"So you never saw an old fellow like this, eh?"Page24.
"Well, you won't see many like it," the Scotchman asserted proudly. "Not but what a good number of them were turned out in England between 1670 and 1750. But that was a long while ago, and things get scattered and are crowded out by newer fashions; besides, antique clocks are not always cared for and kept running. Then, too, it isn't always possible to find people who understand repairing such old fellows," McPhearson explained modestly. "As I said, they have to be taken as special cases and no end of thought put into them. More clocks are ruined by ignorant doctoring than by anything else. This one, thank goodness, has evidently always had intelligent care; if it hadn't it would not be ticking now."
Gently the man put his burden on the workbench.
It was a square clock with arched top and brass feet; and its face, suggesting that of a grandfather clock, was quaintly decorated with garlands of red roses. It had beautifully pierced hands, small brass cherub's heads at the corners, and at the top a single small hand pointed to its musical repertoire which consisted of: cotillion, jig, minuet, song, air, dance, and hymn.
"You can take your choice of tunes, you see," explained McPhearson. "There is one for every day of the week. All you have to do is to shift the indicator round to what your want to hear. It chimes every three hours—at six, nine, twelve, and three o'clock, and just before the music begins, it strikes one to indicate the hour."
"I wish I could hear it play."
"You shall by and by. And you may select thetune if you like. It has a pretty tone, something like that of a music box; and the selections are pretty, too—old-fashioned airs that were familiar to the people of that day and are now curious and interesting. I want you to notice the brass spandrels while you are about it, for it is those that do much in helping us determine the dates when old clocks were made."
"I'm afraid I don't know what a spandrel is," Christopher announced with appealing frankness.
"And what marvel? How should you?" his companion replied pleasantly. "You have been such a good listener that I was forgetting you had not been brought up among clocks as I have been. Well, a spandrel is the small brass ornament at the corner that fills in the triangular gap left between the circular face and the square outline of the case. Some clocks have four of these, others such as this one only two. These ornaments were roughly cast in brass and afterward more carefully lacquered and finished by the clockmaker himself. Sometimes, however, we find them crudely executed as if they had been taken direct from the mold. Clockmakers of that time were not so inventive as we; neither had they had training in design, and as a result we see little variety in these brass ornamentations. At one period all these spandrels took the form of cherub's heads, an idea that may possibly have been copied from the Italians. Later a pattern with two cherubs supporting a crown was popular; and at a still later date the head of the cherub set in a scroll is found. That is the pattern on this one. The brass basketwork acrossthe top is a relic of the old bird-cage clock which just preceded this one, and was cast by the metalsmith and then purchased by the clockmaker as were the spandrels.
"Since we know the approximate date that such metal work was done and have in addition Richard Parsons' name listed among the London Clockmakers' Company together with his address, there is pretty positive evidence that this antique is genuine."
"Was a list of all the London clockmakers kept?" questioned Christopher incredulously.
"Of those who belonged to the Clockmakers' Company, yes; but there were many excellent makers who lived in the country and therefore did not belong to this guild. Those who were members were, you may be moderately certain, fine workmen. For that matter you may rest assured that any old clock of early make which is still doing duty is a good clock; it would not be going now if it weren't."
"Of course. But Richard Parsons was really in the list, was he?"
"He was; his name, address, date of apprenticeship and the name of the maker to whom he was apprenticed; also the dates when he was admitted to the most worshipful Clockmakers' Company. So you see, although he lived long ago, Richard Parsons is no stranger to us."
"It makes you feel different when you know who he was, doesn't it?" commented Christopher slowly.
"Yes, and his work helps us to know a good dealabout him too, for no lazy, careless person turned out such a clock as this. We must nevertheless take into consideration that in 1700 men had the leisure for careful handiwork. Nobody was in a hurry in those days. Richard Parsons, in his shop at Number 15 Goswell Street, had all the time in the world to make his clock, and could fuss about and experiment to his heart's content. Probably no one ever thought of jogging him on or pestering him to know if his work wasn't done."
