"What are you celebrating?"
"The second of August," was the prompt reply. I left it to the
Professor to find out what had happened on the second of August,
for the art of teaching is the concealment of ignorance.
With a fine assumption of his very best lecture-room manner, the
Professor leaned carelessly upon the delicate indicator on the
gasoline tank and began:
"That was a great day, my boy."
"Yes, sir, it was."
"And it comes once a year."
"Why, sure."
"Ahem--" in some confusion, "I mean you celebrate once a year."
"Sure, we celebrate every second of August, and it comes every
year."
"Quite right, quite right; always recall with appropriate
exercises the great events in your country's history." The
Professor peered benignly over his glasses at the boy and
continued kindly but firmly:
"Now, my boy, do you go to school?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very good. Now can you tell me why the people of Fremont
celebrate the second of August?"
"Sure, it is on account of--" then a curious on-looker nudged the
Professor in the ribs and began, as so many had done before,--
"Say, mister, it's none of my business--"
"Exactly," groaned the Professor; "it weighs a ton--two tons
sometimes--more in the sand; it cost twelve hundred dollars, and
will cost more before we are done with it. Yes, I know what you
are about to say, you could buy a 'purty slick' team for that
price,--in fact, a dozen nags such as that one leaning against
you,--but we don't care for horses. My friend here who is spilling
the water all over the machine and the small boy, once owned a
horse, it kicked over the dash-board, missed his mother-in-law and
hit him; horse's intention good, but aim bad,--since then he has
been prejudiced against horses; it goes by gasoline--sometimes;
that is not a boiler, it is the cooler--on hot days we take turns
sitting on it;--explosions,--electric spark,--yes, it is queer;
--man at last stop made same bright remark; no danger from
explosions if you are not too near,--about a block away is safer;
start by turning a crank; yes, that is queer, queerer than the
other queer things; cylinder does get hot, but so do we all at
times; we ought to have water jackets--that is a joke that goes
with the machine; yes, it is very fast, from fifty to seventy
miles per--; 'per what?' you say; well, that depends upon the
roads,--not at all, I assure you, no trouble to anticipate your
inquiries by these answers--it is so seldom one meets any one who
is really interested--you can order a machine by telegraph; any
more information you would like?--No!--then my friend, in return,
will you tell me why you celebrate the second of August?"
"Danged if I know." And we never found out.
At Bellevue we lighted our lamps and ran to Norwalk over a very
fair road, arriving a few minutes after eight. Norwalk liveries
did not like automobiles, so we put the machine under a shed.
This second day's run was about one hundred and fifty miles in
twelve hours and fifty-four minutes gross time; deducting stops,
left nine hours and fifty-four minutes running time--an average of
about fourteen and one-half miles per hour.
Ohio roads are by no means so good as Indiana. Not until we left
Painesville did we find any gravel to speak of. There was not much
deep sand, but roads were dry, dusty, and rough; in many
localities hard clay with deep ruts and holes.
A six o'clock call and a seven o'clock breakfast gave time enough
to inspect the machine.
The water-tank was leaking through a crack in the side, but not so
badly that we could not go on to Cleveland, where repairs could be
made more quickly. A slight pounding which had developed was
finally located in the pinion of a small gear-wheel that operated
the exhaust-valve.
It is sometimes by no means easy to locate a pounding in a
gasoline motor, and yet it must be found and stopped. An expert
from the factory once worked four days trying to locate a very
loud and annoying pounding. He, of course, looked immediately at
the crank- and wrist-pins, taking up what little wear was
perceptible, but the pounding remained; then eccentric strap,
pump, and every bearing about the motor were gone over one by one,
without success; the main shaft was lifted out, fly-wheel drawn
off, a new key made; the wheel drawn on again tight, all with no
effect upon the hard knock which came at each explosion. At last
the guess was made that possibly the piston was a trifle small for
the cylinder; a new and slightly larger piston was put in and the
noise ceased. It so happened that the expert had heard of one
other such case, therefore he made the experiment of trying a
fractionally larger piston as a last resort; imagine the
predicament of the amateur, or the mechanic who had never heard of
such a trouble.
There is, of course, a dull thud at each explosion; this is the
natural "kick" of the engine, and is very perceptible on large
single-cylinder motors; but this dull thud is very different from
the hammer-like knock resulting from lost motion between the
parts, and the practised ear will detect the difference at once.
