ACTION IS EQUAL TO REACTION.
The dry weather continued. In the memory of the oldest inhabitant
there had not been so long an interval without rain. Cattle and sheep
sought the protection of shade. Stunted and withered, the corn leaves
rolled upward to hold the scanty supply of dew which fell, but it was
sucked away by the sun; and their need of drink was still
unfurnished. In the road timothy and June grass were dried and lopped
over. Other grass, withered before maturity, was laid flat and
thickly powdered with sand, yellow along its blades, showing green
near its roots, even through its veil of dirt. Clouds of dust were
almost continually in motion, coming from the wheels of passing
vehicles and from drags and cultivators at work on the moistureless
summer fallows. The smell of burning marshes was in the air. Fire,
started accidentally or thoughtlessly, was running here and there
through the country, uniting with the drought to render unavailing
their farmer's toil.
The effect of the fire and dust was to level distinctions of color in
nature. Vegetation was draped in dirt; so that grass and tree, plowed
field and meadow, all approached the same faded hue. The atmosphere
seemed to share the general taint, as if the eye were constantly
looking through a dust-smeared glass. Over and among the woods hung a
haze of smoke, a connecting shade between cerulean and green, which
made less marked their division where the tree-tops cut an irregular
border in the sky.
Northern Michigan had been blazing. Thousands of families were
homeless. For these sufferers subscriptions had been raised to which
the people had liberally contributed. Then a great smoke arose from
Oakville; and when it cleared, half the village had been consumed.
Again the subscription was passed around, but this time it met with
poorer success. A fortunate merchant who had escaped without loss
visited Ratke as a solicitor for his fellow-townsmen. The major had
just threshed a part of his wheat and had in his pocket forty dollars
which he was to pay to the Enterprise Machine Company of Chicago, The
note was due, and his impatient creditors had threatened him. "They
can wait," he said. "Our neighbors cannot wait. Take it, Marsh, I
wish I had more for you."
Montcalm had announced his intention to quit farm labor. It was with
reluctance that his employer saw him take the train at Barton
Junction.
July twenty-third was long a day of anticipation to Ratke, On that
day he must deed away in Sharptown the Barton hundred and sixty in
order to satisfy Durgenson, who, he feared, would drive him from his
old farm. On that day he was to meet in the same town a man who with
a view to purchasing would examine the New Jerusalem. As was related
in the preceding chapter, an account of the invention had been
published in the Indianapolis Standard, and shortly after a letter
had come to the major from Madgeburg, Indiana, stating that a
representative of the wagon-works in that city would be in Sharptown
the twenty-third, and that, if Major Ratke would meet him at the Cass
House, they might negotiate a sale. The letter was signed J.
Boutwell, president. On the note-head was printed J. Boutwell,
President; T. C. Parker, Treasurer.
"Fortune is with me, Maria," said the philosopher. "The Madgeburg
wagon works are among the largest in the country. If they believe the
New Jerusalem is a success, fifty thousand dollars is no price for
it. Its value once proven, it will take everything by storm. I would
rather have a percentage on the sales than to sell for cash."
"Well, that man is a fool," remarked Mrs. Grippin. "That's all I've
got to say about him. He isn't fit to be president of any wagon
company."
The major order Daggett to harness Taylor and Bill to the New
Jerusalem. With approbation he looked over its low boxes and its high
posts and wheels. He had taken it from the shop still unpainted
because it would not have time to dry before it went to Sharptown for
examination.
Seated in the bottom of the front box, he drove out of his yard with
his head not five feel from the ground. Behind him was the second
box, which was empty. On either side of each six-foot wheel and
towering still afoot higher, was a post connected by a board with its
mate at the top. The wheels had been favored with limited provisions
for greasing; and one of them emitted at every revolution three
squeaks, the first two short and spirited, the last dolorous and
prolonged.
The major's neighbors did not gratify him by manifesting surprise.
But, as he drove into Break o'Day, he and his conveyance created
something of a sensation. Some of the citizens came out and delighted
him by making minute inquiries. The boys were especially pleased with
the novel exhibition. As the wagon started, several of them imitated
the three squeaks of the noisy hind wheel with tolerable accuracy.
