Part 14 (1/2)

”Where are the life preservers? Oh, I KNOW we'll be drowned! I wish I'd never come on this trip! Look out, those are my pants you're putting on! Oh, where is my collar? Hand me my coat! Look out, you're stepping on my fingers!”

These were the confused and alarmed cries that Tom heard. He paused for a moment opposite the door, and then it was suddenly flung open.

The lights were glaring brightly inside and a strange sight met the gaze of the young inventor.

There stood Mr. Foger and beside him--half dressed--was his son--Andy!

Tom gasped. So did Andy and Mr. Foger, for they had both recognized our hero.

But how Mr. Foger had changed! His moustache was shaved off, though in spite of this Tom knew him. And Andy! No longer was his hair red, for it had been dyed a deep black and gla.s.ses over his eyes concealed their squint. No wonder the purser had not recognized them by the descriptions Tom and Ned had given.

”Andy Foger!” gasped Tom.

”Tom--it's Tom Swift, father!” stammered the bully.

”Close the door!” sharply ordered Mr. Foger, though he and his son had been about to rush out.

”I won't do it!” cried Andy. ”The s.h.i.+p is sinking and I'm not going to be drowned down here.”

”So it was you--after all,” went on Tom. ”What are you doing here?”

”None of your business!” snapped Andy. ”Get out of my way, I'm going on deck.”

Tom realized that it was not the proper time to hold a conversation, with a possibly sinking s.h.i.+p under him. He looked at Mr. Foger, and many thoughts shot through his mind. Why were they on board? Had it anything to do with the city of gold? Had Andy overheard the talk?

Or was Mr. Foger merely looking for a new venture whereby to retrieve his lost fortune.

Tom could not answer. The bully's father glared at our hero and then, slipping on a coat, he made a dash for the door.

”Get out of my way!” he shouted, and Tom stood aside.

Andy was already racing for the deck, and as the noise and confusion seemed to increase rather than diminish, Tom concluded that his wisest move would be to get out and see what all the excitement was about.

He stopped on his way to arouse Eradicate but found that he and all the colored persons had left their staterooms. A few seconds later Tom was on deck.

”It's all right, now! It's all right!” several officers were calling. ”There is no danger. Go back to your staterooms. The danger is all over.”

”Is the s.h.i.+p sinking?”

”What happened?”

”Are we on fire?”

”Are you sure there's no danger?”

These were only a few of the questions that were flying about, and the officers answered them as best they could.

”We hit a derelict, or some bit of wreckage,” explained the first mate, when he could command silence. ”There is a slight hole below the water-line, but the bulkheads have been closed, and there is not the slightest danger.”

”Are we going to turn back for New York?” asked one woman.

”No, certainly not. We're going right on as soon as a slight break to one of the engines can be repaired. We are in no danger. Only a little water came in before the automatic bulkheads were shut. We haven't even a list to one side. Now please clear the decks and go back to bed.”