ALFONSO BOMBS' PYROTECHNICS AND ADELAIDE SCHWARMER'S BLAME.
Mr. Bombs had brought with him some of the most elaborate and artistic
works known to the trade. He had in mind works of a much grander and more
instructive nature--works that would be truly great and high and far
reaching (so he said); works that would be fit for the greatest king on
earth to look at; that would startle and vivify the entire world and make
the family name illustrious. He had been collecting material for his works
throughout his college course--historical events, especially the burning
and storming of cities and such of the battles and conflicts as lent
themselves readily to pyrotechnic delineation. He was busy experimenting
with his material. He expected to have his first historical piece finished
by this time next year, and he was happy to think he had secured so good a
place for its representation.
He thought the people of the town would like it--this new and higher
development of pyrotechnic art; but that it did not matter much whether
they liked it or not. There would be a big crowd from the city of invited
guests and others, for Schwarmer would be in it heart and soul as well as
purse. He had given him efficient aid in getting his pieces ready for the
evening.
"I wonder if those idiots down below will disdain to watch our
performance," asked Bombs, as he was about to begin.
"Undoubtedly not--that is after they've spanked the children and sent them
to bed," laughed Schwarmer. "That's the extent of the moral wave with that
sort of people. It generally stops with the youngsters. After they are
disposed of they'll sit on their door stones until the last flare, most
assuredly they will. Shall we send a searchlight after them?"
"No! no! Schwarmer. We can't afford to waste time and timber, hunting up
such light-quenchers. We can't begin any lower down than '_mosaics_' if we
do full justice to '_Tourbillions_'--that is get in all the inventions and
improvements which I have made the last year."
"Go on, then, Alfonso. Let's have the improvements life-size and
inventions too, all of them, though the heavens should fall and the
nearest stars have to be knocked out, so to speak?"
"O papa! papa!" exclaimed Adelaide in a tone of reproach, "true stars are
so much prettier than manufactured ones can possibly be, and they don't
tire anybody to death."
Bombs winced but he went about his mosaics and was soon receiving
flattering comments and profuse compliments from the guests.
"Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Bombs," said Miss Drawling. "Your
mosaics are truly splendid, especially the designs of your own invention.
They are quite beyond the artist's dream. I saw a great many pieces of
mocaic work when I visited the galleries of Greece and Rome. They were
supposed to be very wonderful but commend yours to me."
"Thanks and thanks for such kindly appreciation," replied Bombs, bending
low and glancing aside at Adelaide. She had not retired, and was looking
as though she were trying to be amused.
"I never cared much for mosaics," remarked Mrs. Shannon--"the real ones.
They are so small and look so trifling and dull; but yours are bright and
sizable and so charmingly changeable, Mr. Bombs."
Even while the shower of compliments was in process the many colored
pieces gave a sudden toss up as though in disdain and came down in the
form of letters--at least the letters were there dancing along on the
dusky background and arranging themselves into words; and the words were
"Welcome to Schwarmer Hill!"
It was pronounced "a charming welcome."
"Written in all the colors of the rainbow and without the tiresome pen and
ink," remarked Miss Drawling. It was a surprise even to the Schwarmers.
They were highly delighted--at least Mr. and Mrs. Schwarmer. Miss Adelaide
was inhaling the fragrance of a rose which she had brought in from the
dewy garden. She said nothing; but the guests were enthusiastic in their
praises--especially of the dexterity which had been displayed.
"A warm welcome, indeed," was the fiat of the college bred Miss
Hannibal--"written in letters of fire; and such letters! So graceful and
serpentine! and some of them quite new! Your own invention or modification
without a doubt. Surely I have never seen anything in the shape of letters
so perfectly unique!"
After the fiery welcome there was a fountain.
"Guests are supposed to be thirsty," remarked Dr. Orison. "That was a
happy thought of yours, Mr. Bombs."
"And you must have patterned it after the famous old Italian fountains,"
added his wife--"the royal ones that were filled with wines of all kinds
and colors and sparkle and spirit also. You are a genius, Mr. Bombs."
After that there were palm trees and Highland tartans, which were duly
praised and commented upon.
Then came the sun--the last of the fixed fireworks. Then the rotating
ones--the firewheels and finally the whole solar system. After this there
was an intermission of half an hour during which the guests were regaled
with rare wines, cakes and cigars.
Young Bombs shied away from the flattering spectators and went over to the
secluded corner where Adelaide was sitting. He had a full goblet of wine
in one hand and a choice Havana cigar in the other. He did not go because
he was especially or magnetically drawn or wanted her society, but because
he wanted no society. It had been something of a strain on his nerves to
see that everything went off right and was effectively and harmoniously
arranged, and the end was not yet. He was in no mood to listen to
extravagant praise, and he knew where he would not get it.
Adelaide still had the rose in hand and was enjoying its beauty--bestowing
loving looks and lips upon it as well and inhaling its fragrance.
