they finally adopted him into the tribe."
"It seems that he tried to make them better, and wanted them to become
Christians, but they clung to their own beliefs until he died. Then,
probably thinking to do his memory honor, they took the golden image,
which was among his possessions, and set it up as a god."
"Bless my hymn book!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "What did they do that
for?"
"This white man thought a great deal of the image," said Tom, again
referring to the letter, "and the Africans very likely imagined that, as he
was so good to them, some of his virtues had passed into the gold. Then,
too, they may have thought it was part of his religion, and as he had so
often wanted them to adopt his beliefs, they reasoned out that they
could now do so, by worshiping the golden god."
"Anyhow, that's what they did, and the image is there to-day, in that
far-off African village. But I haven't got to the real news yet. The
image of solid gold is only a part of it."
"Before this traveler died he told some of the more intelligent natives
that the image had come from a far-off underground city--a regular city

of gold--nearly everything in it that was capable of being made of metal,
being constructed of the precious yellow gold. The golden image was
only one of a lot more like it, some smaller and some larger--"
"Not larger, Tom, not larger, surely!" interrupted Mr. Swift. "Why, my
boy, think of it! An image of solid gold, bigger even than this one Mr.
Illingway writes of, which he says is three feet high. Why, if there are
any larger they must be nearly life size, and think of a solid gold statue
as large as a man--it would weigh--well, I'm afraid, to say how much,
and be worth--why, Tom, it's impossible. It would be worth
millions--all the wealth of a world must be in the underground city. It's
impossible Tom, my boy!"
"Well, that may be," agreed Tom. "I'm not saying it's true. Mr.
Illingway is telling only what he heard."
"Go on! Tell some more," begged Mr. Damon. "Bless my shirt studs,
this is getting exciting!"
"He says that the traveler told of this underground city of gold," went
on Tom, "though he had never been there himself. He had met a native
who had located it, and who had brought out some of the gold,
including several of the images, and one he gave to the white man in
return for some favor. The white man took it to Africa with him."
"But where is this underground city, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "Doesn't
Mr. Illingway give you any idea of its location."
"He says it is somewhere in Mexico," explained the lad. "The Africans
haven't a very good idea of geography, but some of the tribesmen
whom the white traveler taught, could draw rude maps, and Mr.
Illingway had a native sketch one for him, showing as nearly as
possible where the city of gold is located."
"Tom Swift, have you got that map?" suddenly cried Mr. Damon.
"Bless my pocketbook, but--"
"I have it!" said Tom quietly, taking from the envelope a piece of paper

covered with rough marks. "It isn't very good, but--"
"Bless my very existence!" cried the excitable man. "But you're not
going to let such a chance as this slip past; are you Tom? Are you
going to hunt for that buried city of gold?"
"I certainly am," answered the young inventor quietly.
"Tom! You're not going off on another wild expedition?" asked Mr.
Swift anxiously.
"I'm afraid I'll have to," answered his son with a smile.
"Go? Of course he'll go!" burst out Mr. Damon. "And I'm going with
him; can't I, Tom?"
"Surely. The reason Mr. Illingway sent me the letter was to tell me
about the city of gold. He thought, after my travels in Africa, that to
find a buried city in Mexico would be no trouble at all, I suppose.
Anyhow he suggests that I make the attempt, and--"
"Oh, but, Tom, just when I am perfecting my gyroscope!" exclaimed
Mr. Swift. "I need your help."
"I'll