The whale appeared to
dissolve, as does a lump of sugar in a cup of hot tea, and, five
seconds after Tom Swift had fired his electric gun, there was not a
sign of the monster save a little blood on the calm sea.
"What--what happened?" asked the captain in bewilderment. "Is--is
that monster gone?"
"Completely gone!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my powder horn, Tom, but
I knew you could do it!"
"Is that a new kind of whale gun, firing an explosive bullet?"
inquired the commander, as he came down off the bridge and shook
hands with Tom. "If it is, I'd like to buy one. We may be rammed
again by another whale."
"This is my new, electric rifle," explained the young inventor
modestly, "and it fires wireless charges of electricity instead of
bullets. I'm sorry I can't let you have it, as it's the only one I
have. But I guess no more whales will ram us. That one was evidently
crazed by the attack of the killer, and doubtless took us for
another of its enemies."
Sailors and passengers crowded around Tom, eager to shake his hand,
and to hear about the gun. Many declared that he had saved the ship.
This was hardly true, for the whale could not have kept up its
attacks much longer.
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