The best way to find the pounding is to throw a stream of heavy
lubricating oil on the bearings, one by one, until the noise is
silenced for the moment. Even the piston can be reached with a
flood of oil and tested.
It is not easy to tell by feeling whether a bearing on a gasoline
motor is too free. The heat developed is so great that bearings
are left with considerable play.
A leak in the water-tank or coils is annoying; but if facilities
for permanent repair are lacking, a pint of bran or middlings from
any farmer's barn, put in the water, will close the leak nine
times out of ten.
From Norwalk through Wakeman and Kipton to Oberlin the road is
rather poor, with but two or three redeeming stretches near
Kipton. It is mostly clay, and in dry weather is hard and dusty
and rough from much traffic.
Leading into Oberlin the road is covered with great broad
flag-stones, which once upon a time must have presented a smooth
hard surface, but now make a succession of disagreeable bumps.
Out of Elyria we made the mistake of leaving the trolley line, and
for miles had to go through sand, which greatly lessened our
speed, but towards Stony River the road was perfect, and we made
the best time of the day.
It required some time in Cleveland to remove and repair the
water-tank, cut a link out of the chain, take up the lost motion in
the steering-wheel, and tighten up things generally. It was four
o'clock before we were off for Painesville.
Euclid Avenue is well paved in the city, but just outside there is
a bit of old plank road that is disgracefully bad. Through
Wickliff, Willoughby, and Mentor the road is a smooth, hard
gravel.
Arriving at Painesville a few minutes after seven, we took in
gasoline, had supper, and prepared to start for Ashtabula.
It was dark, so we could not see the tires; but just before
starting I gave each a sharp blow with a wrench to see if it was
hard,--a sharp blow, or even a kick, tells the story much better
than feeling of the tires.
One rear tire was entirely deflated. A railroad spike four and
three-quarters inches long, and otherwise well proportioned, had
penetrated full length. It had been picked up along the trolley
line, was probably struck by the front wheel, lifted up on end so
that the rear tire struck the sharp end exactly the right angle to
drive the spike in lengthwise of the tread.
It was a big ragged puncture which could not be repaired on the
road; there was nothing to do but stop over night and have a tire
sent out from Cleveland next day.
While waiting the next morning, we jacked up the wheel and removed
the damaged tire.
It is not easy to remove quickly and put on heavy single-tube
tires, and a few suggestions may not be amiss.
The best tools are half-leaves of carriage springs. At any
carriage shop one can get halves of broken springs. They should be
sixteen or eighteen inches long, and are ready for use without
forging filing or other preparation. With three such halves one
man can take off a tire in fifteen or twenty minutes; two men will
work a little faster; help on the road is never wanting.
Let the wheel rest on the tire with valve down; loosen all the
lugs; insert thin edge of spring-leaf between rim and tire,
breaking the cement and partially freeing tire; insert spring-leaf
farther at a point just about opposite valve and pry tire free
from rim, holding and working it free by pushing in other irons or
screw-drivers, or whatever you have handy; when lugs and tire are
out of the hollow of the rim for a distance of eighteen or twenty
inches, it will be easy to pass the iron underneath the tire,
prying up the tire until it slips over the rim, when with the
hands it can be pulled off entirely; the wheel is then raised and
the valve-stem carefully drawn out.
All this can be done with the wheel jacked up, but if resting on
the tire as suggested, the valve-stem is protected during the
efforts to loosen tire.
To put on a single-tube tire properly, the rim should be
thoroughly cleaned with gasoline, and the new tire put on with
shellac or cement, or with simply the lugs to hold.
Shellac can be obtained at any drug store, is quickly brushed over
both the tire and the rim, and the tire put in place--that holds
very well. Cement well applied is stronger. If the rim is well
covered with old cement, gasoline applied to the surface of the
old cement will soften it; or with a plumber's torch the rim may
be heated without injuring enamel and the cement melted, or take a
cake of cement, soften it in gasoline or melt it, or even light it
like a stick of sealing-wax and apply it to the rim. If hot cement
is used it will be necessary to heat the rim after the tire is on
to make a good job.
After the rim is prepared, insert valve-stem and the lugs near it;
let the wheel down so as to rest on that part of the tire, then
with the iron work the tire into the rim, beginning at each side
of valve. The tire goes into place easily until the top is reached
where the two irons are used to lift tire and lugs over the rim;
once in rim it is often necessary to pound the tire with the flat
of the iron to work the lugs into their places; by striking the
tire in the direction it should go the lugs one by one will slip
into their holes; put on the nuts and the work is done.