But their companions remembering the peanuts and candy which the
kind-hearted philosopher had given them, obliged them to desist from
the annoyance.
The ride from Break o' Day to Sharptown was one of victorious pomp,
and the New Jerusalem a triumphal car. All along the route the
squeaking hind wheel summoned hosts of spectators. There was no boy
who did not suspend his play, no woman whose face was not pressed
close to a window or thrust through a door, no man who did not pause
in his work and follow the wonderful sight with his eye until it had
receded far up the road, taking with it, after it had passed from
view, its wailing squeak. Through the windows of one school-house
appeared the upstretched heads of the pupils, and the teacher,
although disapproving of their conduct, was careful to stand where
she could hear her class without taking her gaze from the old man who
was huddled in a low box half-hidden by posts and wheels. At the next
school-housel the pupils were having recess. He invited them to ride;
and two of the boys, unheeding the bell, went with him for a mile.
The driver on the power of a threshing-machine near the road yelled
vociferously at his horses until they stopped. The gang of hands left
their places to examine the new wonder. The major obtained an oil can
from the driver and endeavored to grease the wheels of his wagon, but
the closely fitting posts would not allow him properly to apply the
oil.
No interest which he had aroused was worthy of comparison with that
which he awakened in Sharptown. The central portion of the town,
which contained two thousand inhabitants, was situated on the crest
of a gradual slope. When Ratke entered the outskirts, several
pedestrians were walking along the one side of the street which had a
sidewalk. This number received additions from the houses and from the
cross-streets. Farther on there was a walk on either side, and the
throng divided and increased. Numbers from upper town observing the
slow-moving procession, met and turning, joined the tide which, made
up of footmen, horses and vehicles, filled the sidewalks and the
street and confined travel to one direction.
A philosophic Scipio, the major leaned back in his car and viewed the
homage which the gaping multitude unwittingly tendered him. He
remembered that Scipio had fallen from appreciation, and he
preferred, therefore, to compare himself to Caesar. Before him was a
common wagon loaded with wheat. Anciently the conquered foe walked
before the conqueror, "Likewise," thought Ratke, "the common wagon
goes before the New Jerusalem, which is destined soon to sweep it
completely out of use."
The greatest incongruity in his position was that he was very low for
a conquering hero. The horses obscured his vision, and he was obliged
to twist his head to one side in order to see his wagon's vanquished
rival jolting along through the dust, unconscious of its doom.
When the proud inventor stopped on Main Street, the most prominent
merchants came out to meet him. There, surrounded by the wondering
population, he explained the principles of his invention, its
lightness of draught, its adaptation to the farm and to the city.
Many of the best men of Sharptown, carried away by his eloquence,
became admirers of the singular vehicle. Before the spectators had
asked half the questions which they wished to propound, he drove to
the Cass House, thinking it advisable to leave their curiosity but
partly appeased.
The hotel which had been appointed as the place of meeting, was the
most pretentious in the town. The major was conducted to a room where
he found the president of the Madgeburg wagon works. Mr. Boutwell was
a very good-looking man with a business-like air, which was sustained
by his manner, words and clothes. Ratke would have liked him better
had he shown more of the agent's flattery and less of the buyer's
independence. Still, he was equally independent in the negotiation,
and he was willing to take the manufacturer's money, even though it
was brusquely tendered.
"I'm glad you've come," said Br. Boutwell. "My nephew got hold of an
Indianapolis 'Standard' and read the account of your wagon. We may
not make a deal, probably sha'n't, but I'm willing to look at it.
Where is it?"
"Out by the barn," answered the major. "You can see it from that
window."
"I wish there wasn't such a crowd around it," remarked Mr. Boutwell.
"We can't do anything looking at it now. We shall have to wait till
they go away."
"I was anxious to finish the negotiation at once," said the major. "I
must raise some money, and unless I sell the wagon, I must dispose of
a piece of land. That is why I am anxious to come to a conclusion
immediately."
"Oh, we can't make a deal to-day," said Mr. Boutwell. "Not under two
weeks anyway. I must go to the company and report. If I think it is
worth while, we'll take the wagon down to Madgeburg to look at it.