"Nothing but a rose," said Bombs, after he had seated himself leisurely at
her side and taken a sip of wine.
"Nothing but a rose," repeated Adelaide; "but a rose is a great deal, Mr.
Bombs. It is beauty, fragrance and color--soft and restful color."
"O! I understand. I know you don't like fireworks, nor much of anything as
yet--that is in the line of human invention."
"I like human inventions but I don't like inhuman ones that dazzle my
eyes out. I think they would make me stone blind if I _had_ to look at
them long at a time."
Mr. Bombs looked at her fixedly while he continued to sip the wine. He
noticed for the first time that her eyes were of the palest blue and her
hair of the palest gold and wondered if there was anything in her physical
makeup that made it naturally antagonistic to fiery display. "Did the
doves hate fireworks and did the serpents like them?" was the question he
asked himself.
"Perhaps you will like my new piece better," he remarked after he had
finished the wine. "Tourbillions are a higher form of Pyro."
"When is your new piece going to be spoken?" laughed Adelaide.
"At the end, of course. You hadn't better _retire_--it might wake you up.
It will be huge, Miss Adelaide."
"The bigger they are the more I don't like them, Mr. Bombs. The little
ones tire me and the big ones scare me. You know how I screamed when that
horrid London Pyro-King sent off his biggest rockets. They looked so
dangerous--as though a terrible comet or electric storm were crashing into
the earth to destroy it. Is your new piece dangerous, Mr. Bombs?"
"Not very, I hope, Miss Adelaide."
"You mean that it _is_ a little dangerous, Mr. Bombs. Now I want to know
if you don't think there are dangerous things enough in the world without
inventing any more?"
"I think you are mightily like old Pythagoras, Miss Adelaide."
"Why so, Mr. Bombs?"
"He was said to be an '_assiduous questioner_', Miss Adelaide."
That ended it. He lighted his cigar and went out into the garden.
Soon afterwards the Tourbillions began to ascend; and the heavens, at
least that portion of them that belonged to Schwarmer Hill, was soon
filled with jets and coils of flame and stars of many magnitudes and
colors. The spectators appeared to be highly delighted--all except
Adelaide. She was growing tired. Her eyes burned, her head ached and she
was thinking of going to her room, when suddenly the sky cleared and she
heard the voice of Bombs announcing the closing piece--"his new
contribution to Pyrotechnic art."
He said among other things that he had invented the piece especially for
this occasion; that it had as yet no name; that he had left it for the
ladies to name--that is, if it proved to be a success, or materialized as
he expected it would. Otherwise it might better be nameless; for if it
were mentioned at all it would be called "The light that failed." However
he would say this much as to its composition and intention. It was
intended to be a sort of cross between the girandole and the war-rocket.
The girandole proper was getting to be rather monotonous, having been used
as the end piece to pyro-spectacles for fifty years or more. He thought it
was high time to have a new one. It was also necessary that the new one
should be superior to the old one, both in size and splendor of coloring.
There was no such thing as going backward in this matter. We might as well
talk of the decadence of American institutions or the annihilation of "The
Fourth of July."
"As to its composition," continued Bombs, "I think you will believe after
you have seen it, that it was no slight thing to get up a piece of this
kind--so many points had to be considered. As an example there was the one
thing of garniture. The ladies will appreciate this very readily. If I
mistake not, a lady would think a week spent in selecting the proper
trimmings for her dress was a long time. What then would she say if I told
her that I spent two months selecting the most effective garniture for my
piece--two months to get it entirely out of the region of commonness--the
region of gold and silver rain and of the 'Peacock's Tail!'" The ladies
waved their fans and clapped their hands, during which commotion Mr. Bombs
disappeared from view.
While Adelaide was wondering where he had gone to so suddenly, a huge
stream of serpentine fire issued from the Engine House. It grew larger and
larger every moment. It lifted itself into monstrous coils. It hissed and
sent forth tongues of flame. It vomited forth all sorts of hideous shapes,
in all sorts of lurid colors, ever increasing in size and horror until no
more could be conceived--then there was a loud report and a great globe of
fire plunged downward and disappeared behind the brow of the hill!
The gentlemen applauded. Bombs had said in the beginning that the piece
was a cross between a war rocket and a girandole and they supposed that
the report and the ball of fire was the war part of it, but Adelaide knew
that it was an accident and she thought of the gardener's cottage with a
thrill of fear.
A moment afterwards a sheet of light and flame came streaming up from that
direction, a woman's voice cried "Fire! Fire!" and a woman's form clad in
white appeared on the fiery background. The spectators were startled for
the moment; then they broke out in wild applause.
Dr. Orison said "It is ever thus after war."
The woman was standing still with her arms twisted about her body, as
though in mortal agony. They thought she was there advisedly to represent
the realistic finishing of Mr. Bombs' piece. But they were soon
undeceived. Another cry rent the air.
