IINext day, immediately after breakfast, Eves went off on his own devices, and did not see Templeton again until supper-time."You look rather down in the mouth. Bob," he said. "Anything wrong?""I'm a bit worried," Templeton replied. "I don't think I'm naturally suspicious——""Rather not! You're as innocent as a babe. Any old diddler could suck you in. But what's happened?""This afternoon I had to go out for an hour or so to try a car. Wilkins was away, so I left the shop closed. While I was running the car I had an idea for my specification and when I got back I took it out of my coat to alter it. And I found this."He handed Eves the paper."Well? It's the same old thing—same old rigmarole, isn't it?""That smudge of ink!""Your elbow—but, of course, it's all in pencil. You don't mean—"As you say, it's all in pencil. It hasn't been near ink, so far as I know. At any rate, that smudge wasn't there this morning."Eves whistled."Wilkins knew about your specification, of course; everybody knows everything in this Arcadia. My prophetic soul! He's been copying your draft, Bob, and being an untidy penman, left his mark behind. He must have been uncommon slippy to copy it all in an hour, though, with all these erasures and interlinings. Any one else got a key of the shop?""No one, so far as I know.""Noakes? You remember when we caught him at the drawer? My hat! They don't stick at trifles. This is felony, or I'm a Dutchman. Wilkins, or Noakes, or both of them, want to get in first at the Patent Office; they've stolen your specification.""That's a serious charge. We've no proof.""My dear chap, it's as plain as a pikestaff. But look here, what can be done? Look at the worst; say they have copied your stuff, what then?""If they file their application at the Patent Office it will be no end of a bother and expense to prove it's mine.""I'd swear that before any beak in the country. But let's keep to the point. They couldn't get to the Patent Office to-night?""No; it closes at five; opens at ten in the morning.""What time's the last train up?""It left twenty minutes ago," said Templeton, after a glance at his watch."And in the morning?""The first train reaches London something after eleven."Eves mused for a few seconds, drumming on the table."I tell you what," he said at length. "You set to work and make a fair copy of this stuff, and we'll go up by the first train to-morrow and see if—Hallo! here's a car. Rather late for a visit."The panting of an automobile engine was distinctly audible. There was a rap on the outer door. Mrs. Pouncey shuffled along the passage; voices were heard; then the landlady entered."A gentleman to see you, sir; O'Reilly by name.""Our excitable Irishman," said Eves."Ask him in, Mrs. Pouncey, please," said Templeton.O'Reilly came in like a tornado, waving his arms and wearing his capacious smile."Sure, I'm delighted to see the two of you, and me not knowing the way," he said as he shook hands. "The Government, or the colonel anyway, has taken my tender for the camp waste, and 'tis to you I owe it, and I'll beg you to drink to the colonel, or anyway the Government; I have the champagne in my pocket ready."He produced a bottle from the deep pocket of his waterproof coat."Jolly good of you, Mr. O'Reilly," said Eves. "You've come in the nick of time. My friend Templeton wants something to cheer him up.""Do you say so? What might be the trouble, now?""Expound, Bob; your invention, I mean. I should only make a mess of it.""It was just a notion for driving a car in the opposite direction to what it has been going, the driver swinging round on his seat and automatically bringing into action steering-gear affecting the back wheels instead of the front, or vice versa.""Saves turning in a narrow lane, you see," added Eves."Bedad, that would be a blessing to me this dark night," said O'Reilly. "But what is the trouble? Funds run out? Would you show me the plans, I'd find the capital—provided they'll work out, of course.""Splendid!" cried Eves. "Here's the draft specification—but there's the rub; that smudge of ink. Look here, Bob, just set to work and copy your diagrams while I tell Mr. O'Reilly all about it, and he opens the fizz. We've no wine-glasses, only tumblers, but no one will mind that."O'Reilly's face grew grave as he listened to the story told by Eves."That's bad," he said. "I stopped at the station a while ago to get a London evening paper, and I saw that mayor of yours, Noakes, step into the London train. There was another fellow with him, seeing him off.""What sort of man?" asked Eves."A thick ruffian of a fellow in a long coat and a motor cap. I can't tell you which of them I dislike the most, by the faces of 'em, I mean—him or Noakes.""That was Wilkins. There's no doubt I was right, Bob; Noakes has slunk off to London to get in first; and that was the last train!""Drink, my boys," said O'Reilly, who had meanwhile opened his bottle. "Health to ourselves, and confusion to Noakes. We'll get the top-side of him yet. There's one way to do it. 'Tis nine o'clock, and we are a hundred and sixty miles from London—that and a bit over. I'll drive you up in my car.""Magnificent," cried Eves. "How long will your diagrams take, Bob?""Under an hour; but there's the specification to copy out.""I'll do that. Hand over. We'll be ready in an hour, Mr. O'Reilly.""Then I'll run back to the town and fill up my tank and see to my tyres and lamps," said O'Reilly. "Be you ready when I call for you, and with luck and no punctures we'll be in London by six o'clock."He gulped a glass of champagne and hurried from the room.The two lads went on steadily with their tasks. Templeton was finished first, and going to his desk scrawled a hasty note, which he placed in an envelope, and was addressing when Eves sprang up."That's done," he said, flinging down his pen. "What are you writing to Wilkins for?""Just to tell him I shan't be at the shop till Thursday.""I wouldn't tell the brute anything.""Well, you see, there's nothing proved yet, and——""And Noakes, I suppose, has gone up to town to leave his card on the King! Bob, you're an ass. But drink up your fizz; it's pretty flat. I hear the car. It'll be a pretty cold ride; rather sport, though.""I hope we shan't have a spill. O'Reilly's a bit wild, you know. I wish we hadn't drunk that champagne.""Oh, you're hopeless. Get on your coat, and don't worry. It'll be a splendid rag."Ten minutes sufficed for their donning their thickest outer garments and soothing the agitation into which the announcement of their journey threw Mrs. Pouncey. Then they started.It is to be feared that Eves's expectation of a "splendid rag" was somewhat disappointed. There was a certain excitement in the first hour's run over the quiet country roads, when the car, behind its glaring headlights, seemed to be continually dashing itself against a wall of impenetrable blackness. But it soon became monotonous. The air was cold and damp, and in spite of their thick clothes and the windscreen the two passengers soon became unpleasantly chilled. O'Reilly, a business man as well as an Irishman, had a proper respect for his car, and drove carefully through the towns. His enthusiasm for the Government was considerably damped when first at Bournemouth and then at Southampton he found all the hotels closed, and failed to obtain anything in the way of liquid refreshment stronger than spade coffee. These were the moments when Templeton felt most comfortable, and he confided to Eves his belief that after all they would arrive safely at their journey's end. By the time they reached Winchester the feet of both were tingling with cold; at Guildford even Eves had become morose; and it was not until they narrowly escaped a collision with an Army lorry as they swung round to cross Vauxhall Bridge that Eves felt the only thrill their journey provided.It was nearly half-past six when