"How should you do it?" asked Keith.
"It ought to be laid right—so there's no bends or sharp angles in it; it should never be laid over heaps of stones, or any kind of uneven surface—it all increases the water resistance. If there are any bends or curves they should be regular and even. The hose ought never to rest against a sharp edge or angle. And when you coil it up you ought to reverse the sides every time, so it will wear even and stretch even. Do they do it? Not unless I stand over them with a club!"
He showed Keith the hose, made of India rubber, a comparatively new thing, for heretofore hose had been made of riveted leather. Bert Taylor made him feel the inside of this hose with his forefinger to test its superlative smoothness.
"Mighty little resistance there!" he cried triumphantly.
The nozzles, all in racks, he handled with almost reverent care.
"These are the boys that cost the money," said Taylor. "If the inside isn't polished like a mirror the water doesn't come smooth. And the least little dent makes the stream ragged and broken. Nothing looks worse—and it isn't as effective on the fire. It ought to be thrown like a solid rod of water. I can't get the boys to realize that the slightest bruise, dent, or burr throws the stream in a ragged feathery foam. The result of that is that a lot of water is dissipated and lost."
Keith, who had taken hold of the nozzle rather negligently, returned it with the reverent care due crown jewels.
"How long a stream will it throw?" he asked.
"With thirty men on a side she's done a hundred and twelve feet high, and two hundred and eighteen for distance," said Bert with simple pride.
He picked up the nozzle again.