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TED AND THE TELEPHONE
By Sara Ware Bassett
_The Invention Series_
PAUL AND THE PRINTING PRESS
STEVE AND THE STEAM ENGINE
TED AND THE TELEPHONE
[Illustration: "Would you like to go to college if you could?"
persisted the elder man. FRONTISPIECE.
_See page_ 178.]
The Invention Series
TED AND THE TELEPHONE
By
SARA WARE BASSETT
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
WILLIAM F. STECHER
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1922
_Copyright, 1922_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Published April, 1922
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO THE MEMORY OF
EDWIN T. HOLMES
WHO PLAYED A PART IN THE WONDERFUL
TELEPHONE STORY, THIS
BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
S. W. B.
It gives me much pleasure to acknowledge the generosity of Mr. Thomas
Augustus Watson, the associate of and co-worker with Mr. Alexander
Graham Bell, who has placed at my disposal his "Birth and Babyhood of
the Telephone."
Also the courtesy of Mrs. Edwin T. Holmes who has kindly allowed me to
make use of her husband's book: "A Wonderful Fifty Years."
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I AN UNHERALDED CHAMPION 1
II TED RENEWS OLD TIMES 11
III GOING TO HOUSEKEEPING 21
IV THE FIRST NIGHT IN THE SHACK 35
V A VISITOR 49
VI MORE GUESTS 60
VII MR. LAURIE 76
VIII DIPLOMACY AND ITS RESULTS 94
IX THE STORY OF THE FIRST TELEPHONE 106
X WHAT CAME AFTERWARD 122
XI THE REST OF THE STORY 141
XII CONSPIRATORS 152
XIII WHAT TED HEARD 163
XIV THE FERNALDS WIN THEIR POINT 173
XV WHAT CAME OF THE PLOT 189
XVI ANOTHER CALAMITY 199
XVII SURPRISES 213
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Would you like to go to college if you could?" persisted the
elder man _Frontispiece_
"You can't be spreadin' wires an' jars an' things round my
room!" protested Mr. Turner Page 9
Soon he came within sight of the shack which stood at the
water's edge " 27
He heard an answering shout and a second later saw Ted Turner
dash through the pines " 88
TED AND THE TELEPHONE
CHAPTER I
AN UNHERALDED CHAMPION
Ted Turner lived at Freeman's Falls, a sleepy little town on the bank
of a small New Hampshire river. There were cotton mills in the town; in
fact, had there not been probably no town would have existed. The mills
had not been attracted to the town; the town had arisen because of the
mills. The river was responsible for the whole thing, for its swift
current and foaming cascades had brought the mills, and the mills in
turn had brought the village.
Ted's father was a shipping clerk in one of the factories and his
two older sisters were employed there also. Some day Ted himself
expected to enter the great brick buildings, as the boys of the town
usually did, and work his way up. Perhaps in time he might become a
superintendent or even one of the firm. Who could tell? Such miracles
did happen. Not that Ted Turner preferred a life in the cotton mills
to any other career. Not at all. Deep down in his soul he detested
the humming, panting, noisy place with its clatter of wheels, its
monotonous piecework, and its limited horizon. But what choice had he?
The mills were there and the only alternative before him. It was the
mills or nothing for people seldom came to live at Freeman's Falls if
they did not intend to enter the factories of Fernald and Company. It
was Fernald and Company that had led his father to sell the tumble-down
farm in Vermont and move with his family to New Hampshire.
"There is no money in farming," announced he, after the death of Ted's
mother. "Suppose we pull up stakes and go to some mill town where we
can all find work."
And therefore, without consideration for personal preferences, they had
looked up mill towns and eventually settled on Freeman's Falls, not
because they particularly liked its location but because labor was
needed there. A very sad decision it was for Ted who had passionately
loved the old farm on which he had been born, the half-blind gray
horse, the few hens, and the lean Jersey cattle that his father
asserted ate more than they were worth. To be cooped up in a
manufacturing center after having had acres of open country to roam
over was not an altogether joyous prospect. Would there be any
chestnut, walnut, or apple trees at Freeman's Falls, he wondered.