O'Reilly drew up at the door of his rooms in a quiet Westminster street."You'll be cold, sure," he said. "I'll let you in and show you the bath-room; there'll be hot water. I'll garage the car, and by the time you're dry I'll be back. I don't dare wake my housekeeper. The last trump wouldn't get her out of bed before half-past seven. But her heart is never cold, and at half-past eight she'll give us a breakfast fit for the three kings of Carrickmagree. Not but what we'll forage out something before then."Bathed, warmed, and fed, the three boarded a motor-bus soon after nine o'clock, and were set down at the end of Chancery Lane. As they walked up the street Eves suddenly pulled them into a shop doorway."There's old Noakes about ten yards ahead," he said. "The Patent Office doesn't open till ten, I think you said, Bob?""That's so.""Then he's about forty minutes to wait. Surely he won't hang about the door. Let us follow him carefully."They had taken only a few steps when they saw Noakes, swinging a fat umbrella, enter a typewriting agency."He's going to have your specification copied," said Eves."Sure, we'll be safe till ten," said O'Reilly with a chuckle. "The girls will keep the likes of him waiting. Now do you come with me to a patent agent, one of my friends. He'll put us up to the way of getting over Noakes."The agent's office was but a few yards up the street. The agent himself had not yet arrived; his typist-secretary explained that he was not expected until ten, and might be later."Well, then, you'll be after doing us a kindness. My friend here has a specification which Mr. Jones is going to file for me, and he'll need it copied in duplicate at once. Indeed, he'll be mighty pleased to find it ready for him; he's been longing to get his hand on it these many weeks, and you will not disappoint him, will you now?""I won't disappoint you, Mr. O'Reilly," said the girl, with a smile.She sat down at her machine, rattled away on the keys, and in twenty minutes handed to O'Reilly two clean copies of the specification. Her employer arrived on the stroke of ten. A few words from O'Reilly apprised him of the urgency of the matter, and he at once accompanied the three to the Patent Office and filed the formal application.They left the office in couples, O'Reilly going ahead with his friend. The other two noticed that O'Reilly edged away to one side quickly, leaving a gap through which came hurriedly a shambling figure in a wideawake and a long brown ulster, in one hand a large envelope, in the other his huge umbrella."Our worthy mayor," whispered Eves, giving Templeton a nudge.Apparently Noakes had not recognised O'Reilly, but his eyes widened and his chin dropped as he came face to face with Eves and Templeton. The shock of amazement caused him to halt with a jerk, bringing him into sharp collision with an errand boy hurrying along behind him, a basket of fish upon his arm."Here, old 'un, mind my toes," said the lad, not ill-temperedly, at the same time sticking out his elbow to ward off Noakes's obstructing bulk. His action was as a spark to powder. With the impulse of an angry, ill-conditioned man to vent his wrath on the nearest object, Noakes swung round and brought his umbrella heavily down upon the lad's shoulders."I'll learn you!" he cried, truculently.The response was unexpected. Snatching up a prime cod by the tail, the lad dashed its head full in Noakes's face. Noakes winced at the cold, slimy contact, staggered, then lurched forward, raising his umbrella once more to strike. The lad was too quick for him. Dropping his basket, he wrenched the umbrella away, flung it into the gutter, and, squaring his shoulders, commenced that curious piston-like movement of the two arms which is the street boy's preliminary to a sparring bout. Suddenly his right fist shot out, and planted a blow in the man's midriff. A crowd quickly assembled.[image]"THE LAD DASHED ITS HEAD FULL IN NOAKES'S FACE.""I say, d'you know that the gentleman you are assaulting is the Mayor of Pudlington?" said Eves, stepping up to the errand boy."Don't care who he is. He ain't going to hit me for nothing, not if he's the Lord Mayor."But the sight of a burly policeman approaching from the corner of the street brought discretion. He picked up his basket and ran off, turning to give Noakes a parting salute with his thumb to his nose.IIIO'Reilly treated the two lads to what Eves described as a topping lunch, and afterwards spent half an hour in a close examination of the specification."I like the looks of it," he said, finally. "Have you given it a trial?""Not yet," replied Templeton. "I've rigged up the mechanism, rather roughly, on an old road-sweeper I got cheap, and a little more tinkering should put it in working order. I might be able to try it on Saturday afternoon when I'm clear of the shop.""Well, then, I'm the way of making you an offer. I'll run down on Saturday and watch your trial. If the creature works, I'll pay for the installation on a respectable car, and finance you up to a thousand pounds. You'll pay me six per cent. interest and repay the capital just when you can.""It's really too good of you, Mr. O'Reilly," said Templeton."Sorra a bit, my boy. I'm doing you no favour; 'tis business, and there's no denying it.""Splendid!" said Eves. "You've got your chance at last, Bob. Remember me, old man, when the profits come rolling in. I've stood by you in many old rags. I tell you what, I'll write your advertisements, and make your reversible steering as famous as Beecham's pills.""I wouldn't wonder but you've got a flowery style, Mr. Eves," said O'Reilly. "Now, if so be you mean to catch your train, you'd better be off. I'll see you on Saturday."They took a taxi and arrived at the station in good time. After securing seats, Eves walked the length of the train to see whether Noakes was their fellow-passenger. There was no sign of him. Eves kept an eye on the platform from the window of his compartment until the train moved off, but Noakes had not appeared."He'll go on the razzle, I suppose," he remarked, as he dropped into the corner opposite Templeton. "But he can't keep it up long. Isn't Saturday the day for that old ceremony—what do they call it?—anointing the British Stone? I'd made up my mind to see that; it will be a bit of a rag to finish up my holiday with. I suppose you'll be too much occupied with your road-sweeper to bother about it?""Well, you see, the afternoons are short now, and as O'Reilly is coming down specially——""Just so. Business before pleasure. I foresee the end of our old friendship. 'But O the heavy change now thou art gone!' Milton, old chap. That's what I shall say when I think of the spiffing rags we've had together, and mourn for the days that are no more. Hand over that Punch, or I shall burst into tears. Perhaps I shall anyhow."Next morning, when Templeton arrived at the shop, he found Wilkins standing at the door, an image of truculence."You didn't turn up yesterday," he cried. "What was you after, eh?""As I explained in my note, I had to make a sudden journey to London.""I don't want none of your explanations. You had ought to ask my permission, going gallivanting sudden like that. I won't have no more of it. You're sacked; you understand that? Sacked without notice. Here's half a week's wages; you shan't have nothing against me. Hook it! Now! This very minute!""With the greatest pleasure in life," said Templeton, coolly. "Good morning."He was not aware, until informed by the omniscient postman, that Wilkins had received on the previous morning a telegram from Noakes, the cryptic wording of which had already been thoroughly discussed in the neighbourhood: "Boy in first sack immediate."Delighted at the leisure afforded by his dismissal, Templeton returned to his lodging, and spent the remainder of that day and the whole of the next in working at the