In selecting a half-leaf of a spring, choose one the width of the
springs to the machine, and carry along three or four small spring
clips, for it is quite likely a spring may be broken in the course
of a long run, and, if so, the half-leaf can be clipped over the
break, making the broken spring as serviceable and strong for the
time being as if sound.
CHAPTER FIVE ON TO BUFFALO
"GEE WHIZ!!"
From Painesville three roads led east,--the North Ridge, Middle
Ridge, and South Ridge. We followed the middle road, which is said
to be by far the best; it certainly is as good a gravel road as
one could ask. Some miles out a turn is made to the South Ridge
for Ashtabula.
There is said to be a good road out of Ashtabula; possibly there
is, but we missed it at one of the numerous cross roads, and soon
found ourselves wallowing through corn-fields, climbing hills, and
threading valleys in the vain effort to find Girard,--a point
quite out of our way, as we afterwards learned.
The Professor's bump of locality is a depression. As a passenger
without serious occupation, it fell to his lot to inquire the way.
This he would do very minutely, with great suavity and becoming
gravity, and then with no sign of hesitation indicate invariably
the wrong road. Once, after crossing a field where there were no
fences to mark the highway, descending a hill we could not have
mounted, and finding a stream that seemed impassable, the
Professor quietly remarked,--
"That old man must have been mistaken regarding the road; yet he
had lived on that corner forty years. Strange how little some
people know about their surroundings!"
"But are you sure he said the first turn to the left?"
"He said the first turn, but whether to the left or right I cannot
now say. It must have been to the right."
"But, my dear Professor, you said to the left."
"Well, we were going pretty fast when we came to the four corners,
and something had to be said, and said quickly. I notice that on
an automobile decision is more important than accuracy. After
being hauled over the country for three days, I have made up my
mind that automobiles are driven upon the hypothesis that it is
better to lose the road, lose life, lose anything than lose time,
therefore, when you ask me which way to turn, you will get an
immediate, if not an accurate, response; besides, there is a
bridge ahead, a little village across the stream, so the road
leads somewhere."
Now and then the Professor would jump out to assist some female in
distress with her horse; at first it was a matter of gallantry,
then a duty, then a burden. Towards the last it used to delight
him to see people frantically turning into lanes, fields, anywhere
to get out of the way.
The horse is a factor to be considered--and placated. He is in
possession and cannot be forcibly ejected,--a sort of
terre-tenant; such title as he has must be respected.
After wrestling with an unusually notional beast, to the great
disorder of clothing and temper, the Professor said,--
"The brain of the horse is small; it is an animal of little sense
and great timidity, but it knows more than most people who attempt
to drive."
In reality horses are seldom driven; they generally go as they
please, with now and then a hint as to which corner to turn. Nine
times out of ten it is the driven horse that makes trouble for
owners of automobiles. The drunken driver never has any trouble;
his horses do not stop, turn about, or shy into the ditch; the man
asleep on the box is perfectly safe; his horse ambles on, minding
its own business, giving a full half of the road to the
approaching machine. It is the man, who, on catching sight of the
automobile, nervously gathers up his reins, grabs his whip, and
pulls and jerks, who makes his own troubles; he is searching for
trouble, expects it, and is disappointed if he gets by without it.
Nine times out of ten it is the driver who really frightens the
horse. A country plug, jogging quietly along, quite unterrified,
may be roused to unwonted capers by the person behind.
Some take the antics of their horses quite philosophically. One
old farmer, whose wheezy nag tried to climb the fence, called
out,--
"Gee whiz! I wish you fellers would come this way every day; the
old hoss hasn't showed so much ginger for ten year."
Another, carrying just a little more of the wine of the country
than his legs could bear, stood up unsteadily in his wagon and
shouted,--
"If you (hic) come around these pa-arts again with that thres-in'
ma-a-chine, I'll have the law on you,--d'ye hear?"
The personal equation is everything on the road, as elsewhere.
It is quite idle to expect skill, courage, or common sense from
the great majority of drivers. They get along very well so long as
nothing happens, but in emergencies they are helpless, because
they have never had experience in emergencies. The man who has
driven horses all his life is frequently as helpless under unusual
conditions as the novice. Few drivers know when and how to use the
whip to prevent a runaway or a smash-up.
