Free Victor Appleton (house Name) by Tom Swift, His Motor Cycle

machine, and
said admiringly:
    "Dat's a pretty shebang youse has."
    "Yes, it's very fair," admitted Tom, who was not yet breathing
easily.
    "Kin youse go far on it?"
    "Two hundred miles a day, easily."
    "Fer cats' sake! An' I can't make dat ridin' on de blind baggage;
but dat's 'cause I gits put off so much. But say, is youse goin' to
let me have dat quarter? I need it, honest I do. I ain't had nuttin'
t' eat in two days."
    The man's tone was whining. Surely he seemed like a genuine tramp,
and Tom felt a little sorry for him. Besides, he felt that he owed
him something for the unceremonious manner in which he had knocked
the fellow down. Tom reached his hand in his pocket for some change,
taking care to keep the machine between himself and the tramp.
    "Are youse goin' far on dat rig-a-ma-jig?" went on the man as he
looked carefully over the motor-cycle.
    "To Albany," answered Tom, and the moment the words were out of his
mouth he wished he could recall them. All his suspicions regarding
the tramp came back to him. But the ragged chap appeared to attach
no significance to them.
    "Albany? Dat's in Jersey, ain't it?" he asked.
    "No, it's in New York," replied Tom, and then, to change the
subject, he pulled out a half-dollar and handed it to the man. As he
did so Tom noticed that the tramp had tattooed on the little finger
of his left hand a blue ring.
    "Dat's de stuff! Youse is a reg'lar millionaire, youse is!"
exclaimed the tramp, and his manner seemed in earnest. "I'll
remember youse, I will. What's your name, anyhow, cully?"
    "Tom Swift," replied our hero, and again he wished he had not told.
This time he was sure the tramp started and glanced at him quickly,
but perhaps it was only his imagination.
    "Tom Swift," repeated the man musingly, and his tones were different
from the whining ones in which he had asked for money. Then, as if
recollecting the part he was playing, he added: "I s'pose dey calls
youse dat because youse rides so quick on dat machine. But I'm
certainly obliged to youse—Tom Swift, an' I hopes youse gits t'
Albany, in Jersey, in good time."
    He turned away, and Tom was beginning to breathe more easily when
the ragged man, with a quick gesture, reached out and grabbed hold
of the motor-cycle. He gave it such a pull that it was nearly torn
from Tom's grasp. The lad was so startled at the sudden exhibition
of vindictiveness an the part of the tramp that he did not know what
to do. Then, before he could recover himself, the tramp darted into
the bushes.
    "I guess Happy Harry—dat's me—has spoiled your ride t' Albany!"
the tramp cried. "Maybe next time youse won't run down poor fellers
on de road," and with that, the ragged man, shaking his fist at Tom,
was lost to sight in the underbrush.
    "Well, if that isn't a queer end up," mused Tom. "He must be crazy.
I hope I don't meet you again, Happy Harry, or whatever your name
is. Guess I'll get out of this neighborhood."

Chapter XII - The Men in The Auto
*
    Tom first made sure that the package containing the model was still
safely in place back of his saddle on the motor-cycle. Finding it
there he next put his hand in his pocket to see that he had the
papers.
    "They're all right," spoke Tom aloud. "I didn't know but what that
chap might have worked a pickpocket game on me. I'm glad I didn't
meet him after dark. Well, it's a good thing it's no worse. I wonder
if he tried to get my machine away from me? Don't believe he'd know
how to ride it if he did."
    Tom wheeled his motor-cycle to a hard side-path along the old road,
and jumped into the saddle. He worked the pedals preparatory to
turning on the gasolene and spark to set the motor in motion. As he
threw forward the levers, having acquired what he thought was the
necessary momentum, he was surprised that no explosion followed. The
motor seemed "dead."
    "That's queer," he thought, and he began to pedal more rapidly. "It
always used to start easily. Maybe it doesn't like this sandy
road."
    It was hard work sending