HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON, EDINBURGH, GLASGOW
TORONTO, MELBOURNE, CAPE TOWN, BOMBAY
1920
*CONTENTS*
THE SMOKE MACHINE
TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
A GAS ATTACK
THE CLIPPER OF THE ROAD
THE COLD WATER CURE
A BRUSH WITH THE ENEMY
*LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS*
_FRONTISPIECE IN COLOUR_
"''TIS YOUR DOING,' SPLUTTERED NOAKES, SHAKING THE SOOT FROM HIS
CLOTHES" (see p. 38). _Frontispiece_
"THERE WAS A RATTLING SOUND AND NOAKES WAS HALF OBLITERATED"
"ITS RIDERS WERE FLUNG INTO THE HEDGE"
"TEMPLETON GRIPPED THE UNHAPPY MAN BY THE COLLAR, AND HAULED HIM UP"
"'I'VE COTCHED 'EE,' HE CRIED"
"'HERE I BE, AND HERE I BIDE,' SAID EVES, BRANDISHING THE POKER"
"THEY TRIPPED OVER THE WIRE AND SPRAWLED AT FULL LENGTH"
"'YES,' CUT IN EVES, WHO HAD COME OUT INTO THE ROAD. 'IF I WERE YOU,
YOUNG FELLER, I'D JOLLY WELL CHUCK HIM INTO THE HORSE-POND'"
"THE BOOM SWUNG OUT, AND CAME INTO SHARP CONTACT, FIRST WITH NOAKES'S
HEAD, THEN WITH THE WIND-SCREEN"
"DAZE ME!' SAID THE CONSTABLE. 'SURELY--AY, 'TIS THE MAYOR'"
"THE WHOLE CONTENTS OF TEMPLETON'S EXPERIMENTAL TANK POURED DOWN"
"THE LAD DASHED ITS HEAD FULL IN NOAKES'S FACE"
"COVERED THEM WITH A DELUGE OF LIQUID MUD"
*THE SMOKE MACHINE*
I
Bob Templeton tucked a leg under him on the parapet of the bridge on
which he was sitting, and with a look of gloomy disgust spread a number
of coins, the contents of his trouser pocket, on the weather-beaten
stone.
"Eleven and ninepence," he said, dolefully. "That's all."
Tom Eves, who had been leaning his elbows on the bridge, and watching
the roach darting among the weeds in the clear running stream below,
straightened himself, smiled, and, diving a hand into his pocket, gave a
comical glance at the coins it returned with, and said:
"Well, you beat me. I've got seven and fivepence halfpenny, and no
chance of more for nearly a couple of months. We're sturdy beggars:
under a pound between us."
"You can't do much with a pound."
"True, old sport, and still less with nineteen and twopence halfpenny.
Might as well not count the halfpenny."
"And there was so much I wanted to do. There's the levitator, and the
smoke machine, and the perpetual pump----"
"And the microphone, and the lachrymator, and the super-stink----"
"And the electric cropper, and the tar entanglement, and--but what's the
good of talking? They all mean cash."
"Well, haven't I read, in the days of my youth, in the excellent Samuel
Smiles, that most inventors have been poor men?"
"That's all very well; but they started with more than nineteen and
twopence half-penny--and war prices, too! It's maddening to think what
chances we are missing. This is just the sort of place where you can
think out things quietly. No masters to pounce on your inventions
before they are half finished. That automatic hair-cutter, now; there
was a ripping idea simply squashed flat. A few touches would have made
it perfect. If that blatant ass, young Barker, hadn't shouted before he
was hurt----"
"Barked before he was bitten."
"Eh? Oh, that's a pun. I wish you'd be serious. If he hadn't shouted
and brought old Sandy on the scene the thing might have been finished by
now, and on the market."
"And what would the Hun say when he came back after the war and found
your patent cutter in every one's pocket? His job would be gone.
Really, I've a sneaking sympathy with the gentle Hun."
"I haven't--not a ha'porth. Anyway, now we've got to begin all over
again, simply because young Barker hadn't the pluck of a--of a----"
He paused for want of a word.
"Of a cucumber?" suggested Eves, promptly filling the gap.
"Yes--of a cucumber," snapped Templeton, who, for all his lack of
humour, was quick to suspect levity in his chum.
"By gum, he did look a sight!" added Eves, grinning in gleeful
reminiscence. "Half his crumpet bald as a billiard ball; t'other half
moth-eaten."
"Serve him right. If he'd waited until we'd readjusted the clippers,
and shut his face instead of raising Cain and bringing old Sandy rushing
in at a mile a minute, I'd have made a thorough good job of him. He was
a beautiful subject, too; hadn't seen a barber for six weeks."
"And enough grease on his mane to make the thing self-lubricating.
There's an idea for you, old man."
