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Updated: May 18, 2025
Two days later, the valuable model, having been made into a convenient package, and wrapped in water-proof paper, was fastened back of the saddle on the motor-cycle. Tom carefully pinned in an inside pocket the papers which were to be handed to Mr. Crawford. He was to meet the lawyer at a hotel in Albany. "Now take care of yourself, Tom," cautioned his father as he bade him good-by.
For the boy fish still kept up his trapeze work at least, the greater part of it he did his usual tank work, and in addition he rehearsed each day with Lizzie. He was not yet quite ready to put that act on in public. He wanted to make it a finished piece of work, with no chance for failure, as far as he could foresee. Still Joe found time to practise some on the motor-cycle.
Times have changed on the Riviera, and so many people go to Cannes. The old road is almost now deserted." At eleven o'clock Mr. Briggerland came to a certain part of the road and found a hiding-place for his motor-cycle a small plantation of olive trees on the hill side. Incidentally it was an admirable resting place, for from here he commanded an extensive view of the western road.
"It isn't as bad as I thought," he remarked. "The sand is pretty thick, but this machine of mine appears to be able to crawl through it." Indeed, the motor-cycle was doing remarkably well, but Tom found that he had to turn on full power, for the big rubber wheels went deep into the soft soil. Along Tom rode, picking out the firmest places in the road.
Wakefield Damon, who was continually blessing himself, some part of his anatomy, or his possessions. Mr. Damon was riding a motor-cycle, and it started to climb a tree, to his pain and fright. Afterward Tom purchased the machine, and had many adventures on it, including a chase after a gang of men who had stolen a valuable patent model belonging to Mr. Swift. Mr.
As they reached the circus grounds and Joe was putting away his motor-cycle, he saw Tonzo Lascalla coming toward him. "Well, and how is the millionaire to-day?" asked the trapeze performer. "Millionaire?" asked Joe, in some surprise. "Why, yes, you must be that since you get so much money and are never known to spend any," returned the Spaniard.
Though we crept along as circumspectly as a motorist who knows that he is being trailed by a motor-cycle policeman, peering behind farmhouses and hedges and into the depths of thickets and expecting any moment to hear a gruff command, emphasized by the bang of a carbine, it was not until we were at the very outskirts of Aerschot that we encountered the Germans.
Tom picked it up and ascertained by close observation that the screw and nut holding the two joining links together was lost. "Nice pickle!" he murmured. "How am I going to find it in all this dust and darkness?" he asked himself disgustedly. "I'll carry an extra screw next time. No, I won't, either. I'll ride my motor-cycle next time. Well, I may as well give a look around.
He peered through the strong lenses. "The other car has gone on," he said. "Perhaps the cop is a friend of your friend's"; and again he laughed, much to Cora's discomfort. On and on the machine flew. Finally they were within a few rods of the little shed by the roadside. A man on a motor-cycle was waiting. As the Bennet car came up he shot out into the center of the road.
In the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and his Motor-Cycle," here was related how he came to possess that machine. A certain Mr. Wakefield Damon, an eccentric gentleman, who was always blessing himself, or something about him, owned the cycle, but he came to grief on it, and sold it to Tom very cheaply.
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