Chapter One. A Lucky Meeting. It was late afternoon, on a certain grey and dismal day, toward the latter part of February, that two men happened to encounter each other, after a long interval, upon the steps of the Migrants’ Club. The one—a tall, well-built, and exceedingly handsome man, with blond curly hair, and beard and moustache to match—was entering the building; while the other—a much shorter and stouter figure,... more...

CHAPTER I. IN CAPTAIN BOOMSBY'S SALOON. "I don't think it's quite the thing, Alick," said my cousin, Owen Garningham, as we were walking through Bay Street after our return to Jacksonville from the interior of Florida. "What is not quite the thing, Owen?" I inquired, for he had given me no clue to what he was thinking about. "After I chartered your steamer for a year to come here, and go up the Mississippi River—by the way, this river... more...

WILL THE SHIP WORK? "Hand me that wrench, Mark," called Professor Amos Henderson to a boy who stood near some complicated machinery over which the old man was working. The lad passed the tool over. "Do you think the ship will work, Professor?" he asked. "I hope so, Mark, I hope so," muttered the scientist as he tightened some bolts on what was perhaps the strangest combination of apparatus that had ever been put together. "There is no reason... more...

Past Memories Ceasing his restless walk up and down the room, Tom Swift strode to the window and gazed across the field toward the many buildings, where machines were turning out the products evolved from the brains of his father and himself. There was a worried look on the face of the young inventor, and he seemed preoccupied, as though thinking of something far removed from whatever it was his eyes gazed upon. "Well, I'll do it!" suddenly... more...

Chapter I A Narrow Escape "That's the way to do it! Whoop her up, Andy! Shove the spark lever over, and turn on more gasolene! We'll make a record this trip." Two lads in the tonneau of a touring car, that was whirling along a country road, leaned forward to speak to the one at the steering wheel. The latter was a red-haired youth, with somewhat squinty eyes, and not a very pleasant face, but his companions seemed to regard him with much favor.... more...

CHAPTER I TOM HOPES FOR A PRIZE "Father," exclaimed Tom Swift, looking up from a paper he was reading, "I think I can win that prize!" "What prize is that?" inquired the aged inventor, gazing away from a drawing of a complicated machine, and pausing in his task of making some intricate calculations. "You don't mean to say, Tom, that you're going to have a try for a government prize for a submarine, after all." "No, not a submarine prize,... more...

CHAPTER I A BREAKDOWN "Well, Ned, are you ready?" "Oh, I suppose so, Tom. As ready as I ever shall be." "Why, Ned Newton, you're not getting afraid; are you? And after you've been on so many trips with me?" "No, it isn't exactly that, Tom. I'd go in a minute if you didn't have this new fangled thing on your airship. But how do you know how it's going to work—or whether it will work at all? We may come a cropper." "Bless my insurance... more...

CHAPTER I TOM IS PUZZLED "What's the matter, Tom? You look rather blue!" "Blue! Say, Ned, I'd turn red, green, yellow, or any other color of the rainbow, if I thought it would help matters any." "Whew!" Ned Newton, the chum and companion of Tom Swift, gave vent to a whistle of surprise, as he gazed at the young fellow sitting opposite him, near a bench covered with strange-looking tools and machinery, while blueprints and drawings were... more...

CHAPTER I DRIVEN FROM TOWN "Come now, you boys git out of here! No tramps allowed in Freeport while Ezra Jenkins is constable! Move along, now, or I'll arrest ye! Here's my badge of authority!" And a crabbed old man, wearing a faded blue suit, with a big shining star of metal on his coat, tapped the emblem with his club. Two boys, who had just joined each other, after having called at houses on the main street of the little New York village,... more...

ONE KIND OF WIRELESS When, after school that afternoon, Alex Ward waved a good-by to his father, the Bixton station agent for the Middle Western, and set off up the track on the spring’s first fishing, he had little thought of exciting experiences ahead of him. Likewise, when two hours later a sudden heavy shower found him in the woods three miles from home, and with but three small fish, it was only with feelings of disappointment that... more...