Ruefully McPhearson shrugged his shoulders.
"Now I couldn't make a clock even were I so minded," he continued with a whimsical smile. "Mr. Bailey and a score of others as anxious as he would be prancing in here every half-hour to find out when it would be finished. They would expect it to be made, wound up, and ticking, inside a week. It was not so in the days of Queen Anne." The Scotchman sighed, then added, "Sometimes I envy them their leisure."
Once more he turned the clock round so Christopher could see its old-fashioned face gay with dainty vines and flowers.
"I declare if it isn't almost twelve o'clock," ejaculated he. "It's only three minutes behind schedule to-day. Still we must get it down finer than that. Besides, I'd rather it gained than lost time; losing is a grievous fault. Now what selection shall we play? Choose quickly for there isn't much leeway—"
"I'll have the dance."
"On with the dance!" McPhearson exclaimed gayly.
Opening the door at the front he moved the single hand until it pointed to the air desired. And he was none too soon, for an instant later the clock struck the hour and then, after a short pause, Christopher heard the tinkle of bells, thin, clear, and sweet, beginning to play a quaint snatch of melody. It was not at all the sort of dance music the boy had expected. Instead it was a merry little tune so gay one could not but be glad that noontide had come and that the sun rode high in the heavens.
"Jove, but that's jolly!" cried Christopher with delight. "I wish it would play right over again. If I had a clock like that I should run to listen to it every time it struck."
"That is what our men here did at first," laughed McPhearson. "They all threw down their tools and rushed here like a pack of children."
"Couldn't anybody buy one of these clocks?"
"I'm afraid were you to try to, you would find it would cost a small fortune," answered the Scotchman. "Once you could have secured such an article at a very modest price; but values increase with time, and to-day the work of Richard Parsons and those like him is at a premium. Moreover, old bracket clocks are not often for sale. Those who own them are aware of their value and will not part with them."
"Then I guess all I can do is to listen to this one," sighed Christopher.
"That is all I can do myself," McPhearson declared, with a wan smile. "I should consider Ihad a fortune could I own a treasure like this. But at least if I cannot own it, I can have the fun of keeping it running and there is some satisfaction in that."
"I should think there'd be a lot!" cried Christopher.
Leavingthe repairing department, Christopher strolled to the edge of the balcony and idly looked down. Below all was bustle and brilliancy. Brass, copper, silver, and jewels flashed in the light of the galleries beneath him, which despite the fact that Thanksgiving was barely over, were already astir with the vanguard of Christmas shoppers. Far down on the main door he could see men and women in eager consultation over Colonial silver, Sheffield trays, gay-colored feather fans and multi-hued parasols.
For quite an interval he watched, deriving no small degree of amusement from the uncertainty, anxiety, animated gestures and helpless bewilderment of some of the less inspired of the visitors; then, wearying of this entertainment, he descended by the stairway to the third and afterward to the second gallery, where he again paused to lean over the carved rail and obtain a closer view of the panorama.
It chanced that just beneath him was a long showcase filled with gems before which two gentlemen in fur coats were standing, earnestly conversing with the salesman. On the counter lay a tray of rings and these one of the men was trying on and examining. It was plain from the clerk'seager manner that his prospective purchaser was wavering between two costly articles, neither one of which quite suited him. With desperate earnestness the salesman pleaded, cajoled, and argued, and unconsciously Christopher, looking down, became almost as interested as he to see what would come of the matter.
The taller man slipped a band of diamonds on his finger, turned it round, held the hand it graced at arm's length, then frowned, took off the ring, and tried the other.
Meantime his friend was called on for his opinion and advised sympathetically. Christopher pursed his lips scornfully. The two were like a pair of vain old peacocks and silly as women, thought he. How foolish for men to be wearing jewels, anyway. You wouldn't catch him arrayed in a big diamond ring. And the strangest part of it was that the man who was thus frittering away his money did not look at all like a fop but was tall, muscular, and had a scar, not unlike a sword cut, across his right cheek. It was a strange mark that ran from his ear almost to the corner of his mouth, and it gave his face a disagreeable, sinister expression.