road-sweeper. Eves watched him for an hour or two, but finding his friend's patient labour too slow for his taste, he went through the town to the scene of Saturday's ceremony, and amused himself by looking on at the preparations, and chatting with any one who would listen to him. The British Stone was a sort of truncated monolith standing in a meadow about a couple of acres in extent. A small square enclosure had been roped off around it, and within stood a low wooden platform from which the mayor, after breaking a bottle of cider on the stone, would deliver the annual oration in honour of the town and its ancient worthies. Against the hedge, on all four sides of the meadow, were ranged caravans, roundabouts, Aunt Sallies, raree-shows, and all the paraphernalia of a country fair, with stalls for the sale of hot drinks and such comestibles as the Food Regulations had not debarred. The continuous wet weather and the passage of many vehicles had made the entrance to the field a slough, and many of the showmen wore gloomy faces at the expectation that fewer spectators than usual would attend the ceremony. They asked quite reasonably whether the women folk, their best customers, would brave the risk of sinking ankle-deep in mud.Saturday morning came. A thin drizzle was falling; the sky was gloomy, and Mrs. Pouncey foretold that it was to be a "mizzly day." Templeton, however, was so anxious to prove the merits of his invention to O'Reilly in the afternoon, that immediately after breakfast, nothing daunted by the weather, he suggested that Eves should accompany him on a trial spin. They ran the road-sweeper up the muddy lane to the high road, Eves remarking that there was great scope for the activities for which the machine was designed. The macadamised surface of the highway was less miry, and Templeton assured his friend that he would not get very much splashed if the speed of the sweeper was kept low.Templeton occupied the driver's seat; Eves stood on a rail above the fixed brushes behind, holding on to the framework. The machine ran steadily up the road, but when Templeton slowed down and turned upon the pivot which was to bring into action the steering-gear at the rear, the vehicle, instead of moving straight hi the opposite direction, showed a tendency to sheer off to one side. Moreover, it turned out that the gear which raised the brushes clear of the road was out of order. Every now and then the brushes dropped, and the machine reverted to its original use. At these times Eves's boots and puttees received a generous bespattering of mud and water, and when the brushes began to "race," sending a spray of mud not merely across the road, but into his face, he protested loudly."Why didn't you wait till you could rig cranks, or whatever they are, on a decent car instead of this ramshackle old piece of antiquity?" he grumbled."Sorry, old man," said Templeton; "I'll go a bit slower.""Besides," Eves went on, "your reversible arrangements don't act. You can't steer the thing straight. It goes like a crab, or a drunk. Swing round again, for goodness' sake. Here's a wagon coming; I don't want to be chucked under the wheels.""All right," said Templeton, with composure, turning round. "It's only a slight hitch. Of course, the clutch connection is roughly made; I did the best I could with my materials; but you see the idea's all right, and it'll be easy enough to correct the defects.""You won't think of showing the thing to O'Reilly in its present state?""Why not? He's a practical man." Templeton began to get a little warm. "It's chaps like you who know nothing about machinery that lose heart at a trifling setback. And very likely another half-hour's work in the shed will greatly improve things. This is a trial spin; you can't expect everything to go like clockwork first go off.""Jolly good speech, old man. Best I've heard of yours. My faith in you is restored. By all means run the thing back to the shed; but, if you don't mind, I'll dismount when we come to the lane. I don't mind a shower-bath from above, but from below—no, thank you. I've swallowed enough mud in Flanders."Templeton spent the rest of the morning in overhauling his mechanism, and Eves in removing the worst of the mud splotches from his clothes. They had just finished lunch, when O'Reilly drove up in a growler hired at the station."Faith, 'tis a terrible day for wetness," he said. "But here I am, and I'll be glad now to take a look at your machine. Have you it in working order?""We gave it a short trial this morning," said Templeton. "It didn't behave quite so well as I had hoped, but I've spent a couple of hours on it since, and it ought to go better now.""I like your modesty, my boy. 'Tis a rare thing in inventors.""He's far too modest," said Eves. "That's why I've appointed myself his advertising agent. It's an old road-sweeper, remember; he's been working under difficulties. In my opinion—of course, I'm not an expert—the thing's a great success; you should see the amount of mud it scooped up.""I saw a mighty deal of mud as I came down the lane. You will not try it here, sure?""We tried it along the road," said Templeton. "And I've been thinking of a better place. On the other side of the town the road is tarred, and the machine will run much more smoothly. Besides, there's very little mud.""A bright idea," said Eves. "I propose that you drive the machine over the muddy roads while Mr. O'Reilly and I follow in the growler. We'll get out when we come to the tarred highway, and I'll perch up where I was before, and try to keep those brushes in order."The suggestion was accepted. O'Reilly looked on critically as Templeton drove the sweeper slowly up the lane; then he stepped into the cab and told the driver to follow at a reasonable distance. Eves joined him.As they proceeded along the road they passed at intervals small groups of farmers and labourers with their wives and children, who, defying the weather, had donned their Sunday best for the civic ceremony."Is it the likes of a wake, then?" O'Reilly asked. "Or a horse-race, maybe?""Only a country beano," replied Eves, and told what he knew of the afternoon's proceedings."That's disappointing, now. I'd have liked to see a good race, but I've no wish in the world to hear Noakes make a speech."Arriving at the tarred highway the two alighted from the cab. Eves took up his post above the brushes as before, and O'Reilly, eager to watch the working of Templeton's apparatus at close quarters, chose a somewhat precarious position on the opposite side of the framework."Now, Tom," said Templeton, his manner betraying a little nervousness, "if you see the gear dropping, just raise it. There's very little mud, but there are pools here and there, and I don't want to splash you. I propose to run straight ahead for a few minutes till I get up a fair speed, for I fancy the mechanism will work better then. Are you ready?""Righto. The road's clear."Templeton started his engine. The machine moved forward, at first slowly, but gradually gathering way. Eves kept a watchful eye on the brushes, and when they showed no sign of dropping he remarked to O'Reilly, "I think old Bob's done the trick this time.""Maybe," replied O'Reilly, in an undertone, "but this reversing gear, now."The speed continually increased until it reached a rate of about fifteen miles an hour. There was no traffic on the road, and Templeton was on the point of slowing down, preparatory to stopping and turning, when, rounding a slight bend, he came to a cross-road just as the head of the civic procession arrived at the corner. The town sergeant, bearing the mace, led the way; behind him came Noakes, in his mayoral robes, followed immediately by the councillors, the senior of whom carried a magnum bottle of cider.Templeton caught sight of the procession just in time to avoid a collision. Forgetting in the