Then if we all think it's an improvement, we'll give you a fair price
for it."
"Then," said the major sadly, "I must sell the farm. My business is
such that I cannot wait."
The Barton hundred and sixty was a fertile piece of land and had
excellent buildings. A grasping farmer was ready to buy it for his
son who was soon to be married, but knowing Ratke's circumstances, he
would offer but thirty dollars an acre, little more than half its
value. The cashier of the Second National Bank handed out a number of
bills, which Ratke put into a bag. The bag was light, but the heart
of the major was heavy.
The afternoon was well spent when Ratke returned to the Cass House.
The New Jerusalem, waxing old as an object of wonder, was nearly
deserted by the crowd.
As their acquaintance was prolonged, Mr. Boutwell became more
talkative, or rather more agreeable, for he had been at first not
unwilling to talk.
"How do you like philosophy?" inquired the major.
"Very well," answered Mr. Boutwell. "I used to have a special liking
for it."
"What author is your favorite?" asked Ratke.
"Oh, I like Comstock," said Mr. Boutwell. "I think he's about as good
as any of them."
"Comstock," said the major in disgust, "he is the author of an
elementary physics."
"There are different tastes about authorities," observed Mr.
Boutwell. "Some may not like Comstock. I think he does pretty well."
"How do you like Hobbes?"
"First-rate," ventured Mr. Boutwell, thinking that he now heard the
name of the major's favorite, "I like him very much."
"I do not. His theories are the most selfish ever put forth by a
philosopher. What do you think of his work, the Leviathan?"
"If I remember rightly," said Boutwell, "it has a fine description of
the whale."
The major concluded that Mr. Boutwell had given his entire energies
to business. "I hope you are not a disciple of Hobbes," he remarked.
"If you are, you will beat me down as much as you can on the price of
my wagon. In that case, I can expect an offer from you of not more
than five hundred."
"Oh, no," said Boutwell, "not by any means. What I meant was that he
could write pretty well. Now, am I right? Isn't his work in good
style?"
"A good style of its class," answered Ratke. "He attempts no
excellence except in ratiocination."
"It's a good while since I've looked up these matters," said Mr.
Boutwell, "and as for rationation, that's away beyond my depth. I can
over see the making on wagons and find sales for them, but I'm a poor
hand to ratiocinate. It's six o'clock. We'll take some supper now.
I'll have it brought up here, and then we can talk by ourselves."
Ratke did not decline the manufacturer's invitation. They ate slowly,
and lingered about the table after their appetites were satisfied.
"Come up to my place," said the major. "We can have a good chance
there. We can test it in every way you wish."
"I don't know but I'll have to," acquiesced Mr. Boutwell. "They're
not as thick as they were down there. New ones seem to be coming up
all the time, though. I'll write a letter to Madgeburg before I go."
Ratke waited for the president of the wagon works to write his
letter. He had not purchased one of the articles for which Mrs.
Grippin had sent. The sun was down when he had performed his many
errands. At twilight he and Mr. Boutwell descended to the wagon, to
which the hostler had hitched his team.
"You will admin," said the major, "that the invention is original."
"Yes," responded Mr. Boutwell, "nobody will dispute that. But what is
the matter with the boxes?"
On the front box had been chalked a death's-head, A mule and various
other designs. On the rear one had been pasted some enormous
show-posters and some small bills.
"The man that done that ought to be prosecuted," remarked the
manufacturer.
"Oh, no," said the major, apparently not in the least out of humor.
"It was quite likely, done by boys. They meant no harm and did
little. The posters can be washed off, and as for the chalk marks,
they will not show when they are covered with paint."
"I am afraid," said Mr. Boutwell, when they had started on the
angling road leading from Main Street to Break o'Day, "that the wagon
will bother about hauling poles."
"There is not the least trouble about that," assured the inventor.
"You can take out all the end boards and put the poles, the forward
parts in the forward box, the rear parts in the rear box. Of course,
there is a small portion of the weight which has no support
underneath, but not enough to cause a dangerous transverse strain.
