AGAMEMNON felt that it became necessary for him to choose a profession.
It was important on account of the little boys. If he should make a
trial of several different professions he could find out which would be
the most likely to be successful, and it would then be easy to bring up
the little boys in the right direction.
Elizabeth Eliza agreed with this. She thought the family occasionally
made mistakes, and had come near disgracing themselves. Now was their
chance to avoid this in future by giving the little boys a proper
education.
Solomon John was almost determined to become a doctor. From earliest
childhood he had practiced writing recipes on little slips of paper.
Mrs. Peterkin, to be sure, was afraid of infection. She could not bear
the idea of his bringing one disease after the other into the family
circle. Solomon John, too, did not like sick people. He thought he might
manage it if he should not have to see his patients while they were
sick. If he could only visit them when they were recovering, and when
the danger of infection was over, he would really enjoy making calls.
He should have a comfortable doctor’s chaise, and take one of the little
boys to hold his horse while he went in, and he thought he could get
through the conversational part very well, and feeling the pulse,
perhaps looking at the tongue. He should take and read all the
newspapers, and so be thoroughly acquainted with the news of the day to
talk of. But he should not like to be waked up at night to visit. Mr.
Peterkin thought that would not be necessary. He had seen signs on doors
of “Night Doctor,” and certainly it would be as convenient to have a
sign of “Not a Night Doctor.”
Solomon John thought he might write his advice to those of his patients
who were dangerously ill, from whom there was danger of infection. And
then Elizabeth Eliza agreed that his prescriptions would probably be so
satisfactory that they would keep his patients well,--not too well to do
without a doctor, but needing his recipes.
Agamemnon was delayed, however, in his choice of a profession, by a
desire he had to become a famous inventor. If he could only invent
something important, and get out a patent, he would make himself known
all over the country. If he could get out a patent he would be set up
for life, or at least as long as the patent lasted, and it would be well
to be sure to arrange it to last through his natural life.
Indeed, he had gone so far as to make his invention. It had been
suggested by their trouble with a key, in their late moving to their new
house. He had studied the matter over a great deal. He looked it up in
the Encyclopædia, and had spent a day or two in the Public Library, in
reading about Chubb’s Lock and other patent locks.
But his plan was more simple. It was this: that all keys should be made
alike!
He wondered it had not been thought of before; but so it was, Solomon
John said, with all inventions, with Christopher Columbus, and
everybody. Nobody knew the invention till it was invented, and then it
looked very simple. With Agamemnon’s plan you need have but one key,
that should fit everything! It should be a medium-sized key, not too
large to carry. It ought to answer for a house door, but you might open
a portmanteau with it. How much less danger there would be of losing
one’s keys if there were only one to lose!
Mrs. Peterkin thought it would be inconvenient if their father were out,
and she wanted to open the jam-closet for the little boys. But Agamemnon
explained that he did not mean there should be but one key in the
family, or in a town,--you might have as many as you pleased, only they
should all be alike.
Elizabeth Eliza felt it would be a great convenience,--they could keep
the front door always locked, yet she could open it with the key of her
upper drawer; that she was sure to have with her. And Mrs. Peterkin felt
it might be a convenience if they had one on each story, so that they
need not go up and down for it.
Mr. Peterkin studied all the papers and advertisements, to decide about
the lawyer whom they should consult, and at last, one morning, they went
into town to visit a patent-agent.
Elizabeth Eliza took the occasion to make a call upon the lady from
Philadelphia, but she came back hurriedly to her mother.
“I have had a delightful call,” she said; “but--perhaps I was wrong--I
could not help, in conversation, speaking of Agamemnon’s proposed
patent. I ought not to have mentioned it, as such things are kept
profound secrets; they say women always do tell things; I suppose that
is the reason.”
“But where is the harm?” asked Mrs. Peterkin. “I’m sure you can trust
the lady from Philadelphia.”
Elizabeth Eliza then explained that the lady from Philadelphia had
questioned the plan a little when it was told her, and had suggested
that “if everybody had the same key there would be no particular use in
a lock.”
“Did you explain to her,” said Mrs. Peterkin, “that we were not all
to have the same keys?”
