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Updated: May 18, 2025
"Yes, sir, I was smoking me pipe, and settin' on the rail of the dock, when one shoots up toward the Twenty-third Street Ferry, with a cop on a motor-cycle chasin' it behind." "Then, quick, into the boat." They clambered down the wet ladder, and after an aggravating delay, the whirring engines of the racing craft were started. Shirley took off his coat, and lashed a long rope about his waist.
A distracted squeeze, a heavy sigh, and soon after sounds from the young man's motor-cycle called up visions of flying dust and broken bones. 'The younger generation! he thought heavily, and went out on to the lawn. The gardeners had been mowing, and there was still the smell of fresh-cut grass the thundery air kept all scents close to earth. The sky was of a purplish hue the poplars black.
As told in my first book, "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle" the young inventor lived with his father, Barton Swift, a widower, in the town of Shopton, New York. Mr. Swift was also an inventor of note. In my initial volume of this series, Tom became possessed of a motor-cycle in a peculiar way. It was sold to him by a Mr. Wakefield Damon, a wealthy gentleman who was unfortunate in riding it.
"From Toul, sir," with the quick smile revealing dazzling teeth. "Matters progress?" "It is quiet there." "So I understand," nodded Recklow. "There's blood on your uniform." "A scratch a spill from my motor-cycle." Recklow eyed the cut on the officer's handsome face. One of the young officer's hands was bandaged, too. "You've been in action, Captain." "No, sir." "You wear German shoes."
"Koku kin run de fastest oh any oh us," put in Eradicate. "Let him go." "Hold on wait a minute!" exclaimed Tom. "We want to know who that man is and why we're going to chase after him. Koku, I guess it's up to you. Something has been going on here that I don't know anything about. Explain!" "Well, it's no use to chase after him now," said Ned. "There he goes on his motor-cycle."
But then he glanced about, and caught Pat Cullen's menacing blue eye; Jimmie returned the glare, and the spirit of battle flamed up in him, he laid hold of the handles of a motor-cycle and strode towards the door. Was any Irish mick going to catch him in a funk, and "bawl him out" before this crowd, and put the Socialist movement to shame? Not much!
Tom was up early the next morning, in spite of the fact that he did not go to bed in good season, and before breakfast he was working at his new storage battery. After the meal he hurried back to the shop, but it was not long before he came out, wheeling his motor-cycle. "Where are you going, Tom?" asked Mrs. Baggert.
Then, having taken a spare bit of the barbed-wire along in case of another emergency, he jumped on the motor-cycle, pedaled it until sufficient speed was attained, and turned on the power. "That's the stuff!" he cried as the welcome explosions sounded. "I guess I've fooled Happy Harry! I'll get to Albany pretty nearly on time, anyhow. But that tramp surely had me worried for a while."
"You could not help it, though I appreciate your desire to recover the missing model." "And I'll do it, too, dad. I'll start to-morrow, and I'll make a complete circuit of the country for a hundred miles around. I can easily do it on my motor-cycle. If I can't get on the trail of the three men who robbed me, maybe I can find Happy Harry." "I doubt it, my son. Still, you may try.
The runabout had been left behind, but the larger car still trailed and the sharp exhaust of the motor-cycle reached their ears tauntingly above the subdued rattle of occasional traffic. All at once Dan commenced to chuckle and Willa could feel his shoulders shake beside hers. "What is it?" she demanded with a quick glance at him. "I've just thought of something, Miss.
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