“Humph!” he muttered, “it isn’t any brick that did it—it was the briquettes.”
“The what, Mr. Fogg?” inquired Ralph.
“Them,” and with contemptuous indifference Fogg pointed to a coarse sack lying among the coal. “New-fangled fuel. Master mechanic wanted to make a test.”
“Why, yes, I heard about that,” said Ralph quickly. “Look like baseballs. Full of pitch, oil and sulphur, I understand. They say they urge up the fire.”
“They do, they burn like powder. They are great steam makers, and no question,” observed 29 Fogg. “Won’t do for a regular thing, though.”
“No?” insinuated Ralph attentively, glad to rouse his grouchy helper from his morose mood.
“Not a bit of it.”
“Why not?”
“Used right along, they’d burn out any crown sheet. What’s more, wait till you come to clean up—the whole furnace will be choked with cinders.”
“I see,” nodded Ralph, and just then they rounded near Macon for a fifteen minutes wait.