In drilling for oil, as the drill bores a hole through the earth’s crust, lengths of wrought-iron pipe are lowered into the hole to keep the earth from caving in and filling the shaft. When one length of pipe, usually twelve to fifteen feet, is all the way in, another length is coupled on to it, and this in turn is sunk as the drill goes deeper. Now, the entire weight of this pipe is supported by a wooden—or, in some cases, steel—framework, which is erected over the boring. One length of four-inch pipe is not such a trifling weight, and when dozens of these lengths are coupled together, their combined weight becomes enormous. Quite often the pipe or its supports will break, and then the whole length drops down into the hole and has to be fished out again before operations can be resumed. This is often a very difficult job, and may hold up progress for many days. In the feverish rush to get the shaft sunk, derricks are often overloaded until they fall under the strain, often badly injuring or killing the workmen, and in any event causing delay and expense.
Tom and his friends had guarded as far as possible against these accidents, and so far had had no trouble in that direction. But with every length of pipe that was added to that already in the hole, the chance of an accident grew greater.
However, Tom, with characteristic grit, had determined to see the enterprise through to a finish, and the others of the party, seeing that he was not to be dissuaded, concealed as far as possible their own despondency as to the outcome.
“Bless my suspenders, Tom Swift, you look as though you had lost your last friend!” exclaimed Mr. Damon, one day. “The world won’t come to an end just because we’ve happened to run out of pipe. We’ll have more in a few days, and in the meantime you ought to be getting a rest instead of pacing up and down like a wild animal in its cage. You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t look out—bless my pill box, but you will!”
“I’ll get well fast enough when we strike oil,” Tom assured him.
“When we strike oil! Bless my timepiece! What about now? Now, Tom Swift?”
Tom laughed, but merely reiterated that he would be well enough when the oil began to flow.
“That’s all right. But in the meantime, why not be sociable?” came from Ned, as he linked his arm with that of his friend “You take hold of him on the other side, Mr. Damon, and we’ll trot him up to the farmhouse and give him a good home-cooked meal. In other words, we’ll feed the brute.”
CHAPTER XIX
ON THE VERGE
In the big comfortable kitchen of the farmhouse a delicious supper was being prepared and Carol was busily engaged in setting the good things on the table when Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon entered. She had seen them coming, but had immediately retreated from the window when she saw Ned looking in her direction, and now tried to pretend that she had not been on the lookout at all.