His comrade was less robust—a small, wiry fellow, who seemed lost in the heavy coat he wore. In spite of the heat of the room, he had not turned down his collar, which all but concealed his face, and once Christopher noticed that he leaned surreptitiously forward and drew that of his companion higher about his ears. Thus they dallied, laughing, joking, objecting, until the distractedclerk, fearful lest he lose such promising customers, was well-nigh out of his wits. It seemed as if they never would be suited, and at last, suddenly inspired, the salesman dashed off to the farther end of the show case in evident search for something he had forgotten to show them.
It was during the instant he was thus occupied that Christopher saw, or thought he saw, the taller of the men wrench the ring he was wearing from his finger, drop it inside his glove, and substitute for it one his companion handed him. The exchange—if exchange it was—took place in a flash and was over so quickly the boy could scarcely believe his eyes. A second later the clerk returned triumphantly, displayed another ring, and renewed his attentions without noticing anything amiss. But his purchasers shook their heads, pushed the rings aside, and moved away.
Then, and not until then, was Christopher urged to action. He awakened as out of a dream, wondering whether what he had witnessed was real, and if it was, what he ought to do. The two fur-coated gentlemen were almost at the door. If he was to do anything at all, it must be now. Fortunately a stairway was at no great distance; and he raced down it as fast as his feet would carry him. When he reached the street floor, the door had, alas, closed on the suspected thieves. It came to him now how much wiser it would have been had he shouted from the balcony, instead of waiting to descend. If he had done that the men might have been stopped before they got away. But it was all so unbelievable that he hadn't thenerve to cry out. Had he been mistaken, a pretty sort of fool he would have appeared; besides, he had not thought of it. His bright ideas always seemed to come afterward.
Well, at any rate he was alert enough now. It took him no time to rush up to the perspiring clerk, who, discouraged, stood mopping his brow, and gasp:
"Those men—one of them took a ring—I saw him."
"What!"
"He did. He put it in his glove."
"But the rings are all here."
"It was another one," panted Christopher. "His friend slipped it to him and he—"
The salesman paled. Breathlessly he dragged out the tray of rings and pounced upon one of them.
"My soul!" he faltered weakly. "You're right. It's a fake. There's no mark on it. Ring, Grant! Ring that bell for the detective. The 'phone—quick—and call headquarters! We'll put somebody on their track as fast as ever we can." Then, turning to Christopher, he shouted accusingly, "Why in the deuce didn't you sing out before they got away? And where were you, anyhow, that you saw the affair?"
While the other clerks at the counter gathered round Christopher, he related exactly what he had witnessed.
"You'd know the chaps again?"
"I'd know the big one—I'm sure I should, because of the scar on his cheek."
"Scar? I didn't notice it," murmured the unhappy salesman. "I was too busy listening to their blarney, I guess. They meant I should be, too—idiot that I was. I can't see why you didn't sing out, kid." The clerk, thoroughly demoralized, had apparently entirely forgotten that Christopher was the son of the senior partner.
"I was too surprised! It was all so quick, you see. It almost seemed as if it hadn't happened," repeated the boy wretchedly.
"Why blame the boy, Hollings, when you yourself hadn't the wit to be on your guard?" put in the man called Grant.
"That's so! That's so!" moaned the unfortunate fellow.
"At least he has lost little time. He has given us pretty prompt warning and enabled us to get our nets out much sooner than we should have otherwise. But for him, you might not have discovered anything was wrong before night."
"I know. Yes, he's done a big service, certainly. But it would have been a bigger had he stopped the thieves before they made their get-away."
"There is no use to go back to that. Neither you nor I would, perhaps, have done better. Had he shouted from the balcony and accused two innocent customers of stealing, we should have been a sight worse off. The lad was just being prudent."
"Yes! Yes, he did the wise thing, I guess, since he wasn't sure."
"We cannot insult patrons without proof."
"No."
