HE HAS AN IDEA WHICH SUGGESTS ANOTHER
In the morning, after grub line-up, they lost no time in going to the pump. Here, at least, was something to occupy Tom’s mind and afford Archer fresh material for banter.
“D’I tell you how I was kiddin’ the niggerr we had in the life boat—when it was leakin’?”
“No,” said Tom, ready for anything.
“Told him to bore anotherr hole so the waterr could get out again. Did I tell you ’bout——”
“Here we are, let’s take a look at the engine,” said Tom.
It was one of those one-cylinder kickers, about two horse power, and had an independent disposition.
“Know what I think would be the best thing for it?” said the chief engineer. “Dynamite. D’I tell you ’bout the sharrk eatin’ a bomb?”
“Is there any gas in the tank?” said Tom.
“Sure is, but I dunno what kind it is. Mebbe it’s poison gas, for all I know. There was a fellow in Ireland when we——”
Tom ignored him, and making a guess adjustment of the mixing valve, opened the gas and threw the wheel over. “No batteries—magneto, huh?”
“Yes, but it don’t magnete. I’d ruther have a couple o’ batteries that would bat.”
A few crankings and the little engine started, missing frightfully.
“She’ll stop in a minute,” said Archer, and so she did. “We’ve all taken a crack at the carbureter and the timer,” he added, “but nothin’ doin’. It’s cussedness, I say.”
Tom started it again, listening as it missed, went faster, slowed down, stopped. It was getting gas and getting air and the bearings did not bind. He tried it again. It ran lamely and stopped, but started all right again whenever he cranked it, provided he waited a minute or two between each trial.
“Can you beat that?” said Archer.
“There’s water getting into the cylinder,” Tom said.
“Cylinder’s lucky. We poor guys got to go way down the other end of the earth to get water.”
“Maybe the water in the water jacket froze last winter and cracked the cylinder wall and the crack didn’t let any through at first, most likely. You can’t get your explosions right if there’s water. That’s why it starts first off and keeps going till the water works through. ’Tisn’t much of a crack, I guess. A file wouldn’t be any more use than a teaspoon.”
“A what? Believe me, I wouldn’t know a teaspoon if I saw one,” said Archer.
“If we had a wrench to get the cylinder head off,” said Tom, “I could show you.”
“It’s the end of that engine,” said Archer.
“Depends on how bad it is. If it’s only a little crack sometimes you can fix it with a chemical—sal ammoniac. It kind of—corrodes, I think they call it—right where the crack is and it’ll work all right for quite a while. We had a cracked cylinder on our scout boat one time.”
Archer was generously pleased at Tom’s sagacity and showed no professional jealousy. Before that day was over every prisoner in the camp knew that the rusty, dilapidated engine which languished near the pump was good for another season of usefulness. If Archer was not a good engineer he was at least a good promoter, and he started a grand drive for a rejuvenated pump. The R’s rolled out of his busy mouth as the water had not flowed from the pump in many a day.
A petition a yard long was passed about and everybody signed it with lukewarm interest. It besought General von Griffenhaus either to have the cylinder head of the engine removed or a wrench loaned to Tom Slade for that purpose.
The prisoners did not lose any sleep over this enterprise, for both Tom and Archer were young and Archer at least was regarded as an irresponsible soul, whose mission on earth was to cause trifling annoyance and much amusement. Tom, sober, silent and new among them, was an unknown quantity.
“Doncher care,” said Archer. “Robert Fulton had a lot o’ trouble and nobuddy b’lieved him, and all that.”
Tom was ready to stand upon his pronouncement of a cracked water jacket and, that established, he believed a little bottle of sal ammoniac would be easy to procure. When the pump was running again they would all be glad to use it and meanwhile they might laugh and call him the “consulting engineer” if they wanted to.
At last Archer, having boosted this laggard campaign with amazing energy, elected himself the one to present the imposing petition to General von Griffenhaus, because, as he said, he was never rattled in the presence of greatness, which was quite true. He caught the general on inspection tour and prayed for a monkey wrench with the humility but determination of the old barons before King John.