The intensity of stress on the wagon, too, is inconsiderable. It is,
in terms of acceleration, force divided by area, M L divided by L T
square. Land T, you observe, in this case are very large in
proportion to M. And the poles can be so conveniently loaded. You
have to raise them no higher than you do when you are carrying them.
How many ruptures and strains would be saved if men could load wheat
into this wagon. After we get home, we will haul poles until you are
satisfied."
"The high posts are one objection," said Mr. Boutwell. "They look
bad, and I can't think of anything they're good for."
"I can think of several uses which they have," said Ratke. "They make
good standards for a hay-rack. This morning Dr. Rorus observed that
this would be the best wagon in the world for public occasions, such
as the Fourth of July. Flags and banners could be attached to the
posts, and they could be seen for a great distance."
"How about its draught?" asked Mr. Boutwell.
"That is its strong point," said Ratke. "The propelling force has a
good chance to act. Its point of application is low. And it lessens
the pressure on the wheels. The six-foot wheel and the two-inch
pivot, too, form another great advantage, as they materially lessen
the friction. Every time a wheel revolves, one fourth the weight of
the load scrapes over the circumference of its axel or pivot. In the
New Jerusalem the wheel is six feet in diameter, and the pivot two
inches. In the common wagon the wheel is, say five feet, and the axle
three inches. In the New Jerusalem the load is propelled seventy-two
inches while the movement at the point of friction is two inches. In
the common wagon the load is propelled sixty-inches, while the
movement at the point of friction is three inches. In the New
Jerusalem the ratio of frictional movement to the distance of
transportation is thirty-six. In the common wagon it is twenty."
"Wouldn't it be a good plan to have a spindle turn on rollers?" asked
Mr. Boutwell.
"I have thought of that," said the major. "That changes the loss of
power at the spindle or pivot from sliding to rolling friction. But
these small wheels must turn on spindles or pivots and engender the
sliding friction they are calculated to prevent. Thus we exchange the
sliding friction for both sliding and rolling friction."
"What will you take for that nigh horse?" asked Mr. Boutwell.
"Four thousand dollars," replied the major.
"He must be a good one," commented Mr. Boutwell.
"Fair," said Ratke, in a way which intimated that he was stating
Taylor's merits with moderation.
"I have been talking some of getting me a horse," said Mr. Boutwell,
"but that is more than I want to invest. Can't you start him up? I'd
like to see him move off a little faster."
"Charge," said the major in a quiet tone.
The wagon started with such suddenness that the sleek manufacturer
was jerked violently backward. His beaver fell and was run over by
the hind wheel. The president of the wagon works clutched the side of
the box and remonstrated with Ratke on his fast driving. "Oh, I
wouldn't drive too fast. Major! It's a warm night."
"My team is good for it," responded Ratke.
"It ain't safe," said Mr. Boutwell, after a heavy jolt had thrown him
to the opposite side of the box. "Something might break. Hold on.
Major, I've lost my hat!"
"Halt," commanded the major. Instantly the team topped, and Mr.
Boutwell was pitched headlong against the dashboard.
"That's useless fast driving," he said. "It's unreasonable in hot
weather." His face was sad as he returned with his once magnificent
hat which, with its crown crushed in, was quite ruined.
The major, stopping at Birch & Bigney's store, purchased a hat for
Mr. Boutwell, not, indeed, one so impressive as the demolished beaver
had been, but the best which Break o' Day afforded. He was not sorry
for the misfortune of his companion, who, intent on the transaction
of their business, had taken no pains to make himself agreeable. He
wished that the company had sent another man, whose criticism was
less free.
"I don't like that squeaking," said Mr. Boutwell. "It looks to me as
if there wasn't much of a chance to grease the wheels. Your machinist
must be a poor workman."
"I can soon fix the wheels so we can grease them," said the major.
"Now, as to the pivot, you think that it is very rough. You notice
that the pitch of the squeak is high, on the key of C, I think. There
must be, then, one thousand and fifty-six vibrations per second. The
motion at the pivot, as I said, is slight. In order to have one
thousand and fifty-six vibrations of sound result from a slight
motion the protuberances must be very small. What do you think you
can pay me for my wagon?"
