That was what happened
to the bottle. Tom's front wheel struck the cork, which fitted
tightly, and, just as when you hit one end of the wooden "catty"
and it bounds up, the bottle described a curve through the air,
and flew straight toward Andy's car. It struck the brass frame
of the wind shield with a crash.
The bottle broke, and in an instant the black liquid was
spattered all over Andy, Sam and Pete. It could not have been
done more effectively if Tom had thrown it by hand. All over
their clothes, their hands and faces, and the front of the car
went the dreary black. Tom looked on, hardly able to believe what
he saw.
"Wow! Wup! Ug! Blug! Mug!" spluttered Sam, who had some of the
stuff in his mouth.
"Oh! Oh!" yelled Pete.
"You did that on purpose, Tom Swift!" shouted Andy, wiping some
of the blacking from his left eye. "I'll have you arrested for
that! You've ruined my car, and look at my suit!"
"Mine's worse!" murmured Sam, glancing down at his light
trousers, which were of the polka-dot pattern now.
"No, mine is," insisted Pete, whose white shirt was of the hue
of a stove pipe.
Andy wiped some of the black stuff from his nose, whence it was
dropping on the steering wheel.
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