"It's Mary, the gardener's wife! Help! help! Her house must be on fire."
It was the cry of Adelaide Schwarmer as she ran to her assistance.
[Illustration: "FIRE, FIRE!" CRIED A VOICE.]
"O my baby! My baby!" moaned the poor woman stumbling along toward her.
"Where is it, where?" asked Adelaide.
"Lost! Lost!" she cried, sinking down in a dead faint.
Mrs. Schwarmer divined the situation and was soon at her side. She threw
her magnificent shawl over the prostrate figure. Her husband was sent for.
He was in the kitchen helping the servants. They came and carried her in.
Dr. Orison offered his services and the rest of the men hastened to the
fire; but a stream of water was pouring down on it from the Engine House
and their aid was not needed. They returned and reported that "the fire
was a trifling affair."
"But where is her baby!" asked Adelaide. "She said she had lost her baby.
We must find it for her."
"Adelaide," said her mother sternly, "go to your room at once. It is not
proper for you to ask questions about such matters. Your father and Mr.
Bombs will make whatever search the doctor thinks necessary."
Half an hour afterwards Dr. Orison returned to the guests and reported the
woman to be out of danger. His silence with regard to the baby was
understood to mean that it had never lived and that it was a matter of no
earthly consequence.
A matter of much greater interest to one and all of the gay people
assembled there, appeared to be Mr. Bombs' ingenious explanation with
regard to the failure of his piece and his prompt action in turning on the
hose for the quenching of the fire--for the last of which he received many
compliments.
On the contrary Adelaide could think of nothing but the gardener's wife
and her lost baby. She could not sleep. She was in an agony of
suspense--to know how it had fared with them. She thought the guests would
talk it over at the breakfast table; but she was mistaken. Not a word was
said about it and all seemed as lively as though nothing at all had
happened. She did not dare to ask them any questions on the subject after
her mother's rebuke, but she knew she could ask her father. She saw him
out on the hill and ran after him.
"Mary! poor Mary! how is she, father?" she gasped out.
"O! she's all right Addie, only a little scare. She'll be all right again
in a few days the doctor says."
"And the baby. Did you find the baby?"
"Yes we found it, Addie, and took it to her. Bombs found it just over
there by that clump of milkweeds--but it wasn't much of a find--most
assuredly it wasn't. It was dead of course; and I guess it was a
Providence for they've got two little tots now and they're not very
forehanded. If they kept on at that rate they'll have a swarm of them
soon, and I shall have to turn them off."
"O don't say that! It's dreadful. She loved her baby and she was in such
agony when she lost it! O I never saw such agony! You must not turn them
off--never, never. It would be wrong, I know it would after this awful
fright! We ought to give them something to make up for it. I know we had,
father! I know it! And I'm going to give her all I have got in my purse
and I shall remember her as long as I live!"
"Softly Addie! Softly! Don't let any of the gentry over there hear you.
They'd think you were crazy. We'll fix it between ourselves--we won't be
hard on them if they do have a big swarm. We'll see that they don't
starve. Most assuredly we will."
"They ought to have good big wages. They make the flowers grow so
beautifully."
"Yes Addie the flowers are all right; but where's the lawn, the green
velvet lawn that your mamma raves about so much. The grass can't grow with
so many little feet trotting over it."
"But little feet are of more consequence than grass, you know they are,
only you don't stop to think. And little children are better than
fireworks. I wish all the ugly old fireworks were at the bottom of the
sea. You ought not to have let Mr. Bombs send off his piece over the
gardener's house."
He had not told her about the fireworks that were at the bottom of the
river and he hated the idea of doing so. He turned away and she went to
the engine house. Bombs was there. She was going to blame him for what had
happened--that is all that he deserved to be.
"Was your piece more dangerous than you thought, Mr. Bombs?"
"Well, rather, Miss Adelaide--that is I didn't expect it was going to
burst up--or down I should say."
"But you knew it was dangerous enough to set things on fire if it _did_
burst and strike them, Mr. Bombs."
"Yes, Miss, I knew enough for that."
"Then you are to blame for sending it off where you _did_, Mr. Bombs, and
father is to blame for letting you do it. I have just told him so."
"There was no other place--that is handy--where the ladies could see it
and be comfortably seated, Miss Adelaide."
"Then there ought to have been a place made, Mr. Bombs, and if there
couldn't have been, then you ought not to have sent it off at _all_. You
know you had not, and I shall always blame you for it. It was very, very
wrong."
"I see!" laughed Bombs. "You are on your blaming expedition this morning,
Miss Adelaide. You are right about having a place made, though. There
ought to be for large works; and when I get my historical piece done
there will be a place on purpose for it--a large place--a sort of a grand
amphitheatre something like the old Roman but Americanized and more
enjoyable. That's my ambition. I have got through even with
tourbillions."