"I can't say now," answered Mr. Boutwell. "I don't know as we can buy
it at all. If we take it, we'll give you a good price. But before we
negotiate, we would want you to agree not to go to any other company
till you've got through with us. If I think it worth while, I'll have
you drive out to Madgeburg."
"You can ride with me," said Ratke.
"No," said Mr. Boutwell, "you go too fast and stop too quick for me.
I must get back to attend to business. I'll take the cars."
"When you understand one principle you will be all right to ride with
me," said Ratke. 'Action is equal to reaction, and in a contrary
direction.' What you must guard against is reaction. It was reaction
which pitched you against the dashboard. This law has application
elsewhere than in the physical world. A man is persecuted by society.
In time it is discovered that he has been a martyr, and he is lauded
as much as he has been abused. My New Jerusalem is now rediculed. In
a few years its praises will be in every man's mouth. 'Action is
equal to reaction and in a contrary direction.'"
"Can you always make your horses stop as quick as you did back
yonder?" asked Mr. Boutwell.
The major showed his ability to govern his team by again giving the
order to stop. The president of the wagon works placed his hands on
Ratke's shoulders and pulled him backward. Then he quickly put his
knee astride his body and grasped his arms.
"I don't hardly believe I'll go home with you," said Mr. Boutwell
with a grin. "I've got to get back to Madgeburg to oversee the wagon
works. Now I'd like a little money to pay my fare with."
They were in the center of the swamp, the lights in the farm-houses
had gone out, and interference was not likely to come. Ratke was not
terrified by the unlooked-for assault. He did not struggle. Calmly
and reproachfully he looked up in the face of the robber who had so
basely betrayed his confidence.
"I want you to fork over that money," said Mr. Boutwell, "and don't
be a great while about it. I'm not going to be fooled with."
Still the major did not answer.
"Are you going to give me that money?" demanded Boutwell.
"No," said Ratke.
"Then I'll make it uncomfortable for you!" exclaimed Boutwell.
"You can have my life," said the major, "and you will have to take it
if you get my money."
"We won't ratiocinate now," said Mr. Boutwell. "You're great on
sliding friction and rolling friction. Now slide or roll out that
money, or there'll be a friction you don't like!"
Boutwell's hand reached quickly towards a side pocket, but it was
grasped by Ratke, when, with his left, he struck the old man a heavy
blow under the eye. With the blood trickling down his cheek Ratke
strove to rise.
"Now," said Boutwell, "you stop kicking around and do as I tell you
or I'll shoot you through the heart! Be in a hurry, too. We ain't
talking wagon now. Come now, no Hobbes nor transverse strain."
"Charge!" shouted the major. At that magic word the wheels of the New
Jerusalem raised clear from the ground, and the three squeaks blended
in one, which was shrill, continuous and ear-splitting. Mr. Boutwell
was pitched against the rear end-board, but he regained his
equilibrium and again struck Ratke. He was in a fair way to
administer a terrible punishment to the philosopher when a great jolt
threw him off his balance; and before he recovered himself, the old
man, whose strength he had under-estimated, rolled him and began to
rain blows upon his face. Ratke's fighting blood was up, and he plied
his fists with such vigor that Mr. Boutwell soon cried, "Hold up!
Hold up! I'll quit. I've got enough."
"I am sorry," said the major, "that I have been obliged to strike a
man who was down. I trust you will pardon me. And now you have seen a
demonstration of the theorem which I stated. 'Action is equal to
reaction and in a contrary direction.' Halt."
The team stopped at the edge of the tamaracks. The New Jerusalem was
now a veritable chariot, for it had been uncoupled by the jolt which
had demoralized Boutwell, and the hind wheels were far back on the
causeway. A thick cloud of dust hovered over the road along which
they had sped.
"I will send one of my men down after it to-morrow," said Ratke. "We
will go on without it now. You can get up, Mr. Boutwell. Allow me to
search your pockets."
Ratke, after taking two revolvers from the pockets of his new
acquaintance, drove on in silence. At the large gate by the house he
stopped and called, "Mark, Mark, come and take care of the team."