Alas, the question was soon answered. Within the village there were
almost no trees at all except a few sickly elms and maples whose
foliage was pale for want of sunshine and grimy with smoke. In fact,
there was not much of anything in the town save the long dingy
factories that bordered the river; the group of cheap and gaudy shops
on the main street; and rows upon rows of wooden houses, all identical
in design, walling in the highway. It was not a spot where green things
flourished. There was not room for anything to grow and if there had
been the soot from the towering chimneys would soon have settled upon
any venturesome leaf or flower and quickly shrivelled it beneath a
cloak of cinders. Even the river was coated with a scum of oil and
refuse that poured from the waste pipes of the factories into the
stream and washed up along the shores which might otherwise have been
fair and verdant.
Of course, if one could get far enough away there was beauty in plenty
for in the outlying country stretched vistas of splendid pines, fields
lush with ferns and flowers, and the unsullied span of the river, where
in all its mountain-born purity it rushed gaily down toward the
village. Here, well distant from the manufacturing atmosphere, were the
homes of the Fernalds who owned the mills, the great estates of Mr.
Lawrence Fernald and Mr. Clarence Fernald who every day rolled to their
offices in giant limousines. Everybody in Freeman's Falls knew them by
sight,--the big boss, as he was called, and his married son; and
everybody thought how lucky they were to own the mills and take the
money instead of doing the work. At least, that was what gossip said
they did.
Unquestionably it was much nicer to live at Aldercliffe, the stately
colonial mansion of Mr. Lawrence Fernald; or at Pine Lea, the home of
Mr. Clarence Fernald, where sweeping lawns, bright awnings, gardens,
conservatories, and flashing fountains made a wonderland of the place.
Troupes of laughing guests seemed always to be going and coming at both
houses and there were horses and motor-cars, tennis courts, a golf
course, and canoes and launches moored at the edge of the river.
Freeman's Falls was a very stupid spot when contrasted with all this
jollity. It must be far pleasanter, too, when winter came to hurry off
to New York for the holidays or to Florida or California, as Mr.
Clarence Fernald frequently did.
With money enough to do whatever one pleased, how could a person help
being happy? And yet there were those who declared that both Mr.
Lawrence and Mr. Clarence Fernald would have bartered their fortunes to
have had the crippled heir to the Fernald millions strong like other
boys. Occasionally Ted had caught a glimpse of this Laurie Fernald, a
fourteen-year-old lad with thin, colorless face and eyes that were
haunting with sadness. In the village he passed as "the poor little
chap" or as "poor Master Laurie" and the employees always doffed their
caps to him because they pitied him. Whether one liked Mr. Fernald or
Mr. Clarence or did not, every one united in being sorry for Mr.
Laurie. Perhaps the invalid realized this; at any rate, he never failed
to return the greetings accorded him with a smile so gentle and sweet
that it became a pleasure in the day of whomsoever received it.
It was said at the factories that the reason the Fernalds went to New
York and Florida and California was because of Mr. Laurie; that was the
reason, too, why so many celebrated doctors kept coming to Pine Lea,
and why both Mr. Fernald and Mr. Clarence were often so sharp and
unreasonable. In fact, almost everything the Fernalds did or did not
do, said or did not say, could be traced back to Mr. Laurie. From the
moment the boy was born--nay, long before--both Mr. Lawrence Fernald
for whom he was named, and his father, Mr. Clarence Fernald, had
planned how he should inherit the great mills and carry on the business
they had founded. For years they had talked and talked of what should
happen when Mr. Laurie grew up. And then had come the sudden and
terrible illness, and after weeks of anxiety everybody realized that if
Mr. Laurie lived he would be fortunate, and that he would never be able
to carry on any business at all.
In what hushed tones the townspeople talked of the tragedy and how they
speculated on what the Fernalds would do _now_. And how surprised the
superintendent of one of the mills (who, by the way, had six husky boys
of his own) had been to have Mr. Lawrence Fernald bridle with rage when
he said he was sorry for him. A proud old man was Mr. Fernald, senior.
He did not fancy being pitied, as his employees soon found out. Possibly
Mr. Clarence Fernald did not like it any better but whether he did or
not he at least had the courtesy not to show his feelings.