excitement of the moment the necessity of slowing down before bringing the reverse into action, he swung round on the pivot. The effect was amazing. The machine, instead of running in the opposite direction, plunged forward with zigzag rushes, charging into the procession. Templeton lost his head, forgot his brakes, and made frantic efforts to stop the engine, but something had stuck. Eves, between alarm and amusement at the stampede of the civic dignitaries, forgot to keep his eye on the brushes, which had dropped owing to the change of gear, and now began to race. Unlike the highway, the cross-road was deep in mud, and as the machine ran from side to side, dashing first into one hedge, then the other, the brushes flung up mud in all directions. Eves and O'Reilly were splashed from head to foot, but the full effect of this outrageous behaviour of the road-sweeper was felt by Noakes and the councillors immediately behind him. They had sought safety by backing into the hedge opposite to that at which the machine appeared to be charging as it approached them. Unhappily for them, it suddenly altered its direction, passed within a few inches of their shrinking forms, and covered them with a deluge of liquid mud. There was a crash as the bottle of cider fell and splintered into fragments, and loud cries of alarm and objurgation from the bespattered victims.[image]"COVERED THEM WITH A DELUGE OF LIQUID MUD."The incident occupied barely half a minute. Templeton recovered himself, stopped his engine, rammed on his brakes, and, least bemired of all the actors, got down to make his apologies. Eves and O'Reilly by this time were shaking with laughter. Noakes, seeing that the machine had come to a stop, approached the contrite driver with uplifted fist, too irate even to speak. He had tried to rub the splashes of mud from his cheeks, with the result that he had only spread them."I am really very sorry, Mr. Noakes," said Templeton. "I was trying a new invention, and I can't say how much I regret——""Od rabbit you and your inventions," roared Noakes. "You did it o' purpose, you viper. I'll have you up, I will, for creating a nuisance——""Driving to the danger of the public, be jowned to 'em," put in a councillor who had suffered scarcely less than the mayor."Ay, the danger of the public and bodily injury to the mayor," cried Noakes. "No option of a fine, neither; you'll go to jail, sure as my name be Philemon Noakes.""Come, come, now," said O'Reilly, thinking it time to intervene. "Sure, any one could see it was nothing but an accident that might have happened to the Lord Mayor of Dublin himself. You gentlemen have got splashed; faith, so have I. Look at me! The right way to look at it is that we're all suffering in a good cause—martyrs of science, and I wouldn't say but we've got off lightly.""There's summat in that, Neighbour Noakes," said a councillor who, being at the rear of the procession, had not come within range of the rotating brushes. "Ay, what I say is, these young fellers what have served their country want to be encouraged, and if so be a little mud flies—why, there 'tis; it will brush off, and 'tis all one.""There'll be no 'nointing to-day, that's certain," said another. "Seems to me we'd best all go home along before they get wind of it in the meadow up yonder. None of us wants a crowd ramping round and admiring of our muddy faces. The old stone won't hurt for want of its drop o' liquor for once.""That's true," added a third. "And as for speeches—well, speaking as man to man, speeches are a weariness of the flesh to me. Let's go home along, neighbours, and drink a drop o' something hot, with our toes on the fire."The suggestion won favour with the majority, and Noakes, irritably conscious of his unseemly appearance, allowed himself to be escorted towards the town. A few of the more curious waited to see what further antics the road-sweeper performed. But they were disappointed. A brief examination of the mechanism revealed to Templeton the cause of his failure. He made certain adjustments which enabled him to drive the machine home at a moderate pace, and without further experiments with the reversible steering. Eves and O'Reilly followed, prudently, in the cab."My hat, what a rag!" said Eves to his companion on the way. "But I'm afraid old Bob has come a cropper, poor old boy! It's not the first time; but I'll say this for him, he always comes up smiling.""And he'll smile to a good tune if I don't be mistaken," said O'Reilly. "He's got hold of a good idea, and with the help of an engineer friend of mine he'll make something of it. I'll see to that."The next week's local paper contained a copious but by no means a wholly accurate account of the incident. The deplorable appearance of the mayor was described, however, with excessive particularity. Unkindest cut of all, the editor pointed the moral:"We have already more than once drawn the attention of the mayor and corporation to the disgracefully muddy state of our roads in winter-time. Now that our civic worthies have suffered in their own persons, and the town has been deprived for the first time in a hundred and forty years of its ancient and time-honoured ceremony, perhaps something will be done, or are we to wait until the present mayor's tenure of office has expired?"A few months later Eves received from Templeton a long letter which gave him a good deal of pleasure. Templeton related that his invention, tested under more favourable conditions, had more than fulfilled his hopes. O'Reilly was enthusiastic about it, and had arranged to set up a small factory for him. But almost as agreeable was the news about the Mayor of Pudlington:"Noakes was never popular," Templeton wrote, "and the sorry figure he cut in certain episodes we know of brought him into ridicule, which is always fatal. It began to be whispered, too, that there was something shady in his transactions over contracts and canteens, and what not. Anyhow, one fine day he disappeared, and I hear that there are warrants out against him. I'm not vindictive, but I can't say I shall be sorry if he is caught.""Just like old Bob," said Eves to himself. He sat down to dash off a reply:"I'm jolly glad, old man. 'There is a tide,' etc. (Shakespeare). I always said you'd make your fortune, though I must own I never thought it would be through a mad road-sweeper. I'm going to be demobbed after all, so I'll take on your advertising stunt as soon as you like. As to Noakes, I don't care whether he's caught or not. He was always a glorious rag, and I rather fancy he more or less inspired some of your bright ideas."THE ENDPrinted byMORRISON & GIBB LIMITEDEdinburgh* * * * * * * *HERBERT STRANGCOMPLETE LIST OF STORIESADVENTURES OF DICK TREVANION, THEADVENTURES OF HARRY ROCHESTER, THEA GENTLEMAN AT ARMSA HERO OF LIÉGEAIR PATROL, THEAIR SCOUT, THEBARCLAY OF THE GUIDESBLUE RAIDER, THEBOYS OF THE LIGHT BRIGADEBRIGHT IDEASBROWN OF MOUKDENBURTON OF THE FLYING CORPSCARRY ONCRUISE OF THE GYRO-CAR, THEFIGHTING WITH FRENCHFLYING BOAT, THEFRANK FORESTERHUMPHREY BOLDJACK HARDYKING OF THE AIRKOBOLONG TRAIL, THELORD OF THE SEASMOTOR SCOUT, THEOLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN, THEONE OF CLIVE'S HEROESPALM TREE ISLANDROB THE RANGERROUND THE WORLD IN SEVEN DAYSSAMBASETTLERS AND SCOUTSSULTAN JIMSWIFT AND SURETHROUGH THE ENEMY'S LINESTOM BURNABYTOM WILLOUGHBY'S SCOUTSWITH DRAKE ON THE SPANISH MAINWITH HAIG ON THE SOMME*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKBRIGHT IDEAS***
II
Next day, immediately after breakfast, Eves went off on his own devices, and did not see Templeton again until supper-time.
"You look rather down in the mouth. Bob," he said. "Anything wrong?"
"I'm a bit worried," Templeton replied. "I don't think I'm naturally suspicious——"
"Rather not! You're as innocent as a babe. Any old diddler could suck you in. But what's happened?"
