“The answer is easy,” said the Professor, “My daughter will take the room with three beds, I will take the room with four beds.” When they were escorted to the rooms by the proprietor, the head porter, the maid and the facchini or porters and the doors were opened on the overflowing hospitality of seven beds for two travelers, a hearty laugh broke from every throat; a laugh is the same in all languages.
Pisa is not very inspiring. The famous leaning tower leans because the foundations were poor, and the Baptistery is built of old tombstones and other stolen pieces of marble from which the thieves had not decency enough to chisel away the inscriptions. This thievery seems to have been a habit in the days which we see through the fogs of romance.
The next day they turned back and retraced their steps for part of the way to Cecina where they transferred to the road to Volterra. This town is situated on the frowning heights above the railway station, where a crowd of people; drivers, porters and others was assembled. The Professor accosted a hack driver in English. To this there was no reply but a shrug of the shoulders. Then he tried German, French and Latin in succession, all in vain. As they were about giving up in despair a voice from behind them, or from Heaven, said: “You would like to go to Lardrello? You are interested in boracic acid?”
“I have come all the way from America to see it,” said the Professor, “so you may judge whether I am interested.” Introductions followed and cards were exchanged. Their friend was Prince Conti, son-in-law of Count Lardrello and the manager of the works. He told the driver what was required; gave him instructions where to take the travelers for the night and what they would like to eat and promised to meet them at the works next day. He too, it seemed, had been attending the Congress and was just returning.
They traveled over a beautiful country covered with olive orchards, with pale yellowish-green foliage, to a country inn. Here everything was primitive and old-fashioned to the last degree, but clean. There were tile floors and the beds were of wrought iron in filagree,—beautiful pieces of workmanship.
Next morning they reached the works in a desolate valley over which clouds of steam hovered. They were met and welcomed by the Prince who apologized for not being able to open the Palace for them as the family were away and the servants dispersed for the summer.
The natural soffioni, they discovered, had failed to give a sufficient yield and were now supplemented by wells sunk as are petroleum wells in Pennsylvania. One of the new developments had been the striking of steam at a pressure of sixty pounds in some of the wells. These wells were capped and the steam led through a boiler containing a purifying agent to remove the sulfureted hydrogen, after which it was used to run a steam engine which in turn actuated mills to grind the boracic acid and borax produced. After going through the works the Prince was good enough to present the young lady with a bouquet of flowers and they said good-bye. The use of steam from Mother Earth to run a steam engine was, the Professor said, an entirely new idea not used, so far as he knew, anywhere else in the world, and suggested a possible method of keeping alive in those times we may possibly expect as our fuels disappear. It may then be necessary to drive deep wells to tap the supply of heat now lying far below the surface in most places and only reaching through the crust in a few.