Tom Fairfield's Schooldays: or, The Chums of Elmwood Hall
Allen Chapman
Allen Chapman
Tom Fairfield's Schooldays; or, The Chums of Elmwood Hall
CHAPTER I
TOM HEARS STRANGE NEWS
“Hi, Tom, give us a ride in your boat; will you?”
“Take us across to the other side of the river.”
The request and the suggestion came from two lads who were walking toward a small boathouse, on the edge of a rather wide river. The youth to whom they spoke looked up from a small motorboat, the engine of which he was cleaning.
“What do you want to go over to the other side of the river for, Dick Jones?” asked Tom Fairfield, of the lad who had made that suggestion.
“Got to go on an errand for dad, and it’s too far to walk away around by the bridge. Take me over, will you?”
“I will if I can get this engine to run.”
“What’s the matter with it?” asked Will Bennett, the companion of Dick Jones. The two were chums, and friends of Tom Fairfield, all of them living in the village of Briartown. Tom, whose parents were quite well off, had recently bought a motorboat, not very large, but of sufficient size to enable him to take out several of his chums. “What’s the matter with the engine?” asked Will again, as he and his chum walked out on the small dock, at the end of which the motorboat was made fast.
“Matter with it? What isn’t the matter with it?” asked Tom in some disgust. “The cylinder is flooded with oil, that’s what’s the matter, and I don’t know how many more things I’ll find wrong before I get through. It’s all that Dent Wilcox’s fault.”
“How’s that?” asked Dick, as he and his chum watched Tom trying to drain some of the lubricating oil out through a small valve.
“Oh, I took Dent out for a ride last night, and as I was in a hurry to get up to the house when I got back, I asked him to shut off the oil cups. But it’s like everything else he does – he’s too lazy, almost, to breathe. He didn’t turn off the oil, and all that was in the cups ran into the cylinder during the night. I’ve tried for the last half hour to get the engine started, but she won’t run.”
“That’s too bad,” spoke Will sympathetically.
“I’ll never trust Dent to do anything for me again,” went on Tom. “I ought to have seen to the oil cups myself, and I will next time. Wait until I catch him!”
“There he goes now!” exclaimed Dick, pointing to a lad crossing a field some distance away. “Shall I run and tell him you want to see him?”
“No, it isn’t worth while,” replied Tom. “Besides, he’s so lazy he wouldn’t walk down here. But I’ll talk to him like a Dutch Uncle when I do see him. Now let’s see if the engine will work. If it does, I’ll give you fellows a ride.”
Once more Tom turned the flywheel over several times, but, though the engine coughed, wheezed and spluttered, as though in apology at having such poor health, it did not start.
“Say, you haven’t got your forward switch on!” suddenly exclaimed Will. “There’s no spark.”
“No wonder!” cried Tom. “I remember now, I had it on, and then, as I didn’t want to get a shock when I was cleaning the spark plug, I shut it off. Then I forgot to put it on again. Hop in, and close the switch, Will, and then maybe we can start. I guess most of the oil is out, now.”
The two chums got in the boat, and Will, making his way forward, closed the connection. Then Tom, who had remained near the motor, again turned over the flywheel. This time there was an explosion, and the engine worked rapidly. The propeller churned the water, and the painter strained as the boat moved forward.
“Hurray!” cheered Dick.
“That’s the stuff!” exclaimed Will, at the prospect of a ride.
“Yes, I guess it’s all right now,” assented Tom. He shut off the engine by pulling out a switch near it, and added: “Wait until I get some more oil from the boathouse, and I’ll be with you.”
As Tom started up the dock toward the little building, which he had built, with the help of his chums, to house his boa