"Besides, if Master Christopher took good heed of the rascals and can help to identify them, he will do still further service."
"To be sure—yes—yes—of course," the distraught clerk answered. "But it is all very unfortunate. To think of their putting it over on me—me, who have been here twenty years and never lost an article. It's terrible!"
"Cheer up, Hollings."
"I shall lose my place," wailed Hollings. "Lose it as sure as the world. Wait until the boss hears of it."
"My father is never unjust," Christopher put in stoutly.
"Your father? I beg your pardon, Mr. Christopher. I'd forgotten you were here, sir. No, your father always does the square thing," Hollings hastened to declare. "But he'll not understand. He'll think I should have been more careful! And so I had—I won't deny it. But my wife and children—my God!"
"Come, come, Hollings," interrupted a newcomer, whom the group greeted as Mr. Rhinehart. "There's no good crying over spilled milk. We may get the ring back again, you know."
"Oh, do you think so?"
"There is a good chance of it. I have telephoned and headquarters has its nets set already. The pawnshops are watched and so are the roads out of the city. The police, too, have their orders. Any minute we expect the inspector to talk with you and this young gentleman here."
"With me?" Christopher exclaimed with a start.
"Surely! You're the hero of this adventure, son."
"Not much of a hero, I'm afraid."
"Well, you're the one who escaped being the hero, then," laughed Mr. Rhinehart. "At least, you know more of the affair than does anybody else."
"But I'd be scared to death of the inspector," faltered the boy.
"Pooh! He's only a man, sonny, like any other. You've nothing to fear from him, since you are on the right side of the fence. If you were on the wrong side, then indeed you might tremble."
"The inspector has arrived," a messenger from upstairs announced. "He is in Mr. Burton's office with the members of the firm. He wishes to see the house detective, the salesman, and young Burton."
"I guess I'm in for it," Hollings whispered to Mr. Rhinehart.
"Nonsense! Tell the truth—that's all you've got to do."
"But I was such a duffer!"
"I fumbled the ball, too, Mr. Hollings," interrupted Christopher consolingly. "Remember I didn't play a very brilliant game."
"The game wasn't up to you, sonny," Hollings returned. "It was I. I did the foozling."
Up they shot in the elevator.
The messenger in his uniform and buttons went ahead and opened the door.
"Mr. Hollings is here, sir," announced he. "And Mr. Christopher and the detective, Mr. Waldron."
As the three crossed the threshold and entered the office, Christopher saw Mr. Norcross and the inspector. A deep hush was upon the room. Not only did its occupants look grave—they looked severe—awesome. One glance and the lad did not wonder poor Hollings' knees knocked together. Mr. Norcross was imposing enough, but the inspector was even worse; and as for the senior partner of the firm—well, he was Mr. Christopher Mark Antony Burton, third, arrayed in his most awful dignity. Even his son trembled before him.
"Andso, Hollings," the great Mr. Burton began, "while your back was turned, you have lost some of our valuable diamonds."
"My back was not turned, sir," objected Hollings. "I merely looked away a minute."
"Long enough to give a pair of thieves the opportunity to work."
"It hardly seemed so."
"But it was."
"I'm afraid so, Mr. Burton. I am deeply sorry, sir; and yet had I it to do over again I hardly see—"
"It wasn't his fault, Dad—indeed it wasn't. I saw the whole thing, you know. It was done so fast you almost thought your eyes deceived you."
"Oh, the men were experts. There can be no questions about that!" cut in the deep voice of the inspector. "Now, Mr. Burton, instead of wasting time in reprimands, we've got to get down to facts. May I question these people?"
"Certainly, certainly!" Mr. Burton, however, seemed to be taken aback at being treated with such scant ceremony. "This is Mr. Hollings, the clerk; and this lad is my son, Christopher."
"Very good! Now, Mr. Hollings, suppose youtell your tale first. Relate exactly what happened—not what you thought or supposed. Stick to facts."
"I will, sir."
In a trembling voice Hollings began his story, and as he recounted it, Mr. Inspector jotted it down, merely pausing now and then to ask a curt question.