"Yes; I hadn't thought of that. But what's the good? Here we're in a
quiet village, with the run of old Trenchard's disused barn; all the
conditions favourable, but no funds! Upon my word----"
"Hullo, Postie," cried Eves at this point. "Anything for us?"
The village postman, a veteran of sixty years, had appeared round the
corner of the lane that abutted on the bridge, his boots white with the
dust gathered since he had started his morning tramp of ten miles a
couple of hours before.
"Marnen, young genelmen," said the postman. "Fine marnen, to be sure.
Ay, I've got one little small thing in the way of a registered letter."
"Then I've no further interest in you, my friend," said Eves.
"Registered letters are not in my scheme of life."
"Good now; that saves me the trouble of asking ye which is Mr. Robert
Templeton. No, no," he added, as Templeton held out his hand. "Ye'll
sign the bit o' paper first. Just there, with my pencil, an 'ee please;
'twon't rub out, and I've got to think of my fame in the land; forty
year in the service and no complaints, I don't care who the man is."
Templeton signed the green-tinted receipt slip; the postman handed over
the letter, bade them good morning, and shambled away.
"From my aunt," remarked Templeton as he cut open the envelope.
"My prophetic soul!" exclaimed Eves. "How much, Bob?"
Templeton flourished a ten-pound note, but made no reply until he had
read through the accompanying letter, which he then handed to Eves with
the remark, "She's a good old sort."
"Wasn't it Solomon said, 'Go to the aunts'?" said Eves. A broad smile
spread over his face as he read the letter, which ran as follows:
"MY DEAR NEPHEW,
"I am really _sorry_ that we shall not be able to spend the holidays
together this year, as we have often done so _delightfully_ in the past,
but I feel that I am only doing _what is right_. It is _so important_
in these terrible times that everybody should practise the _strictest
economy_ in food; and every one must do what he (_or she_) can for our
dear country; and I have every hope that by going about the villages in
my caravan, as I told you in my last, and delivering simple lectures on
the greens and other public places, I may persuade the dear people,
_especially the mothers_, that it is not _really necessary_ to health to
have _both_ bacon _and_ eggs for breakfast _every_ morning. If you were
a little older and more experienced I am sure that you would be able
_and willing_ to give me _very great_ assistance; but after your
_arduous labours_ at school I feel you need complete rest from brain
work, and you will get that nowhere so well as with _dear_ Mr. and Mrs.
Trenchard. To make up for your disappointment in being deprived of our
usual simple pleasures I send you a little pocket-money, which I am sure
you will spend _wisely_. I _hope and believe_ that you will not indulge
in luxuries; we all of us owe it to our _King and country_ to eat as
little as we can. You will find that _barley water and onions fried in
margarine_ make an excellent light breakfast; will you tell Mrs.
Trenchard that, _with my love_? In the course of my tour I hope to
reach Polstead before your holidays come to an end. I will give you
good notice, and rely on you to ensure me a _large audience_.
"Your affectionate aunt,
"CAROLINE TEMPLETON."
"Excellent Aunt Caroline!" exclaimed Eves. "But your 'arduous work,'
Bobby. My hat!"
"I work jolly hard."
"The labour we delight in don't show on our reports, old man. Anyway,
you've got a tenner. Better an aunt in England than a pater in India.
The old boy's all right, of course; I don't blame him, but that old
mummy of a solicitor who manages things here. He'll pay Mother
Trenchard's weekly bills on the nail, but he won't send me another penny
till next quarter day; theory is, teach me economy, as if any man could
come through the summer term with a pocketful of money! The wonder is
I've got fivepence halfpenny plus seven bob."
"Well, Aunt Caroline's tenner will go a long----"
"Will go along too fast," Eves interrupted. "What will you try first?"
"You see, I've got such loads of ideas. Better start with something
useful and patriotic. The hair-cutter can wait."
"That's rather a pity. Young Noakes's flaxen locks are as long and
twice as oily as Barker's. Still, his father might cut up rough; he'd
certainly charge you for the hair-oil you'd wasted. Noakes gets my
bristles up, and Trenchard looks very blue when he calls. Wonder what
he comes for; we've only been here three days, and he's called twice at
tea-time, and eaten enormously. Any one could see the Trenchards didn't
want him; asked him to stay out of politeness, I suppose."
"I say, we're not getting on. There's the tar entanglement."
"Jolly good idea! Thousands of Huns stuck fast like flies on a
fly-paper; you know, one of those you unroll and can't get off your
fingers. But don't tar come from gasworks?"
"Really, I don't know. Why?"
"I believe it does. That idea's off, then, for the present. Let's try
something with material we can get close at hand."
"Well, what about the smoke machine? With the submarines sinking our
vessels----"
"Jolly good idea! Lick the submarine, and the Hun's done--_un_done, you
might say. I vote for the smoke machine, then. By the way, where will
you change your note? A tenner's a rarity here, I fancy, and Trenchard
won't have any change."