Thus the years had passed and Mr. Laurie had grown from childhood to
boyhood. He could now ride about in a motor-car if lifted into it; but
he could still walk very little, although specialists had not given up
hope that perhaps in time he might be able to do so. There was a rumor
that he was strapped into a steel jacket which he was forced to wear
continually, and the mill hands commented on its probable discomfort
and wondered how the boy could always keep so even-tempered. For it was
unavoidable that the large force of servants from Aldercliffe and Pine
Lea should neighbor back and forth with the townsfolk and in this way
many a tale of Mr. Laurie's rare disposition reached the village. And
even had not these stories been rife, anybody could easily have guessed
the patience and sweetness of Mr. Laurie's nature from his smile.
Among the employees of Fernald and Company he was popularly known as
the Little Master and between him and them there existed a friendliness
which neither his father nor his grandfather had ever been able to call
out. The difference was that for Mr. Lawrence Fernald the men did only
what they were paid to do; for Mr. Clarence they did fully what they
were paid to do; and for Mr. Laurie they would gladly have done what
they were paid to do and a great deal more.
"The poor lad!" they murmured one to another. "The poor little chap!"
Of course it followed that no one envied Mr. Laurie his wealth. How
could they? One might perhaps envy Mr. Fernald, senior, or Mr.
Clarence; but never Mr. Laurie even though the Fernald fortune and all
the houses and gardens, with their miles of acreage, as well as the
vast cotton mills would one day be his. Even Ted Turner, poor as he
was, and having only the prospect of the factories ahead of him, never
thought of wishing to exchange his lot in life for that of Mr. Laurie.
He would rather toil for Fernald and Company to his dying day than be
this weak, dependent creature who was compelled to be carried about by
those stronger than himself.
Nevertheless, in spite of this, there were intervals when Ted did wish
he might exchange houses with Mr. Laurie. Not that Ted Turner coveted
the big colonial mansion, or its fountains, its pergolas, its wide
lawns; but he did love gardens, flowers, trees, and sky, and of these
he had very little. He was, to be sure, fortunate in living on the
outskirts of the village where he had more green and blue than did most
of the mill workers. Still, it was not like Vermont and the unfenced
miles of country to which he had been accustomed. A small tenement in
Freeman's Falls, even though it had steam heat and running water, was
in his opinion a poor substitute for all that had been left behind.
But Ted's father liked the new home better, far better, and so did Ruth
and Nancy, his sisters. Many a time the boy heard his father
congratulating himself that he was clear of the farm and no longer had
to get up in the cold of the early morning to feed and water the stock
and do the milking. And Ruth and Nancy echoed these felicitations and
rejoiced that now there was neither butter to churn nor hens to care
for.
Even Ted was forced to confess that Freeman's Falls had its advantages.
Certainly the school was better, and as his father had resolved to keep
him in it at least a part of the high-school term, Ted felt himself to
be a lucky boy. He liked to study. He did not like all studies, of
course. For example, he detested Latin, French, and history; but he
revelled in shop-work, mathematics, and the sciences. There was nothing
more to his taste than putting things together, especially electrical
things; and already he had tried at home several crude experiments with
improvised telegraphs, telephones, and wireless contrivances. Doubtless
he would have had many more such playthings had not materials cost so
much, money been so scarce, and Ruth and Nancy so timid. They did not
like mysterious sparks and buzzings in the pantry and about the kitchen
and told him so in no uncertain terms.
"The next thing you know you'll be setting the house afire!" Ruth had
asserted. "Besides, we've no room for wires and truck around here.
You'll have to take your clutter somewhere else."
And so Ted had obediently bundled his precious possessions into the
room where he slept with his father only to be as promptly ejected from
that refuge also.
"You can't be spreadin' wires an' jars an' things round my room!"
protested Mr. Turner with annoyance.
[Illustration: "You can't be spreadin' wires an' jars an' things round
my room!" protested Mr. Turner. _Page_ 9.]
It did not seem to occur to him that it was Ted's room as well,--the
only room the boy had.
Altogether, his treasures found no welcome anywhere in the tiny
apartment, and at length convinced of this, Ted took everything down
and stowed it away in a box beneath the bed, henceforth confining his
scientific adventures to the school laboratories where they might
possibly have remained forever but for Mr. Wharton, the manager of the
farms at Aldercliffe and Pine Lea.