"Can you describe the men?" inquired he, when the narrative was finished.
"I'm afraid I can't, sir, beyond the fact that both of them wore raccoon motoring coats, and kept their collars pretty well turned up. You see I was far too much occupied with what they were saying to consider how they looked."
"You could not identify them then?"
"Not positively—no, I regret to say I couldn't. I might possibly recognize the hand or the voice of the big man."
"The one who tried on the rings?"
"Yes, sir."
"But you could not pick him out from a group of others or identify him by photograph."
"No, I couldn't."
"That's a pity. In your work you should be more observing."
"I know I should. I will be in the future."
The inspector smiled grimly.
"We all lock the gate after the cows are out of the pasture," commented he. "Well, if this is all you can offer, I'll try the boy. Your name, sonny."
"Christopher Burton."
"Christopher Mark Antony Burton, fourth," interrupted his father in an aggrieved tone.
"Does all that belong to you?" asked the inspector, his eyes fixed on the lad's face with hawk-like scrutiny.
"I'm afraid it does."
"Afraid, Christopher!" Mr. Burton ejaculated. "Afraid! Why, it is a fine, honorable name. Your grandfather and your great-grandfather—"
"Suppose we omit his grandfathers for the present," said the inspector, unceremoniously putting an end to Mr. Burton's dissertation. "So that's your name, is it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why didn't you give the whole of it at the beginning?"
"Oh, because there are such yards of it."
The inspector grinned.
"Now be good enough to tell usyourversion of this affair. Relate exactly what you saw, heard, and did."
"I'm afraid I didn't do much," protested Christopher sheepishly.
"You might have done more and I won't deny I wish to goodness you had. However, you acted with considerable sense. You might have done worse—much worse."
"I'm glad if you think so," the boy asserted modestly. "It seemed to me afterward that I had been very stupid. It all was so quick! Almost like sleight-of-hand."
"You were up against experts, sonny," Mr. Inspectorremarked more gently than he had yet spoken. "You did well to detect them at all. Now fire ahead with your yarn."
In simple, straightforward fashion Christopher told his story and it was evident several parts afforded his critical listener satisfaction, for twice he muttered beneath his breath:
"Very good!Verygood!"
The tale finished, Christopher paused, breathless.
"Could you give me any description of these fellows?" his cross questioner inquired.
"The big chap—the one who tried on the rings—was tall, heavy, had light hair and a bald spot on the top of his head. I looked right down on it."
"Excellent!"
"His eyes I could not see. His face was smooth-shaven, and on his right cheek, going from his ear almost to the corner of his mouth, was a white, queer sort of scar that—"
The inspector started from his seat, then sank back again.
"Ah!" was all he said. "And the other fellow?"
"Small, dark, black-haired, with a coat much too big for him. His nose was sharp, and he kept looking over his shoulder."
"Anything else?"
"I'm afraid that's all, except that his hands were dirty as if they had been in ink or grease or something. Maybe they hadn't, though."
The inspector beamed upon him.
"You have a very observing son, Mr. Burton, very! He's a fine lad. You should be proud of him."
"Has he helped you at all?"
"At all? He has given me precisely the information I was after."
"And you think you could identify the men?"
"I know them already."
"Know who they are?" gasped Christopher.
"Yes."
It was obvious the expert was enjoying the lad's mystification.
"You don't mean you know their names," persisted Christopher.
"Indeed I do—all their many names, for they have almost as long a list of them as you have yourself."
The inspector evidently considered this a good joke, for he laughed heartily at it without noticing how the great Mr. Burton glared at him.
"And not only do I know their names, but I have their pictures as well," he continued, when he had done laughing. "What do you think of that?"
"Met them before, have you?" interrogated Mr. Burton, his disapproval mollified to some degree by his pride in his son.
"Oh, I know all about that pair," replied the inspector; "if they prove to be the couple I think them. No wonder your clerk failed to suspect them. They are very polished gentleman."
"They were indeed, sir," Hollings put in. "They had a million-dollar air about them."
"I know they had. They are crackajacks at this sort of thing. They are wanted this minute in Chicago for a job not unlike this one."
"Really!"
Christopher's face glowed with excitement. To think he had actually beheld two such desperate characters and given evidence against them! If he had only spoken sooner and helped to capture them!
Something of this regret probably shadowed his brow, for the inspector added:
"They would have managed their get-away even had you given the alarm, son. Both were doubtless well armed and prepared to make their escape. Taken by surprise, as you clerks all were, no one could have stopped them. They would have shot any person who obstructed their dash for liberty."
"Do you think so?" Poor Hollings drew a breath of relief.
"I know it. They've done it before. They had their pistols and a waiting motor car, and had no mind to be caught."
"Then if I'd yelled from the balcony—"
"It would have done no good and would, perhaps, have done much harm instead. You would merely have furnished an alarm on which they would instantly have acted. As it is, we know them, and our nets are out. I would, however, like to take your son down to headquarters, Mr. Burton, and let him look over our photographs just to see if he can pick these winners from the bunch."
"Certainly, sir. Certainly! Get your hat and coat, Christopher. I believe I'll go along too, Mr. Inspector, if you are willing. My son and I were just starting out to lunch."
"By all means; I have a car here."
"I don't suppose I could persuade you to—"
"No, thank you, Mr. Burton. I'm up to my ears in business, sir. However, you are very kind. I must get right back to headquarters as fast as I can."
"I see."
"This is a detailed description of the ring, is it?" continued he, tapping an envelope he held in his hand. "Size of the diamonds, their weight, the complete record?"
"Yes."
"Good. I guess that's all we need."
"Do you think you will be able to—"
"To land the jewels, you mean? I can't tell you that, sir. It's too early in the game."
"I suppose so. It was a foolish question."
Evidently the inspector was of the same opinion, for he made no answer.
"Well, that's all, Hollings," announced the great man, turning to his clerk. "You may go now."
"I hope and pray the ring may be recovered, sir. I shall not have a happy moment until it is."
"All that must rest with the police. The case is in their keeping now," was his employer's terse reply.
In the meantime, Mr. Norcross had not said anything at all. He seldom did say anything.But as the group rose to depart, he dragged himself up out of his chair and, as if giving his blessing to the enterprise, remarked:
"Good luck to you, Inspector!"
"Thank you, sir."
Then Christopher, his father and the Chief entered the elevator and afterward the car that took them to headquarters.
Here the boy had displayed before him an array of photographs from which he had not the slightest trouble in picking that of the man with the scar; but his sharp-nosed companion he was unable to identify.
"I thought I'd recognize him anywhere," lamented Christopher. "His hair was so black and thick that—"
At the words, the inspector jumped a little.
"Ha!" exclaimed he. "Tony wore a wig, did he?" He opened a drawer. "Any of these look like him?"
He passed to Christopher a handful of pictures.
"There he is," cried the lad presently, choosing one out of the lot. "There he is! Only he didn't have his glasses on."
"I fancy he isn't dependent on them all the time," chuckled the inspector. "Well done, my boy. Yes, that's Tony when he's dressed up. The reason you didn't recognize him was because in the other picture he wasn't. Clothes do not make the man, but wigs, glasses, and things change him a good deal. That's all, gentlemen. I now have all the information I wish, and need not detain you."
"I suppose I shall be notified when any news is obtained," said Mr. Burton, rising. He wasn't used to being dismissed in this curt fashion. When any dismissing was to be done, it was usually he who did it.
"Yes, sir. As soon as anything definite is known.Goodmorning!" But to Christopher he reached out a detaining hand. "You've done uncommonly well, sonny," he whispered. "Don't worry because you didn't land the chaps. I'm only thankful you didn't give them the chance to shoot you. We'll have the birdies yet."
"Shall I have to go to court?"
"Court? Perhaps. But, Lord! A boy that can tell as straight a story as you needn't fear that. It's not half as bad as being stood up to face me."
"I didn't mind you at all."
"I'm glad of that. I don't want my job to turn me into an ogre. There are people who don't feel that way about me." He laughed slyly. "Don't you fret about being haled into court. Several persons besides ourselves wish to meet those two distinguished gentlemen we are after. When we get them they will have to be shipped to Chicago and various other cities. You stand a slim chance of having any very extensive acquaintance with them."
The voice of Mr. Burton, who was loitering impatiently outside, was now heard calling:
"Christopher! Christopher!"
"That's your dad. He's getting tired of cooling his heels in the corridor. He isn't used to it. Better trot along, sonny. Somebody mightmistake him for a questionable character and run him in."
The inspector's hearty "Haw, haw!" lent to his laughter the suspicion that he found something intensely humorous about Mr. Christopher Mark Antony Burton, third, senior partner of the firm of Burton and Norcross.
Itdoes not take long for news to travel, and when Christopher entered the shop the next morning it was to find himself quite a hero. On every hand clerks saluted him with such greetings as:
"Well, how is Sherlock Holmes to-day?"
"Have you been landing any more bandits, Mr. Christopher?"
"Joined the secret service yet, Master Christopher?"
Poor Christopher, who was none too proud of the part he had played, was a good deal abashed; nevertheless he tried to accept the banter cheerfully, perceiving that it was kindly intentioned. But the glory of it paled at last, and, weary of such jests, he fled to seek out McPhearson, who, he felt sure, would offer him no flattery.
The Scotchman was so busy toiling over the bracket clock with the chimes that he did no more than glance up when the boy dropped down on the stool opposite.
"I hear you did a pretty bit of work yesterday," he at last remarked.
"No, I didn't. On the contrary I was darn stupid. I had the chance to be a hero, but I muffed it."
"They didn't seem to think so downstairs," was the clockmaker's laconic retort.
"Oh, I didn't do much of anything, honest I didn't, Mr. McPhearson. I just happened along at the right time—or, perhaps—at the wrong," explained the boy with an embarrassed laugh.
"Apparently it was decidedly at the wrong," observed the old man, continuing to file with extreme care a bit of brass he held between his fingers.
Christopher watched, admiring the speed and skill of his gnarled fingers.
"How's she getting along?" ventured he after a long silence.
"She's about O. K. now. Running fine—I'm just tinkering the catch on the door, for even Richard Parsons cannot coax things into wearing forever. She'll go home to-day."
There was a sigh from the Scotchman.
"I do believe you're sorry to be done with her," asserted the boy mischievously. A second later, however, he regretted his impulsive jest, for his companion answered gravely:
"I am. I've enjoyed working on her. I'd be far sorrier, though, did I not know she is going where she will be appreciated. The woman that owns her watches over her as if she were a live creature—and indeed she is—almost."
"It's nice to feel she isn't being wasted on some dumbbell, isn't it?" declared Christopher, catching the old man's enthusiasm.
"She's not being wasted. I can answer for that. I know the house where she lives well, forI've been there times without number to regulate clocks. There are some beauties and they have the history of every one of them—the name of the maker, the date when they were made, the place, and all. I like to handle clocks for people like that. It shows they are intelligent and care. Some folks do not know one thing about their clocks. They won't even take the trouble to wind them regularly. Nevertheless they are the first ones to fuss if the poor things fail to keep good time. I wonder how they would like, for example, to have their meals served to them just whenever somebody happened to think of it."
Christopher nodded agreement with the sentiment.
"To be sure," McPhearson continued, "people sometimes own clocks that aren't worth much pains. Still, it's only right to keep them cleaned and help them to do the best they can, even at that. All clocks can't be Tompions, or Grahams, or Quares, any more than we can all be Washingtons and Lincolns. It isn't their fault nor ours."
"You care a lot about clocks, don't you?" meditated Christopher aloud.