“I couldn’t quite understand her,” said Elizabeth Eliza, “but she seemed
to think that burglars and other people might come in if the keys were
the same.”
“Agamemnon would not sell his patent to burglars!” said Mrs. Peterkin,
indignantly.
“But about other people,” said Elizabeth Eliza; “there is my upper
drawer; the little boys might open it at Christmas-time,--and their
presents in it!”
“And I am not sure that I could trust Amanda,” said Mrs. Peterkin,
considering.
Both she and Elizabeth Eliza felt that Mr. Peterkin ought to know what
the lady from Philadelphia had suggested. Elizabeth Eliza then proposed
going into town, but it would take so long she might not reach them in
time. A telegram would be better, and she ventured to suggest using the
Telegraph Alarm.
For, on moving into their new house, they had discovered it was provided
with all the modern improvements. This had been a disappointment to Mrs.
Peterkin, for she was afraid of them, since their experience the last
winter, when their water-pipes were frozen up. She had been originally
attracted to the house by an old pump at the side, which had led her
to believe there were no modern improvements. It had pleased the little
boys, too. They liked to pump the handle up and down, and agreed to pump
all the water needed, and bring it into the house.
There was an old well, with a picturesque well-sweep, in a corner by the
barn.
Mrs. Peterkin was frightened by this at first. She was afraid the little
boys would be falling in every day. And they showed great fondness for
pulling the bucket up and down. It proved, however, that the well was
dry. There was no water in it; so she had some moss thrown down, and an
old feather-bed, for safety, and the old well was a favorite place of
amusement.
The house, it had proved, was well furnished with bath-rooms, and “set-
waters” everywhere. Water-pipes and gas-pipes all over the house; and a
hack-, telegraph-, and fire-alarm, with a little knob for each.
Mrs. Peterkin was very anxious. She feared the little boys would be
summoning somebody all the time, and it was decided to conceal from
them the use of the knobs, and the card of directions at the side was
destroyed. Agamemnon had made one of his first inventions to help this.
He had arranged a number of similar knobs to be put in rows in different
parts of the house, to appear as if they were intended for ornament, and
had added some to the original knobs. Mrs.
Peterkin felt more secure, and Agamemnon thought of taking out a patent
for this invention.
It was, therefore, with some doubt that Elizabeth Eliza proposed sending
a telegram to her father. Mrs. Peterkin, however, was pleased with the
idea.
Solomon John was out, and the little boys were at school, and she
herself would touch the knob, while Elizabeth Eliza should write the
telegram.
“I think it is the fourth knob from the beginning,” she said, looking at
one of the rows of knobs.
Elizabeth Eliza was sure of this. Agamemnon, she believed, had put three
extra knobs at each end.
“But which is the end, and which is the beginning,--the top or the
bottom?” Mrs.
Peterkin asked hopelessly.
Still she bravely selected a knob, and Elizabeth Eliza hastened with her
to look out for the messenger. How soon should they see the telegraph
boy?
They seemed to have scarcely reached the window, when a terrible
noise was heard, and down the shady street the white horses of the
fire-brigade were seen rushing at a fatal speed!
It was a terrific moment!
“I have touched the fire-alarm,” Mrs. Peterkin exclaimed.
Both rushed to open the front door in agony. By this time the
fire-engines were approaching.
“Do not be alarmed,” said the chief engineer; “the furniture shall be
carefully covered, and we will move all that is necessary.”
“Move again!” exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin, in agony.
Elizabeth Eliza strove to explain that she was only sending a telegram
to her father, who was in Boston.
“It is not important,” said the head engineer; “the fire will all be
out before it could reach him.”
And he ran upstairs, for the engines were beginning to play upon the
roof.
Mrs. Peterkin rushed to the knobs again hurriedly; there was more
necessity for summoning Mr. Peterkin home.
“Write a telegram to your father,” she said to Elizabeth Eliza, “to
‘come home directly.’”
“That will take but three words,” said Elizabeth Eliza, with presence of
mind, “and we need ten. I was just trying to make them out.”