"He'll be going into Wimborne or Weymouth or somewhere to draw his
hands' wages at the week-end. We can jog on till then. That's him
calling us, isn't it?"
A prolonged shout reminded them that it was time to start work.
"Another idea, Bob," said Eves as they crossed the bridge and walked up
the road. "An automatic turnip-puller. Of all the dreary, deadly,
backaching jobs, pulling turnips is the rottenest."
"Still, it's work on the land; got to be done by some one. An automatic
puller: I'll think it over."
*II*
Fellow-members of the Sixth Form, and close friends, Eves and Templeton
were spending the holidays together by force of circumstances. The
latter was an orphan, and lived with his aunt. She, having embraced the
temporary career of lecturer on food economy, had arranged that her
nephew should undertake voluntary farm work with Giles Trenchard, whose
wife was an old family servant of the Templetons', and at whose farm, in
the Dorset village we will call Polstead, Miss Templeton had visited
more than once. Eves's parents were in India, and the London lawyer in
whose guardianship he was placed raised no objection when he proposed to
spend the holidays with his friend.
Five Oaks Farm was of no great size, and had been the property of the
Trenchard family for generations. The present owner, a hale old yeoman
whose features were framed for perennial cheerfulness, had latterly
looked rather careworn. A year before the war an epidemic among his
cattle had caused him heavy losses. Both his sons had joined the Army
and were now fighting in France, a constant source of anxiety. Being
short-handed, he was glad enough to avail himself of the voluntary help
of the two strapping schoolboys of seventeen, and they had already,
though only three days at the farm, firmly established themselves in the
good graces of both host and hostess by their readiness to turn their
hands to any kind of work.
Templeton, however, had not come to this remote rural spot merely to
work on the land. He had a serious belief that he was cut out for an
inventor, the only ground for which was an astonishing fertility of
ideas. At school he was always in hot water with the masters; he would
rather construct an automatic hair-cutter than a Latin prose. The
prospect of a six or seven weeks' stay in the quiet village, with the
sea within a mile, held promise for Templeton of many opportunities for
working out his ideas. There were hours of leisure even on the farm, and
Mr. Trenchard, whom he had at once taken into his confidence, was
impressed by his earnestness and put an old barn at his disposal,
pleasing himself with the hope that some great invention would spring to
birth on Five Oaks Farm.
Templeton took himself very seriously, and, as often happens, attracted
to himself a very unlike character in Tom Eves, to whom life was one
delightful comedy; even the flint-hearted lawyer was matter for
jokes--except at end of term. While having a genuine admiration for
Templeton, Eves's humorous eye was quick to see the lighter side of his
friend's experiments, and he shared in them for the sake of the fun
which he did not often trouble to disguise.
That evening, when work was over, Eves and Templeton strolled down to
the seashore together to discuss plans for the smoke machine.
"You see," said Templeton in his most earnest manner, "in things like
this you can't do better than follow the example of most other
inventors, and see if anything in the natural world will give us a
start."
"'Follow Nature,'" chuckled Eves. "You remember old Dicky Bird setting
that as an essay theme?"
"Yes; he sent mine up for good."
"He jawed me: sarcastic owl! He was always asking for homely
illustrations, as he called them, and when I gave him one he snapped my
head off. I wrote, 'An excellent example of the application of this
philosophical maxim in practical life is afforded by the navvy, who, as
the most casual observer will often have noticed, dispenses with a
handkerchief when he has a cold in the head.' A jolly good sentence,
what?"
"But I don't see----"
"Oh, it's not worth explaining; it was the explanation that rattled the
Dicky Bird. What were you saying?"
"I was saying we ought to get a hint from Nature. What's the object of
the smoke machine?"
"To make a deuce of a smother, of course."
"Yes, to enable a vessel to hide itself from a submarine. Well, what's
the nearest thing in Nature?"
"Give it up; I'm no good at conundrums."
"This isn't a conundrum; it's a scientific fact. You alarm a
cuttle-fish, and it squirts out an inky fluid that conceals it from its
enemy."
"You don't say so! Jolly clever of it. Ought to be called the
scuttle-fish. But how does that help you? You want your cloud in the
air, not in the water."
"Of course. The idea is to produce a large volume in a short time, of
great opacity, yet spreading rapidly over a large area. What's the
nearest parallel in Nature?"
"Human nature?"
"I said Nature."
"Well, human nature's a part of Nature; and, if you ask me, I should say
a careless cook and a foul kitchen chimney--the fire engine up, and a
month's notice."
"I do wish you'd be serious. But you've hit it all the same.
Half-consumed carbon----"
"You mean soot?"
"Soot is half-consumed carbon. That's the stuff we want. It's the very
thing, because a steamship produces loads of it every day. All you want
is a suitable apparatus and what you may call a firing charge. I'll
just make a note."
He took out his note-book, and wrote in his very neat handwriting the
following tabular statement: