CHAPTER XVI.
A NEW FIRE-EXTINGUISHER.
It was not yet morning, and my rope-ladder was still hanging out when Phaeton and I reached the house. We climbed up, and as soon as he could tie up his wet clothes in a bundle, he went down again and ran home.
When our family were assembled at the breakfast-table, I had to go through those disagreeable explanations which every boy encounters before he arrives at the age when he can do what he pleases without giving a reason for it. At such a time, it seems to a boy as if those who ought to sympathize with him, had set themselves up as determined antagonists, bringing out by questions and comments the most unfavorable phase of everything that has happened, and making him feel that, instead of a misfortune to be pitied, it was a crime to be punished. Looking at it from the boy's side, it is, perhaps, wisest to consider this as a necessary part of man-making discipline; but, from the family's side, it should appear, as it is, a cowardly proceeding.
It was in vain that I strove to interest our family with vivid descriptions of how we jumped Red Rover Three, how we washed Cataract Eight, and how we saved Mr. Glidden's property. I suppose they were deficient in imagination; they could realize nothing but what was before them, visible to the physical eye; their minds continually reverted to the comparatively unimportant question as to how my clothes came to be in so dreadful a condition. As if 'twas any fault of mine that Big Six's hose burst, or as if I could have known that it would burst at that particular spot where Phaeton and I were standing.
The only variation from this one-stringed harp was when they labored ingeniously to make it appear that the jumping, the washing, and the saving would all have been done quite as effectually if I had been snug in bed at home.
Phaeton came over to tell me that Ned was missing.
"I don't wonder that we didn't happen to run across him in that big crowd," said he; "but I shouldn't think he'd stay so long as this. Do you suppose anything can have happened to him?"
"What could happen?" said I.
"He may have taken an axe, and ventured too far into some of the burning buildings," said Phaeton.
"No," said I, after a moment's consideration; "that wouldn't be like Ned. He might be very enthusiastic about taking care of the fire, but he wouldn't forget to take care of himself. However, I'll go with you to look for him."
As we went up the street, we came upon Patsy Rafferty and Teddy Dwyer, pushing Phaeton's car before them, with Jimmy the Rhymer in it. They were taking him out to see what remained of the fire. Jimmy said he was getting well rapidly, and expected soon to be about again on his own legs.
His parents never knew who paid the doctor's bill, but thought it must have been the unknown gentleman who was calling him to come across the street when he was run over.
A few rods farther on, we met Ned Rogers walking toward home.
"Hello! Where have you been all this time?" said Phaeton.
"Can't you tell by the feathers?" said Ned.
"What feathers?"
"Jail-bird feathers. I've been locked up in jail all night."
Of course we asked him how that came about, and Ned told us the story of his captivity, which the reader already knows.
"But how did you get out?" said Phaeton.
"Why, when 'Squire Moore came to the office and opened the court, I was brought out the first one. And when I told him my story and whose boy I was, he said of course I was; he'd known Father too many years not to be able to tell one of his chickens as soon as it peeped. He advised me not to meddle any more with burglar things, and then told me to go home. 'Squire Moore's the 'squire for my money! But as for that stupid policeman, I'll sue him for false imprisonment, if Aunt Mercy will let me have the funds to pay a lawyer."
"Aunt Mercy's pretty liberal with you," said Phaeton, "but you may be sure she'll never give you any such amount as that."
When Ned heard of our adventures at the fire, he fairly groaned.
"It would be just like my luck," said he, "if there shouldn't be another good fire in this town for a year."
The lost brother being found, Phaeton said the next thing to be done was to take home the bird he had rescued. I went with him on this errand. As we approached the house, Phaeton carrying the cage, a scene of desolation met our eyes. Nearly everything it contained had been brought out-of-doors, and had sustained more or less injury. The house itself, with all the windows and doors smashed out, the front burned to charcoal, the side so far wrenched apart from the rest of the frame that it could not be replaced, and the whole browned with smoke and drenched with water, was a melancholy wreck.
Mr. Glidden and his son John stood in the yard looking at it, and their countenances, on the whole, were rather sorrowful.
"Good-morning, Mr. Glidden," said Phaeton.
"Good-morning, sir."
"I should like to see Miss Glidden," said Phaeton.
"She is at her aunt's, over on West street," said Mr. Glidden.
Phaeton seemed a little disappointed.
"I've brought home her bird," said he. "I carried it out when the house was on fire, and took it up to our house for safety."
"My sister will be very much obliged to you," said John Glidden. "I'll take charge of it."
Phaeton intimated his entire willingness to run over to West street with the bird at once, saying that he knew the house where she was staying perfectly well; but John said he wouldn't trouble him to do that, and took the cage, which Phaeton gave up with some appearance of reluctance.
"I don't believe the smell of smoke will be good for that bird," said Phaeton, as we walked away. "Canaries are very tender things. He'd better have let me carry it right over to his sister."
"Yes," said I, "and relieve her anxiety of mind about it. But I suppose he and his father are thinking of nothing but the house."
"I don't wonder at that," said Phaeton. "It must be a pretty serious thing to have your house and furniture knocked to pieces in that way. And the water seems to do as much harm as the fire."
"Yes, and the axes more than either," said I. "But it can't be helped. Houses will get on fire once in a while, and then, of course, they must either be put out or torn down."
"I am inclined to think it can be helped," said Phaeton. "I've been struck with an idea this morning, and if it works out as well as I hope, I shall be able to abolish all the engines and axe-men, and put out fires without throwing any water on them."
"That would be a tremendous invention," said I. "What is it?"
"Wait till I get it fully worked out," said he, "and then we'll talk it over. It needs a picture to explain it."
A day or two afterward, Phaeton asked me to go with him to see Jack-in-the-Box, as he had completed his invention, and wanted to consult Jack about it.
"By the way," said he, as we were walking up the street, "I received something this morning which will interest you."
He took from his pocket, and handed me, a note written on delicate scented paper and folded up in a triangle. It was addressed to "Dear Mr. Rogers," and signed "V. Glidden." It acknowledged the receipt of the bird, and thanked him handsomely for his "gallantry in rescuing dear little Chrissy from the flames."
"That's beautiful," said I, as I folded it up and handed it back to Phaeton, who read it again before putting it into his pocket.
"Yes," said he, "that's lovely."
"You never were called 'Mr. Rogers' before, were you?" said I.
"No," said he.
"I tell you what 'tis, Fay," said I, "we're getting along in life."
"Yes," said he; "youth glides by rapidly. It was only a little while ago that we had never run with a machine, never taken an axe at a fire, and—never received a note like this."
"And now," said I, "we—that is, you—have made an invention to abolish all fire departments."
"If it works," said Phaeton.
"I haven't the least doubt that it will," said I, although I had not the remotest idea what it was.
Jack, who had just flagged a train, and was rolling up his flag as we arrived, cordially invited us into his box.
"I want to consult you about one more invention," said Phaeton, "if you're not tired of them."
"Never tired of them," said Jack. "I have found something to admire in every one you've presented, though they were not all exactly practicable. The only way to succeed is to persevere."
"It's very encouraging to hear you say so," said Phaeton. "The thing that I want to consult you about to-day is a method of putting out fires without throwing water upon the houses or chopping them all to pieces."
"That would be a great thing," said Jack. "How do you accomplish it?"
"By smothering them," said Phaeton.
"I know you can smother a small fire with a thick blanket," said Jack, "but how are you going to smother a whole house, when it is in a blaze?"
"If you will look at this drawing," said Phaeton, "you will easily understand my plan." And he produced a sheet of paper and unfolded it.
| PHAETON'S DRAWING. |
"I first build a sort of light canvas tent," he continued, "somewhat larger than an ordinary house. It has no opening, except that the bottom is entirely open, and there is a long rope fastened to each of the lower corners. Then I have a balloon, to which this tent is fastened in place of a car. Of course the balloon lifts the tent just as far as the ropes—which are fastened to something—will let it go."
"That's plain enough," said Jack.
"Then," continued Phaeton, "whenever a fire occurs, the firemen (it needs only a few) take these ropes in their hands and start for the fire, the tent and balloon sailing along over their heads. When they get there, they let it go up till the bottom of the tent is higher than the top of the burning house, and then bring it down over the house, so as to inclose it, and hold the edge close against the surface of the ground till the fire is smothered."
"I see," said Jack; "the theory certainly is perfect."
"I have not forgotten," said Phaeton, "that the tent itself might take fire before they could fairly get it down over the house. To prevent that, I have a barrel of water at this point,—below the balloon and above the tent,—and have a few gimlet-holes in the bottom of the barrel; so that there is a continual trickle, which just keeps the tent too wet to take fire easily."
"That's as clear as can be," said Jack. "It's the wet-blanket principle reduced to scientific form."
"And how shall I manage it?" said Phaeton.
"As to that," said Jack, "the most appropriate man to consult is the chief engineer."