When he returned to their box-stall abode he triumphantly announced that “Old Griff” had surrendered with the one portentous sentence, “Ach! I vill see aboud this!” He found Tom sitting back against the board partition, arms about his drawn-up knees, sober and thoughtful.
“Ain’t gettin’ cold feet, are you?” Archer asked.
Tom looked at him, but did not speak.
“You ain’t afraid there’s something else the matter with the engine, after all, are you?” Archer asked, anxiously. “I don’t want this whole bunch guyin’ me—afterr the petition, and all.”
“It’s the way I said,” said Tom dully.
“Not sore ’cause they’ve been kiddin’ us, are you? You can’t blame ’em fer that; they’ve got nothin’ else to do. Look at Columbus, how they guyed him—and all. But they were thankful afterward all right, all right—those greasy Spaniards. D’I tell you ’bout the way I——”
“I don’t mind their kiddin’,” Tom interrupted; “I had a lot of that on the ship. And I know they’ll be glad when the pump’s running. I was thinkin’ about something else. Come on, let’s go out and hike.” He always called those little restricted walks about the enclosure, hiking. He could not forget the good scout word.
When they had walked for some little way Tom looked about to see if there was anyone near. The safest place for secrets and confidences is out in the open. He hesitated, made a couple of false starts, then began:
“There’s somethin’ I’ve always thought about ever since I came here. I don’t know if you’ve ever thought about it—I know you like adventures, but you’re kind of——” He meant irresponsible and rattle-brained, but he did not want to say so. “And I wouldn’t want to see you get in any trouble on account of me. You’re different from me. You see, for a special reason I got to go and fight. Whatever you do, will you promise not to say anything to anybody?”
Archer, somewhat bewildered, promised.
“I’m going to get away,” said Tom simply.
“You must be crazy,” Archer said, staring at him in astonishment. “How are you going to do it? Didn’t I tell you, you couldn’t even get a file?”
Tom went on seriously.
“I’d like to have you go with me only I don’t know if you’d want to take a chance the same as I would.”
“Sure, I’d take a chance, but——”
“You don’t have to go and I do,” Tom interrupted. “That’s what I mean. If the war should end and I didn’t fight, I’d be a kind of a—— I mean I got to fight for two people. I got to. So it ain’t a question of whether I take a chance or not. And it ain’t a question of whether it’s fair to try and escape. ’Cause I got that all settled.”
Archer said nothing, but looked at Tom just as he had first looked at him a year ago, and tried to dope him out. For a few paces they walked in silence.
“If you take a chance, I take a chance with you,” Archer said.
“If anybody should discover us and call for us to halt, I’m not going to halt,” said Tom.
“Believe me, I’ll sprint,” said Archer, “but that part’s a cinch anyway——”
“It ain’t a cinch,” said Tom, “but I got to do it. I got a little button a French soldier gave me that’ll help me get through Alsace. His people live there—in Leture—I mean Dundgardt.”
“That’s only six miles down,” said Archer.
“That’s so much the better,” said Tom; “if I can once get that far——”
“Don’t say I—say we.”
“We’ll be all right,” finished Tom.
“But what’s the use talking about it, when we got that tangle of wire out there in front of us all the way round?”
“You know where it runs through the bushes at the other end?” said Tom.
“Yes, and if you made a sound down there you’d be heard! Besides, where you goin’ to get the file?”
“I’m hoping to have that to-morrow.”
“You got your work cut out for you, gettin’ it.”
“If that stuff will corrode a cylinder wall it’ll corrode wire,” said Tom, after a few moments’ silence. “It might take a few days, but after that you could break the wire with your fingers. It wouldn’t make any noise. That ain’t what I wanted to ask you about—’cause I know about that. The thing is, are you with me? You got to judge for yourself, ’cause it’s risky.”
Archer hit him a rap on the shoulder, then put his arm in friendly fashion about his neck.
“Slady, I’m with you strong as mustarrd,” said he; “did I tell you ’bout the feller I met in France that escaped from Siberia——”
“And keep your mouth shut,” said Tom. “First we got to fix the engine.”