The people of the tribe came hurrying from everywhere and stared in amazement at the strange turn-out. Most of them ran to one side and screamed in terror of the dangerous monster and said that it must end badly. Only the cleverest understood the value of it and looked at the new carriage and talked about it.
“Father Two-Legs,” said one of the elders, “you must not drive that carriage. We fear that it will go badly and the steam burst the engine and kill you, as it once killed your assistant.”
“It was just his death that taught me to be careful,” said Two-Legs. “Come and see.”
Then he explained to them how he had calculated the strength of the steam and the quantity of the steam which he should use to drive his carriage.
The more steam there was, the faster the piston slid up and down, the faster the wheels turned, the faster the carriage moved. The stronger the boiler was and the cylinder, the more steam it could hold without bursting.
But in one part of the boiler there was a hole, which was covered with a valve, fastened by a hinge. The valve was just so heavy that the steam could not lift it when there was as much as there should be and as the engine could bear. But, as soon as more steam came, then the valve became too light and rose and the superfluous steam rushed out of the hole.
“Father Two-Legs is the cleverest of us all,” they said.
But Two-Legs stepped down from the carriage:
“I give it to you,” he said. “Now you can settle for yourselves how you mean to use it. Some of you can go on searching, as I did, and invent new things. The smiths can bring their tools and their ingenuity. The steam-engine is yours and you can do with it what you please.”