“What has come now?” exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin, and they hurried
again to the window, to see a row of carriages coming down the street.
“I must have touched the carriage-knob,” cried Mrs. Peterkin, “and I
pushed it half-a-dozen times I felt so anxious!”
Six hacks stood before the door. All the village boys were assembling.
Even their own little boys had returned from school, and were showing
the firemen the way to the well.
Again Mrs. Peterkin rushed to the knobs, and a fearful sound arose. She
had touched the burglar-alarm!
The former owner of the house, who had a great fear of burglars, had
invented a machine of his own, which he had connected with a knob. A
wire attached to the knob moved a spring that could put in motion a
number of watchmen’s rattles, hidden under the eaves of the piazza.
All these were now set a-going, and their terrible din roused those of
the neighborhood who had not before assembled around the house. At this
moment Elizabeth Eliza met the chief engineer.
“You need not send for more help,” he said; “we have all the engines
in town here, and have stirred up all the towns in the neighborhood;
there’s no use in springing any more alarms. I can’t find the fire yet,
but we have water pouring all over the house.”
Elizabeth Eliza waved her telegram in the air.
“We are only trying to send a telegram to my father and brother, who are
in town,” she endeavored to explain.
“If it is necessary,” said the chief engineer, “you might send it down
in one of the hackney carriages. I see a number standing before the
door. We’d better begin to move the heavier furniture, and some of you
women might fill the carriages with smaller things.”
Mrs. Peterkin was ready to fall into hysterics. She controlled herself
with a supreme power, and hastened to touch another knob.
Elizabeth Eliza corrected her telegram, and decided to take the advice
of the chief engineer and went to the door to give her message to one of
the hackmen, when she saw a telegraph boy appear. Her mother had touched
the right knob. It was the fourth from the beginning; but the beginning
was at the other end!
She went out to meet the boy, when, to her joy, she saw behind him her
father and Agamemnon. She clutched her telegram, and hurried toward
them.
Mr. Peterkin was bewildered. Was the house on fire? If so, where were
the flames?
He saw the row of carriages. Was there a funeral, or a wedding? Who was
dead?
Who was to be married?
He seized the telegram that Elizabeth Eliza reached to him, and read it
aloud.
“Come to us directly--the house is NOT on fire!”
The chief engineer was standing on the steps.
“The house not on fire!” he exclaimed. “What are we all summoned for?”
“It is a mistake,” cried Elizabeth Eliza, wringing her hands. “We
touched the wrong knob; we wanted the telegraph boy!”
“We touched all the wrong knobs,” exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin, from the
house.
The chief engineer turned directly to give counter-directions, with a
few exclamations of disgust, as the bells of distant fire-engines were
heard approaching.
Solomon John appeared at this moment, and proposed taking one of the
carriages, and going for a doctor for his mother, for she was now nearly
ready to fall into hysterics, and Agamemnon thought to send a telegram
down by the boy, for the evening papers, to announce that the Peterkins’
house had not been on fire.
The crisis of the commotion had reached its height. The beds of flowers,
bordered with dark-colored leaves, were trodden down by the feet of the
crowd that had assembled.
The chief engineer grew more and more indignant, as he sent his men to
order back the fire-engines from the neighboring towns. The collection
of boys followed the procession as it went away. The fire-brigade
hastily removed covers from some of the furniture, restored the rest to
their places, and took away their ladders. Many neighbors remained, but
Mr. Peterkin hastened into the house to attend to Mrs. Peterkin.
Elizabeth Eliza took an opportunity to question her father, before he
went in, as to the success of their visit to town.
“We saw all the patent-agents,” answered Mr. Peterkin, in a hollow
whisper. “Not one of them will touch the patent, or have anything to do
with it.”
Elizabeth Eliza looked at Agamemnon, as he walked silently into the
house. She would not now speak to him of the patent; but she recalled
some words of Solomon John. When they were discussing the patent he
had said that many an inventor had grown gray before his discovery was
acknowledged by the public. Others might reap the harvest, but it came,
perhaps, only when he was going to his grave.
Elizabeth Eliza looked at Agamemnon reverently, and followed him
silently into the house.