"This afternoon I had to go out for an hour or so to try a car. Wilkins was away, so I left the shop closed. While I was running the car I had an idea for my specification and when I got back I took it out of my coat to alter it. And I found this."
He handed Eves the paper.
"Well? It's the same old thing—same old rigmarole, isn't it?"
"That smudge of ink!"
"Your elbow—but, of course, it's all in pencil. You don't mean—
"As you say, it's all in pencil. It hasn't been near ink, so far as I know. At any rate, that smudge wasn't there this morning."
Eves whistled.
"Wilkins knew about your specification, of course; everybody knows everything in this Arcadia. My prophetic soul! He's been copying your draft, Bob, and being an untidy penman, left his mark behind. He must have been uncommon slippy to copy it all in an hour, though, with all these erasures and interlinings. Any one else got a key of the shop?"
"No one, so far as I know."
"Noakes? You remember when we caught him at the drawer? My hat! They don't stick at trifles. This is felony, or I'm a Dutchman. Wilkins, or Noakes, or both of them, want to get in first at the Patent Office; they've stolen your specification."
"That's a serious charge. We've no proof."
"My dear chap, it's as plain as a pikestaff. But look here, what can be done? Look at the worst; say they have copied your stuff, what then?"
"If they file their application at the Patent Office it will be no end of a bother and expense to prove it's mine."
"I'd swear that before any beak in the country. But let's keep to the point. They couldn't get to the Patent Office to-night?"
"No; it closes at five; opens at ten in the morning."
"What time's the last train up?"
"It left twenty minutes ago," said Templeton, after a glance at his watch.
"And in the morning?"
"The first train reaches London something after eleven."
Eves mused for a few seconds, drumming on the table.
"I tell you what," he said at length. "You set to work and make a fair copy of this stuff, and we'll go up by the first train to-morrow and see if—Hallo! here's a car. Rather late for a visit."
The panting of an automobile engine was distinctly audible. There was a rap on the outer door. Mrs. Pouncey shuffled along the passage; voices were heard; then the landlady entered.
"A gentleman to see you, sir; O'Reilly by name."
"Our excitable Irishman," said Eves.
"Ask him in, Mrs. Pouncey, please," said Templeton.
O'Reilly came in like a tornado, waving his arms and wearing his capacious smile.
"Sure, I'm delighted to see the two of you, and me not knowing the way," he said as he shook hands. "The Government, or the colonel anyway, has taken my tender for the camp waste, and 'tis to you I owe it, and I'll beg you to drink to the colonel, or anyway the Government; I have the champagne in my pocket ready."
He produced a bottle from the deep pocket of his waterproof coat.
"Jolly good of you, Mr. O'Reilly," said Eves. "You've come in the nick of time. My friend Templeton wants something to cheer him up."
"Do you say so? What might be the trouble, now?"
"Expound, Bob; your invention, I mean. I should only make a mess of it."
"It was just a notion for driving a car in the opposite direction to what it has been going, the driver swinging round on his seat and automatically bringing into action steering-gear affecting the back wheels instead of the front, or vice versa."
"Saves turning in a narrow lane, you see," added Eves.
"Bedad, that would be a blessing to me this dark night," said O'Reilly. "But what is the trouble? Funds run out? Would you show me the plans, I'd find the capital—provided they'll work out, of course."
"Splendid!" cried Eves. "Here's the draft specification—but there's the rub; that smudge of ink. Look here, Bob, just set to work and copy your diagrams while I tell Mr. O'Reilly all about it, and he opens the fizz. We've no wine-glasses, only tumblers, but no one will mind that."
O'Reilly's face grew grave as he listened to the story told by Eves.
"That's bad," he said. "I stopped at the station a while ago to get a London evening paper, and I saw that mayor of yours, Noakes, step into the London train. There was another fellow with him, seeing him off."
"What sort of man?" asked Eves.
"A thick ruffian of a fellow in a long coat and a motor cap. I can't tell you which of them I dislike the most, by the faces of 'em, I mean—him or Noakes."
"That was Wilkins. There's no doubt I was right, Bob; Noakes has slunk off to London to get in first; and that was the last train!"
"Drink, my boys," said O'Reilly, who had meanwhile opened his bottle. "Health to ourselves, and confusion to Noakes. We'll get the top-side of him yet. There's one way to do it. 'Tis nine o'clock, and we are a hundred and sixty miles from London—that and a bit over. I'll drive you up in my car."
"Magnificent," cried Eves. "How long will your diagrams take, Bob?"
"Under an hour; but there's the specification to copy out."
"I'll do that. Hand over. We'll be ready in an hour, Mr. O'Reilly."
"Then I'll run back to the town and fill up my tank and see to my tyres and lamps," said O'Reilly. "Be you ready when I call for you, and with luck and no punctures we'll be in London by six o'clock."
He gulped a glass of champagne and hurried from the room.
The two lads went on steadily with their tasks. Templeton was finished first, and going to his desk scrawled a hasty note, which he placed in an envelope, and was addressing when Eves sprang up.
"That's done," he said, flinging down his pen. "What are you writing to Wilkins for?"
"Just to tell him I shan't be at the shop till Thursday."
"I wouldn't tell the brute anything."
"Well, you see, there's nothing proved yet, and——"
"And Noakes, I suppose, has gone up to town to leave his card on the King! Bob, you're an ass. But drink up your fizz; it's pretty flat. I hear the car. It'll be a pretty cold ride; rather sport, though."
"I hope we shan't have a spill. O'Reilly's a bit wild, you know. I wish we hadn't drunk that champagne."
"Oh, you're hopeless. Get on your coat, and don't worry. It'll be a splendid rag."
Ten minutes sufficed for their donning their thickest outer garments and soothing the agitation into which the announcement of their journey threw Mrs. Pouncey. Then they started.
It is to be feared that Eves's expectation of a "splendid rag" was somewhat disappointed. There was a certain excitement in the first hour's run over the quiet country roads, when the car, behind its glaring headlights, seemed to be continually dashing itself against a wall of impenetrable blackness. But it soon became monotonous. The air was cold and damp, and in spite of their thick clothes and the windscreen the two passengers soon became unpleasantly chilled. O'Reilly, a business man as well as an Irishman, had a proper respect for his car, and drove carefully through the towns. His enthusiasm for the Government was considerably damped when first at Bournemouth and then at Southampton he found all the hotels closed, and failed to obtain anything in the way of liquid refreshment stronger than spade coffee. These were the moments when Templeton felt most comfortable, and he confided to Eves his belief that after all they would arrive safely at their journey's end. By the time they reached Winchester the feet of both were tingling with cold; at Guildford even Eves had become morose; and it was not until they narrowly escaped a collision with an Army lorry as they swung round to cross Vauxhall Bridge that Eves felt the only thrill their journey provided.
It was nearly half-past six when O'Reilly drew up at the door of his rooms in a quiet Westminster street.
"You'll be cold, sure," he said. "I'll let you in and show you the bath-room; there'll be hot water. I'll garage the car, and by the time you're dry I'll be back. I don't dare wake my housekeeper. The last trump wouldn't get her out of bed before half-past seven. But her heart is never cold, and at half-past eight she'll give us a breakfast fit for the three kings of Carrickmagree. Not but what we'll forage out something before then."
Bathed, warmed, and fed, the three boarded a motor-bus soon after nine o'clock, and were set down at the end of Chancery Lane. As they walked up the street Eves suddenly pulled them into a shop doorway.
"There's old Noakes about ten yards ahead," he said. "The Patent Office doesn't open till ten, I think you said, Bob?"
"That's so."
"Then he's about forty minutes to wait. Surely he won't hang about the door. Let us follow him carefully."
They had taken only a few steps when they saw Noakes, swinging a fat umbrella, enter a typewriting agency.
"He's going to have your specification copied," said Eves.
"Sure, we'll be safe till ten," said O'Reilly with a chuckle. "The girls will keep the likes of him waiting. Now do you come with me to a patent agent, one of my friends. He'll put us up to the way of getting over Noakes."
The agent's office was but a few yards up the street. The agent himself had not yet arrived; his typist-secretary explained that he was not expected until ten, and might be later.
"Well, then, you'll be after doing us a kindness. My friend here has a specification which Mr. Jones is going to file for me, and he'll need it copied in duplicate at once. Indeed, he'll be mighty pleased to find it ready for him; he's been longing to get his hand on it these many weeks, and you will not disappoint him, will you now?"
"I won't disappoint you, Mr. O'Reilly," said the girl, with a smile.
She sat down at her machine, rattled away on the keys, and in twenty minutes handed to O'Reilly two clean copies of the specification. Her employer arrived on the stroke of ten. A few words from O'Reilly apprised him of the urgency of the matter, and he at once accompanied the three to the Patent Office and filed the formal application.
They left the office in couples, O'Reilly going ahead with his friend. The other two noticed that O'Reilly edged away to one side quickly, leaving a gap through which came hurriedly a shambling figure in a wideawake and a long brown ulster, in one hand a large envelope, in the other his huge umbrella.
"Our worthy mayor," whispered Eves, giving Templeton a nudge.
Apparently Noakes had not recognised O'Reilly, but his eyes widened and his chin dropped as he came face to face with Eves and Templeton. The shock of amazement caused him to halt with a jerk, bringing him into sharp collision with an errand boy hurrying along behind him, a basket of fish upon his arm.
"Here, old 'un, mind my toes," said the lad, not ill-temperedly, at the same time sticking out his elbow to ward off Noakes's obstructing bulk. His action was as a spark to powder. With the impulse of an angry, ill-conditioned man to vent his wrath on the nearest object, Noakes swung round and brought his umbrella heavily down upon the lad's shoulders.
"I'll learn you!" he cried, truculently.
The response was unexpected. Snatching up a prime cod by the tail, the lad dashed its head full in Noakes's face. Noakes winced at the cold, slimy contact, staggered, then lurched forward, raising his umbrella once more to strike. The lad was too quick for him. Dropping his basket, he wrenched the umbrella away, flung it into the gutter, and, squaring his shoulders, commenced that curious piston-like movement of the two arms which is the street boy's preliminary to a sparring bout. Suddenly his right fist shot out, and planted a blow in the man's midriff. A crowd quickly assembled.
[image]"THE LAD DASHED ITS HEAD FULL IN NOAKES'S FACE."
[image]
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"THE LAD DASHED ITS HEAD FULL IN NOAKES'S FACE."
"I say, d'you know that the gentleman you are assaulting is the Mayor of Pudlington?" said Eves, stepping up to the errand boy.
"Don't care who he is. He ain't going to hit me for nothing, not if he's the Lord Mayor."
But the sight of a burly policeman approaching from the corner of the street brought discretion. He picked up his basket and ran off, turning to give Noakes a parting salute with his thumb to his nose.
III
O'Reilly treated the two lads to what Eves described as a topping lunch, and afterwards spent half an hour in a close examination of the specification.
"I like the looks of it," he said, finally. "Have you given it a trial?"
"Not yet," replied Templeton. "I've rigged up the mechanism, rather roughly, on an old road-sweeper I got cheap, and a little more tinkering should put it in working order. I might be able to try it on Saturday afternoon when I'm clear of the shop."
"Well, then, I'm the way of making you an offer. I'll run down on Saturday and watch your trial. If the creature works, I'll pay for the installation on a respectable car, and finance you up to a thousand pounds. You'll pay me six per cent. interest and repay the capital just when you can."
"It's really too good of you, Mr. O'Reilly," said Templeton.
"Sorra a bit, my boy. I'm doing you no favour; 'tis business, and there's no denying it."
"Splendid!" said Eves. "You've got your chance at last, Bob. Remember me, old man, when the profits come rolling in. I've stood by you in many old rags. I tell you what, I'll write your advertisements, and make your reversible steering as famous as Beecham's pills."
"I wouldn't wonder but you've got a flowery style, Mr. Eves," said O'Reilly. "Now, if so be you mean to catch your train, you'd better be off. I'll see you on Saturday."
They took a taxi and arrived at the station in good time. After securing seats, Eves walked the length of the train to see whether Noakes was their fellow-passenger. There was no sign of him. Eves kept an eye on the platform from the window of his compartment until the train moved off, but Noakes had not appeared.
"He'll go on the razzle, I suppose," he remarked, as he dropped into the corner opposite Templeton. "But he can't keep it up long. Isn't Saturday the day for that old ceremony—what do they call it?—anointing the British Stone? I'd made up my mind to see that; it will be a bit of a rag to finish up my holiday with. I suppose you'll be too much occupied with your road-sweeper to bother about it?"
"Well, you see, the afternoons are short now, and as O'Reilly is coming down specially——"
"Just so. Business before pleasure. I foresee the end of our old friendship. 'But O the heavy change now thou art gone!' Milton, old chap. That's what I shall say when I think of the spiffing rags we've had together, and mourn for the days that are no more. Hand over that Punch, or I shall burst into tears. Perhaps I shall anyhow."
Next morning, when Templeton arrived at the shop, he found Wilkins standing at the door, an image of truculence.
"You didn't turn up yesterday," he cried. "What was you after, eh?"
"As I explained in my note, I had to make a sudden journey to London."
"I don't want none of your explanations. You had ought to ask my permission, going gallivanting sudden like that. I won't have no more of it. You're sacked; you understand that? Sacked without notice. Here's half a week's wages; you shan't have nothing against me. Hook it! Now! This very minute!"
"With the greatest pleasure in life," said Templeton, coolly. "Good morning."
He was not aware, until informed by the omniscient postman, that Wilkins had received on the previous morning a telegram from Noakes, the cryptic wording of which had already been thoroughly discussed in the neighbourhood: "Boy in first sack immediate."
Delighted at the leisure afforded by his dismissal, Templeton returned to his lodging, and spent the remainder of that day and the whole of the next in working at the road-sweeper. Eves watched him for an hour or two, but finding his friend's patient labour too slow for his taste, he went through the town to the scene of Saturday's ceremony, and amused himself by looking on at the preparations, and chatting with any one who would listen to him. The British Stone was a sort of truncated monolith standing in a meadow about a couple of acres in extent. A small square enclosure had been roped off around it, and within stood a low wooden platform from which the mayor, after breaking a bottle of cider on the stone, would deliver the annual oration in honour of the town and its ancient worthies. Against the hedge, on all four sides of the meadow, were ranged caravans, roundabouts, Aunt Sallies, raree-shows, and all the paraphernalia of a country fair, with stalls for the sale of hot drinks and such comestibles as the Food Regulations had not debarred. The continuous wet weather and the passage of many vehicles had made the entrance to the field a slough, and many of the showmen wore gloomy faces at the expectation that fewer spectators than usual would attend the ceremony. They asked quite reasonably whether the women folk, their best customers, would brave the risk of sinking ankle-deep in mud.
Saturday morning came. A thin drizzle was falling; the sky was gloomy, and Mrs. Pouncey foretold that it was to be a "mizzly day." Templeton, however, was so anxious to prove the merits of his invention to O'Reilly in the afternoon, that immediately after breakfast, nothing daunted by the weather, he suggested that Eves should accompany him on a trial spin. They ran the road-sweeper up the muddy lane to the high road, Eves remarking that there was great scope for the activities for which the machine was designed. The macadamised surface of the highway was less miry, and Templeton assured his friend that he would not get very much splashed if the speed of the sweeper was kept low.
Templeton occupied the driver's seat; Eves stood on a rail above the fixed brushes behind, holding on to the framework. The machine ran steadily up the road, but when Templeton slowed down and turned upon the pivot which was to bring into action the steering-gear at the rear, the vehicle, instead of moving straight hi the opposite direction, showed a tendency to sheer off to one side. Moreover, it turned out that the gear which raised the brushes clear of the road was out of order. Every now and then the brushes dropped, and the machine reverted to its original use. At these times Eves's boots and puttees received a generous bespattering of mud and water, and when the brushes began to "race," sending a spray of mud not merely across the road, but into his face, he protested loudly.
"Why didn't you wait till you could rig cranks, or whatever they are, on a decent car instead of this ramshackle old piece of antiquity?" he grumbled.
"Sorry, old man," said Templeton; "I'll go a bit slower."
"Besides," Eves went on, "your reversible arrangements don't act. You can't steer the thing straight. It goes like a crab, or a drunk. Swing round again, for goodness' sake. Here's a wagon coming; I don't want to be chucked under the wheels."
"All right," said Templeton, with composure, turning round. "It's only a slight hitch. Of course, the clutch connection is roughly made; I did the best I could with my materials; but you see the idea's all right, and it'll be easy enough to correct the defects."
"You won't think of showing the thing to O'Reilly in its present state?"
"Why not? He's a practical man." Templeton began to get a little warm. "It's chaps like you who know nothing about machinery that lose heart at a trifling setback. And very likely another half-hour's work in the shed will greatly improve things. This is a trial spin; you can't expect everything to go like clockwork first go off."
"Jolly good speech, old man. Best I've heard of yours. My faith in you is restored. By all means run the thing back to the shed; but, if you don't mind, I'll dismount when we come to the lane. I don't mind a shower-bath from above, but from below—no, thank you. I've swallowed enough mud in Flanders."
Templeton spent the rest of the morning in overhauling his mechanism, and Eves in removing the worst of the mud splotches from his clothes. They had just finished lunch, when O'Reilly drove up in a growler hired at the station.
"Faith, 'tis a terrible day for wetness," he said. "But here I am, and I'll be glad now to take a look at your machine. Have you it in working order?"
"We gave it a short trial this morning," said Templeton. "It didn't behave quite so well as I had hoped, but I've spent a couple of hours on it since, and it ought to go better now."
"I like your modesty, my boy. 'Tis a rare thing in inventors."
"He's far too modest," said Eves. "That's why I've appointed myself his advertising agent. It's an old road-sweeper, remember; he's been working under difficulties. In my opinion—of course, I'm not an expert—the thing's a great success; you should see the amount of mud it scooped up."
"I saw a mighty deal of mud as I came down the lane. You will not try it here, sure?"
"We tried it along the road," said Templeton. "And I've been thinking of a better place. On the other side of the town the road is tarred, and the machine will run much more smoothly. Besides, there's very little mud."
"A bright idea," said Eves. "I propose that you drive the machine over the muddy roads while Mr. O'Reilly and I follow in the growler. We'll get out when we come to the tarred highway, and I'll perch up where I was before, and try to keep those brushes in order."
The suggestion was accepted. O'Reilly looked on critically as Templeton drove the sweeper slowly up the lane; then he stepped into the cab and told the driver to follow at a reasonable distance. Eves joined him.
As they proceeded along the road they passed at intervals small groups of farmers and labourers with their wives and children, who, defying the weather, had donned their Sunday best for the civic ceremony.
"Is it the likes of a wake, then?" O'Reilly asked. "Or a horse-race, maybe?"
"Only a country beano," replied Eves, and told what he knew of the afternoon's proceedings.
"That's disappointing, now. I'd have liked to see a good race, but I've no wish in the world to hear Noakes make a speech."
Arriving at the tarred highway the two alighted from the cab. Eves took up his post above the brushes as before, and O'Reilly, eager to watch the working of Templeton's apparatus at close quarters, chose a somewhat precarious position on the opposite side of the framework.
"Now, Tom," said Templeton, his manner betraying a little nervousness, "if you see the gear dropping, just raise it. There's very little mud, but there are pools here and there, and I don't want to splash you. I propose to run straight ahead for a few minutes till I get up a fair speed, for I fancy the mechanism will work better then. Are you ready?"
"Righto. The road's clear."
Templeton started his engine. The machine moved forward, at first slowly, but gradually gathering way. Eves kept a watchful eye on the brushes, and when they showed no sign of dropping he remarked to O'Reilly, "I think old Bob's done the trick this time."
"Maybe," replied O'Reilly, in an undertone, "but this reversing gear, now."
The speed continually increased until it reached a rate of about fifteen miles an hour. There was no traffic on the road, and Templeton was on the point of slowing down, preparatory to stopping and turning, when, rounding a slight bend, he came to a cross-road just as the head of the civic procession arrived at the corner. The town sergeant, bearing the mace, led the way; behind him came Noakes, in his mayoral robes, followed immediately by the councillors, the senior of whom carried a magnum bottle of cider.
