A NEW FIRE-EXTINGUISHER.
It was not yet morning, and my rope-ladder was still hanging out when
Phaeton and I reached the house. We climbed up, and as soon as he could
tie up his wet clothes in a bundle, he went down again and ran home.
When our family were assembled at the breakfast-table, I had to go
through those disagreeable explanations which every boy encounters
before he arrives at the age when he can do what he pleases without
giving a reason for it. At such a time, it seems to a boy as if those
who ought to sympathize with him, had set themselves up as determined
antagonists, bringing out by questions and comments the most
unfavorable phase of everything that has happened, and making him feel
that, instead of a misfortune to be pitied, it was a crime to be
punished. Looking at it from the boy's side, it is, perhaps, wisest to
consider this as a necessary part of man-making discipline; but, from
the family's side, it should appear, as it is, a cowardly proceeding.
It was in vain that I strove to interest our family with vivid
descriptions of how we jumped Red Rover Three, how we washed Cataract
Eight, and how we saved Mr. Glidden's property. I suppose they were
deficient in imagination; they could realize nothing but what was
before them, visible to the physical eye; their minds continually
reverted to the comparatively unimportant question as to how my clothes
came to be in so dreadful a condition. As if 'twas any fault of mine
that Big Six's hose burst, or as if I could have known that it would
burst at that particular spot where Phaeton and I were standing.
The only variation from this one-stringed harp was when they labored
ingeniously to make it appear that the jumping, the washing, and the
saving would all have been done quite as effectually if I had been snug
in bed at home.
Phaeton came over to tell me that Ned was missing.
"I don't wonder that we didn't happen to run across him in that big
crowd," said he; "but I shouldn't think he'd stay so long as this. Do
you suppose anything can have happened to him?"
"What could happen?" said I.
"He may have taken an axe, and ventured too far into some of the
burning buildings," said Phaeton.
"No," said I, after a moment's consideration; "that wouldn't be like
Ned. He might be very enthusiastic about taking care of the fire, but
he wouldn't forget to take care of himself. However, I'll go with you
to look for him."
As we went up the street, we came upon Patsy Rafferty and Teddy Dwyer,
pushing Phaeton's car before them, with Jimmy the Rhymer in it. They
were taking him out to see what remained of the fire. Jimmy said he was
getting well rapidly, and expected soon to be about again on his own
legs.
His parents never knew who paid the doctor's bill, but thought it must
have been the unknown gentleman who was calling him to come across the
street when he was run over.
A few rods farther on, we met Ned Rogers walking toward home.
"Hello! Where have you been all this time?" said Phaeton.
"Can't you tell by the feathers?" said Ned.
"What feathers?"
"Jail-bird feathers. I've been locked up in jail all night."
Of course we asked him how that came about, and Ned told us the story
of his captivity, which the reader already knows.
"But how did you get out?" said Phaeton.
"Why, when 'Squire Moore came to the office and opened the court, I was
brought out the first one. And when I told him my story and whose boy I
was, he said of course I was; he'd known Father too many years not to
be able to tell one of his chickens as soon as it peeped. He advised me
not to meddle any more with burglar things, and then told me to go
home. 'Squire Moore's the 'squire for my money! But as for that stupid
policeman, I'll sue him for false imprisonment, if Aunt Mercy will let
me have the funds to pay a lawyer."
"Aunt Mercy's pretty liberal with you," said Phaeton, "but you may be
sure she'll never give you any such amount as that."
When Ned heard of our adventures at the fire, he fairly groaned.
"It would be just like my luck," said he, "if there shouldn't be
another good fire in this town for a year."
The lost brother being found, Phaeton said the next thing to be done
was to take home the bird he had rescued. I went with him on this
errand. As we approached the house, Phaeton carrying the cage, a scene
of desolation met our eyes. Nearly everything it contained had been
brought out-of-doors, and had sustained more or less injury. The house
itself, with all the windows and doors smashed out, the front burned to
charcoal, the side so far wrenched apart from the rest of the frame
that it could not be replaced, and the whole browned with smoke and
drenched with water, was a melancholy wreck.
Mr. Glidden and his son John stood in the yard looking at it, and their
countenances, on the whole, were rather sorrowful.
"Good-morning, Mr. Glidden," said Phaeton.
"Good-morning, sir."
"I should like to see Miss Glidden," said Phaeton.
"She is at her aunt's, over on West street," said Mr. Glidden.
Phaeton seemed a little disappointed.
"I've brought home her bird," said he. "I carried it out when the house
was on fire, and took it up to our house for safety."
"My sister will be very much obliged to you," said John Glidden. "I'll
take charge of it."
