"I'll explain it to you, Aunty," said Ned, as he picked up the newspaper which she had dropped, and rolled it into a tube.
"This," said he, "represents a tunnel, a big round hole, you know, as big as this room, bored along in the ground. It goes right through rocks and everything, and is perfectly straight. No dangerous curves. And this"—showing the frame and then passing it into the paper tube—"represents an India-rubber cable as large as a stove-pipe. It is stretched out as far as possible, and fastened tight to posts at the ends."
"Edmund Burton!"
"Now, Aunty, we'll call this end Albany, and this end Buffalo."
"Edmund Burton!"
"All the men and boys in Albany that want to go to Buffalo could come down to the depot, and get on the cable right there, sitting just as if they were on horseback, and there will be nice little straps for them to hold on by."
"Edmund Burton!"
"When everybody's ready, the train-despatcher just picks up a sharp axe, and with one blow cuts the cable in two, right here, and zip! the passengers find themselves in Buffalo. No boiler to burst, no track to get off from, no embankment to plunge down, no wheels to get out of order."
"Edmund Burton, you are a genius! But ladies can't ride that way."
"Of course not," said Ned, catching an idea. "We have a car for the ladies. This"—and he picked up a spool of thread and a lead pencil, and passed the pencil through the spool—"represents it. The pencil represents the cable, and the spool represents the car, which is fastened tight on the cable. When the ladies are all in, it is locked up, and then the cable is cut behind it."