Templeton caught sight of the procession just in time to avoid a collision. Forgetting in the excitement of the moment the necessity of slowing down before bringing the reverse into action, he swung round on the pivot. The effect was amazing. The machine, instead of running in the opposite direction, plunged forward with zigzag rushes, charging into the procession. Templeton lost his head, forgot his brakes, and made frantic efforts to stop the engine, but something had stuck. Eves, between alarm and amusement at the stampede of the civic dignitaries, forgot to keep his eye on the brushes, which had dropped owing to the change of gear, and now began to race. Unlike the highway, the cross-road was deep in mud, and as the machine ran from side to side, dashing first into one hedge, then the other, the brushes flung up mud in all directions. Eves and O'Reilly were splashed from head to foot, but the full effect of this outrageous behaviour of the road-sweeper was felt by Noakes and the councillors immediately behind him. They had sought safety by backing into the hedge opposite to that at which the machine appeared to be charging as it approached them. Unhappily for them, it suddenly altered its direction, passed within a few inches of their shrinking forms, and covered them with a deluge of liquid mud. There was a crash as the bottle of cider fell and splintered into fragments, and loud cries of alarm and objurgation from the bespattered victims.
[image]"COVERED THEM WITH A DELUGE OF LIQUID MUD."
[image]
[image]
"COVERED THEM WITH A DELUGE OF LIQUID MUD."
The incident occupied barely half a minute. Templeton recovered himself, stopped his engine, rammed on his brakes, and, least bemired of all the actors, got down to make his apologies. Eves and O'Reilly by this time were shaking with laughter. Noakes, seeing that the machine had come to a stop, approached the contrite driver with uplifted fist, too irate even to speak. He had tried to rub the splashes of mud from his cheeks, with the result that he had only spread them.
"I am really very sorry, Mr. Noakes," said Templeton. "I was trying a new invention, and I can't say how much I regret——"
"Od rabbit you and your inventions," roared Noakes. "You did it o' purpose, you viper. I'll have you up, I will, for creating a nuisance——"
"Driving to the danger of the public, be jowned to 'em," put in a councillor who had suffered scarcely less than the mayor.
"Ay, the danger of the public and bodily injury to the mayor," cried Noakes. "No option of a fine, neither; you'll go to jail, sure as my name be Philemon Noakes."
"Come, come, now," said O'Reilly, thinking it time to intervene. "Sure, any one could see it was nothing but an accident that might have happened to the Lord Mayor of Dublin himself. You gentlemen have got splashed; faith, so have I. Look at me! The right way to look at it is that we're all suffering in a good cause—martyrs of science, and I wouldn't say but we've got off lightly."
"There's summat in that, Neighbour Noakes," said a councillor who, being at the rear of the procession, had not come within range of the rotating brushes. "Ay, what I say is, these young fellers what have served their country want to be encouraged, and if so be a little mud flies—why, there 'tis; it will brush off, and 'tis all one."
"There'll be no 'nointing to-day, that's certain," said another. "Seems to me we'd best all go home along before they get wind of it in the meadow up yonder. None of us wants a crowd ramping round and admiring of our muddy faces. The old stone won't hurt for want of its drop o' liquor for once."
"That's true," added a third. "And as for speeches—well, speaking as man to man, speeches are a weariness of the flesh to me. Let's go home along, neighbours, and drink a drop o' something hot, with our toes on the fire."
The suggestion won favour with the majority, and Noakes, irritably conscious of his unseemly appearance, allowed himself to be escorted towards the town. A few of the more curious waited to see what further antics the road-sweeper performed. But they were disappointed. A brief examination of the mechanism revealed to Templeton the cause of his failure. He made certain adjustments which enabled him to drive the machine home at a moderate pace, and without further experiments with the reversible steering. Eves and O'Reilly followed, prudently, in the cab.
"My hat, what a rag!" said Eves to his companion on the way. "But I'm afraid old Bob has come a cropper, poor old boy! It's not the first time; but I'll say this for him, he always comes up smiling."
"And he'll smile to a good tune if I don't be mistaken," said O'Reilly. "He's got hold of a good idea, and with the help of an engineer friend of mine he'll make something of it. I'll see to that."
The next week's local paper contained a copious but by no means a wholly accurate account of the incident. The deplorable appearance of the mayor was described, however, with excessive particularity. Unkindest cut of all, the editor pointed the moral:
"We have already more than once drawn the attention of the mayor and corporation to the disgracefully muddy state of our roads in winter-time. Now that our civic worthies have suffered in their own persons, and the town has been deprived for the first time in a hundred and forty years of its ancient and time-honoured ceremony, perhaps something will be done, or are we to wait until the present mayor's tenure of office has expired?"
A few months later Eves received from Templeton a long letter which gave him a good deal of pleasure. Templeton related that his invention, tested under more favourable conditions, had more than fulfilled his hopes. O'Reilly was enthusiastic about it, and had arranged to set up a small factory for him. But almost as agreeable was the news about the Mayor of Pudlington:
"Noakes was never popular," Templeton wrote, "and the sorry figure he cut in certain episodes we know of brought him into ridicule, which is always fatal. It began to be whispered, too, that there was something shady in his transactions over contracts and canteens, and what not. Anyhow, one fine day he disappeared, and I hear that there are warrants out against him. I'm not vindictive, but I can't say I shall be sorry if he is caught."
"Just like old Bob," said Eves to himself. He sat down to dash off a reply:
"I'm jolly glad, old man. 'There is a tide,' etc. (Shakespeare). I always said you'd make your fortune, though I must own I never thought it would be through a mad road-sweeper. I'm going to be demobbed after all, so I'll take on your advertising stunt as soon as you like. As to Noakes, I don't care whether he's caught or not. He was always a glorious rag, and I rather fancy he more or less inspired some of your bright ideas."
THE END
Printed byMORRISON & GIBB LIMITEDEdinburgh
* * * * * * * *
HERBERT STRANG
COMPLETE LIST OF STORIES
ADVENTURES OF DICK TREVANION, THEADVENTURES OF HARRY ROCHESTER, THEA GENTLEMAN AT ARMSA HERO OF LIÉGEAIR PATROL, THEAIR SCOUT, THEBARCLAY OF THE GUIDESBLUE RAIDER, THEBOYS OF THE LIGHT BRIGADEBRIGHT IDEASBROWN OF MOUKDENBURTON OF THE FLYING CORPSCARRY ONCRUISE OF THE GYRO-CAR, THEFIGHTING WITH FRENCHFLYING BOAT, THEFRANK FORESTERHUMPHREY BOLDJACK HARDYKING OF THE AIRKOBOLONG TRAIL, THELORD OF THE SEASMOTOR SCOUT, THEOLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN, THEONE OF CLIVE'S HEROESPALM TREE ISLANDROB THE RANGERROUND THE WORLD IN SEVEN DAYSSAMBASETTLERS AND SCOUTSSULTAN JIMSWIFT AND SURETHROUGH THE ENEMY'S LINESTOM BURNABYTOM WILLOUGHBY'S SCOUTSWITH DRAKE ON THE SPANISH MAINWITH HAIG ON THE SOMME
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKBRIGHT IDEAS***