Phaeton intimated his entire willingness to run over to West street
with the bird at once, saying that he knew the house where she was
staying perfectly well; but John said he wouldn't trouble him to do
that, and took the cage, which Phaeton gave up with some appearance of
reluctance.
"I don't believe the smell of smoke will be good for that bird," said
Phaeton, as we walked away. "Canaries are very tender things. He'd
better have let me carry it right over to his sister."
"Yes," said I, "and relieve her anxiety of mind about it. But I suppose
he and his father are thinking of nothing but the house."
"I don't wonder at that," said Phaeton. "It must be a pretty serious
thing to have your house and furniture knocked to pieces in that way.
And the water seems to do as much harm as the fire."
"Yes, and the axes more than either," said I. "But it can't be helped.
Houses will get on fire once in a while, and then, of course, they must
either be put out or torn down."
"I am inclined to think it can be helped," said Phaeton. "I've been
struck with an idea this morning, and if it works out as well as I
hope, I shall be able to abolish all the engines and axe-men, and put
out fires without throwing any water on them."
"That would be a tremendous invention," said I. "What is it?"
"Wait till I get it fully worked out," said he, "and then we'll talk it
over. It needs a picture to explain it."
A day or two afterward, Phaeton asked me to go with him to see
Jack-in-the-Box, as he had completed his invention, and wanted to
consult Jack about it.
"By the way," said he, as we were walking up the street, "I received
something this morning which will interest you."
He took from his pocket, and handed me, a note written on delicate
scented paper and folded up in a triangle. It was addressed to "Dear
Mr. Rogers," and signed "V. Glidden." It acknowledged the receipt of
the bird, and thanked him handsomely for his "gallantry in rescuing
dear little Chrissy from the flames."
"That's beautiful," said I, as I folded it up and handed it back to
Phaeton, who read it again before putting it into his pocket.
"Yes," said he, "that's lovely."
"You never were called 'Mr. Rogers' before, were you?" said I.
"No," said he.
"I tell you what 'tis, Fay," said I, "we're getting along in life."
"Yes," said he; "youth glides by rapidly. It was only a little while
ago that we had never run with a machine, never taken an axe at a fire,
and--never received a note like this."
"And now," said I, "we--that is, you--have made an invention to abolish
all fire departments."
"If it works," said Phaeton.
"I haven't the least doubt that it will," said I, although I had not
the remotest idea what it was.
Jack, who had just flagged a train, and was rolling up his flag as we
arrived, cordially invited us into his box.
"I want to consult you about one more invention," said Phaeton, "if
you're not tired of them."
"Never tired of them," said Jack. "I have found something to admire in
every one you've presented, though they were not all exactly
practicable. The only way to succeed is to persevere."
"It's very encouraging to hear you say so," said Phaeton. "The thing
that I want to consult you about to-day is a method of putting out
fires without throwing water upon the houses or chopping them all to
pieces."
"That would be a great thing," said Jack. "How do you accomplish it?"
"By smothering them," said Phaeton.
"I know you can smother a small fire with a thick blanket," said Jack,
"but how are you going to smother a whole house, when it is in a
blaze?"
"If you will look at this drawing," said Phaeton, "you will easily
understand my plan." And he produced a sheet of paper and unfolded it.
[Illustration: PHAETON'S DRAWING.]
"I first build a sort of light canvas tent," he continued, "somewhat
larger than an ordinary house. It has no opening, except that the
bottom is entirely open, and there is a long rope fastened to each of
the lower corners. Then I have a balloon, to which this tent is
fastened in place of a car. Of course the balloon lifts the tent just
as far as the ropes--which are fastened to something--will let it go."
"That's plain enough," said Jack.
"Then," continued Phaeton, "whenever a fire occurs, the firemen (it
needs only a few) take these ropes in their hands and start for the
fire, the tent and balloon sailing along over their heads. When they
get there, they let it go up till the bottom of the tent is higher than
the top of the burning house, and then bring it down over the house, so
as to inclose it, and hold the edge close against the surface of the
ground till the fire is smothered."
"I see," said Jack; "the theory certainly is perfect."
"I have not forgotten," said Phaeton, "that the tent itself might take
fire before they could fairly get it down over the house. To prevent
that, I have a barrel of water at this point,--below the balloon and
above the tent,--and have a few gimlet-holes in the bottom of the
barrel; so that there is a continual trickle, which just keeps the tent
too wet to take fire easily."
"That's as clear as can be," said Jack. "It's the wet-blanket principle
reduced to scientific form."
"And how shall I manage it?" said Phaeton.
"As to that," said Jack, "the most appropriate man to consult is the
chief engineer."