With the exception of professional and a few amateur whips, no one
is ever taught how to drive. Most persons who ride--even country
boys--are given many useful hints, lessons, and demonstrations;
but it seems to be assumed that driving is a natural acquirement.
As a matter of fact, it is much more important to be taught how to
drive than how to ride. A horse in front of a vehicle can do all
the mean things a horse under a saddle can do, and more; and it is
far more difficult to handle an animal in shafts by means of long
reins and a whip.
If people knew half as much about horses as they think they do,
there would be no mishaps; if horses were half as nervous as they
are supposed to be, the accidents would be innumerable.
The truth is, the horse does very well if managed with a little
common sense, skill, and coolness.
As a matter of law, the automobile is a vehicle, and has precisely
the same rights on the highway that a bicycle or a carriage has.
The horse has no monopoly of the highway, it enjoys no especial
privileges, but must share the road with all other vehicles.
Furthermore, the law makes it the business of the horse to get
accustomed to strange sights and behave itself This duty has been
onerous the last few years; the bicycle, the traction engine, and
the trolley have come along in quick succession; the automobile is
about the last straw.
Until the horse is accustomed to the machine, it is the duty--by
law and common sense--of the automobile driver to take great care
in passing; the care being measured by the possibility and
probability of at accident.
The sympathy of every chauffeur must be entirely with the driver
of the horse. Automobiles are not so numerous in this country that
they may be looked for at every turn, and one cannot but feel for
the man or woman who, while driving, sees one coming down the
road. The best of drivers feel panicky, while women and children
are terror-stricken.
It is no uncommon sight to see people jump out of their carriages
or drive into fields or lanes, anywhere, to get out of the way. In
localities where machines have been driven recklessly, men and
women, though dressed in their best, frequently jump out in the
mud as soon as an automobile comes in sight, and long before the
chauffeur has an opportunity to show that he will exercise caution
in approaching. All this is wrong and creates an amount of
ill-feeling hard to overcome.
If one is driving along a fine road at twenty or thirty miles an
hour, it is, of course, a relief to see coming vehicles turn in
somewhere; but it ought not to be necessary for them to do so.
Often people like to turn to one side for the sake of seeing the
machine go by at full speed; but if they do not wish to, the
automobile should be so driven as to pass with safety.
On country roads there is but one way to pass horses without risk,
and that is let the horses pass the machine.
In cities horses give very little trouble; in the country they
give no end of trouble; they are a very great drawback to the
pleasure of automobiling. Horses that behave well in the city are
often the very worst in the country, so susceptible is the animal
to environment.
On narrow country roads three out of five will behave badly, and
unless the outward signs are unmistakable, it is never safe to
assume one is meeting an old plug,--even the plug sometimes jumps
the ditch.
The safe, the prudent, the courteous thing to do is to stop and
let the driver drive or lead his horse by; if a child or woman is
driving, get out and lead the horse.
By stopping the machine most horses can be gotten by without much
trouble. Even though the driver motions to come on, it is seldom
safe to do so; for of all horses the one that is brought to a
stand-still in front of a machine is surest to shy, turn, or bolt
when the machine starts up to pass. If one is going to pass a
horse without stopping, it is safer to do so quickly,--the more
quickly the better; but that is taking great chances.
Whenever a horse, whether driven or hitched, shows fright, a loud,
sharp "Whoa!" from the chauffeur will steady the animal. The voice
from the machine, if sharp and peremptory, is much more effective
than any amount of talking from the carriage.
Much of the prejudice against automobiles is due to the fact that
machines are driven with entire disregard for the feelings and
rights of horse owners; in short, the highway is monopolized to
the exclusion of the public. The prejudice thus created is
manifested in many ways that are disagreeable to the chauffeur and
his friends.
The trouble is not in excessive speed, and speed ordinances will
not remedy the trouble. A machine may be driven as recklessly at
ten or twelve miles an hour as at thirty. In a given distance more
horses can be frightened by a slow machine than a fast. It is all
in the manner of driving.
Speed is a matter of temperament. In England, the people and local
boards cannot adopt measures stringent enough to prevent speeding;
in Ireland, the people and local authorities line the highways,
urging the chauffeur to let his machine out; in America, we are
suspended between English prudence and repression on the one side
and Irish impulsiveness and recklessness on the other.