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Illingway and his wife wanted to stay in Africa in an endeavor to christianize the natives, even after their terrible experience. So Tom landed them at a white settlement. It was from there that the letter came. But the missionaries were not the only ones whom Tom saved from the red pygmies. Andy Foger, a Shopton youth, was Tom's enemy, and he had interfered with our hero's plans in his trips.
He knew that if he could make that eighty-mile run in safety he stood a good chance of winning the prize, for no harder test could have been devised. But the race was still far from won. There was a particularly unsafe stretch of road yet to be covered, and then would come a smooth highway into Shopton. "Ten miles more," observed Mr Damon, snapping shut his big gold watch.
"What's the matter?" asked Tom, of one of the few police officers of which Shopton boasted, though the lad did not need to be told. "Run on the bank," was the brief answer. "It's failed." Tom felt a pang of disappointment. Somehow, he had hoped that his father and his friends might have been able to stave off ruin. As he approached nearer Tom was made aware that the crowd was in an ugly mood.
"Wait jest a minute," spoke Abe calmly, as he put his little store of nuggets in the pocket of his fur coat, and drew out a big revolver. "It ain't healthy t' talk that way, Andy Foger, an' th' sooner you find that out th' better. You ain't in Shopton now, an' th' only law here is what we make for ourselves. Tom, maybe you'd better get out th' rifles, an' your electric gun, after all.
But this occurred some time afterward, for, following his rescue of Mary Nestor and her uncle and the saving of the lives of Field and Melling, as well as others in the building, by his prompt smothering of the fire, Tom returned to Shopton.
The young inventor waved as Bud disappeared down the hatch. As soon as the craft had submerged, Tom went back to Shopton. That evening the Swifts were enjoying a quiet dinner at home when a loud, growling buzz shattered their mealtime conversation. "Oh!" Sandy gasped. "The burglar alarm!" The Swifts' house and grounds were protected by a secret magnetic field.
They were several miles from Shopton, and the machinery was running smoothly; the motor, with its many cylinders purring like a big cat. "We could have lunch, if we'd brought along anything to eat," observed Tom. "Yes," assented his companion. "But I think we'll go back now. Your father may be anxious. Just come here, Tom, and I'll show you how to steer. I'm going down a short distance."
It was evident that the Happy Harry gang was still hanging around the neighborhood of Shopton, and the fact that Morse was bold enough to attack our hero in broad day-light argued that he felt little fear of the authorities.
"It may not be as easy as all that, but Tom Swift isn't the kind that gives up! We'll get there!" Meanwhile Tom worked diligently on his balloon. He sent a letter of thanks to Mr. Illingway, at the same time requesting that if any more information was obtained within the next three weeks to cable it, as there would not be time for a letter to reach Shopton ere Tom planned to leave for Mexico.
Baxter, a form of liquid fire extinguisher had been made that was superior to any known, and much cheaper to manufacture. Veteran members of fire departments in and about Shopton told Tom so. All that remained was to demonstrate that it would be as effective on a large scale as it was on a small one, and big cities, it was agreed, must, of necessity, add it to their equipment.
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