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Updated: May 18, 2025
Tom followed in the footsteps of his parent and had already taken out several patents. Shortly before this story opens the youth had become possessed of a motor-cycle in a peculiar fashion. As told in the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His Motor-cycle," Tom was riding to the town of Mansburg on an errand for his father one day when he was nearly run down by a motorcyclist.
The second artillery motor-cycle we started after quarter of an hour's prodigious labour. The first and mine were still obstinate, so he and I retired to the inn, drank brandy and hot water, and conversed amiably with madame.
As he curved, slackening and accelerating, with the perfect assurance of long habit, through the swift, intricate, towering motor traffic of Fulham Road, it was inevitable that he should recall the days, eleven years ago, when through a sedate traffic of trotting horses enlivened with a few motors and motor-buses, he used to run down on his motor-cycle to visit Marguerite.
With rattles and bangs, which were quickly subdued by the muffler, the machine gathered speed. Tom was off for Albany. Though Tom's father had told him there was no necessity for any great speed, the young inventor could not resist the opportunity for pushing his machine to the limit. The road was a level one and in good condition, so the motor-cycle fairly flew along.
When Renine had finished, he began to laugh: "Very funny!... A capital joke!... So it was I whom the neighbours saw going and returning on the motor-cycle?" "It was you disguised in Jacques Aubrieux's clothes." "And it was my finger-prints that were found on the bottle in M. Guillaume's pantry?"
Another of Tom's friends was Miss Mary Nestor, whom I have mentioned, while my old readers will readily recognize in Andy Foger a mean bully, who made much trouble for Tom. The first book of the series was called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle," and on that machine Tom had many advances on the road, and not a little fun. After that Tom secured a motor boat, and had a race with Andy Foger.
More prisoners kept coming in; limping, bandaged men passed on their way down; infantry runners in khaki shorts, and motor-cycle despatch-riders hurried up and buzzed around the Brigade Headquarters; inside when the telephone bell wasn't ringing the brigade-major could be heard demanding reports from battalions, or issuing fresh instructions.
Just as he neared the town he heard a great spluttering behind him and stepped aside to allow the party on the motor-cycle to pass; as he suspected it was Ferd Graylock returning from a little whirl around the country, and cutting his customary wide swathe along the road.
"If those fellows are in hiding they will probably keep watch on who comes to the village," thought Tom. "The arrival of some one on a motor-cycle will be sure to be reported to them, and they may skip out. I've got to come up from another direction, so I think I'll circle around, and reach the mansion from the stretch of woods on the north."
Joe ate his bananas under water, and though he tried to equal his other record of four minutes and ten seconds he had to come up two seconds sooner than the day before. "I guess I've been going it too hard practising with Lizzie," he reflected. "Then, too, I didn't have a motor-cycle ride. I must get out the machine."
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