"I suppose I do," the old man confessed. "Clocks have come to be almost people to me; in fact, some of them are a good sight better than people. By that, I mean they have finer traits. They go quietly ahead and do their work without bluster or complaint. When they don't it is usually because something's the matter with them. They are patient, faithful, useful, and were they to be taken out of the world they would be terriblymissed and would leave it a pretty higgledy-piggledy place."
"I guess there is no danger of the world being without clocks," returned Christopher comfortably. "There seem to be plenty to go round."
"But there weren't always plenty," broke in McPhearson quickly. "You chance to live in a fortunate age, young man, and do not half appreciate your blessings. Had you lived a few hundred years ago you would have had no clocks."
"Mercy on us! Why, how on earth did people manage to get on without them?"
"Primitive persons studied the sun and calculated by that," McPhearson responded. "Then some ingenious creature thought out the sundial whereby the hour could be gauged by a shadow; also marks were made where the sun would strike at a given time—perhaps at noon. Such a notch was called the noon mark."
"Oh, gee! But suppose there was no sun?"
"Exactly! Now you have put your finger on the pulse of the dilemma! What was to be done when there was no sun? The sundial at best was none too correct. In different latitudes, too, different markings were needed. Moreover, a sundial, to be of practical value, had to be kept steady. What was to happen on shipboard? On cloudy days? At night?"
"The sundial was about as much good as a fan would be in Greenland," grinned Christopher.
"Yes, just about. It was these sunless hours that were the problem."
"Humph! I never thought of that in my life."
"Most of us don't."
"I suppose that was why people began making clocks."
"You don't for a moment imagine men leaped from sundials to clocks, do you?" interrogated the Scotchman quizzically.
"Oh, perhaps not such nice ones as ours," conceded the boy with easy unconcern. "Still they had to tell time somehow."
"Clocks were a long way off from suns and shadows."
"But what did come next?"
"To sundials, you mean? Well, for a long, long time people could think of nothing better. They introduced trifling remedies now and then, however. For example, in the seventeenth century they evolved a portable dial that could be carried from place to place. Sometimes this was combined with a compass; sometimes it was made in the form of a ring. It was an awkward substitute for the watch, but it was, nevertheless, great-great-great-grandfather to it. Yet advantageous as it was to be able to carry the time about with you, it did nothing to lessen the long, unmarked stretch of darkness that descended upon the earth every night. How was man to solve that difficulty?"
"How indeed?"
"That was his puzzle—his nut to crack. Throughout the ages it has been conundrums like these that have taxed human ingenuity and made of life such an alluring adventure. On the conqueringof difficulties civilization has been built up. Well, man now attacked this problem of telling time. He did not aspire to narrow it down to any very fine point, for at that period of history one day was very like another, and he was a leisurely being with little to do but eat, sleep, fight or hunt. Notwithstanding this, however, he did want to knowwhenit was noon;whenit would be day. King Alfred, one of the English monarchs, hit upon a plan for telling the hours of the night by means of tall candles, made to burn a definite interval. When, for example, one of his candles burned out, he knew that four or six hours had passed. Other persons went further and had candles marked off into hours with black and white wax—"
"That was a clever scheme!"
"Clever, yes; and all very well for kings who could afford to burn wax tapers night after night. But there were, alas, many unfortunates who couldn't. Accordingly the obstacle persisted, and urged the world on to the next step up the time-telling ladder."
"And what was that?" demanded Christopher with interest.
"Telling time by water."
"Bywater! But how?"
"It was not so difficult as it sounds. In reality it was quite a simple plan. The ancients would take a jar, make a tiny hole in the bottom of it, fill it with water, and let the water drip slowly out. Having measured how long it would take to empty the jar, they had a sort of water clock."
"Bravo! That was certainly easy."
"Easy and far better than the sundial, too, for water would drip either in light or darkness, on cloudy days as well as bright ones. By means of marks on the jar, shorter intervals of time could also be determined. The receptacle, however, had to be kept filled and the hole free so there should be no variation in the regularity of the dripping. This water clock was called aclepsydra, the name being taken from two Greek words meaning 'thief of water.' Well, as you may imagine, the populace were delighted with this contrivance. It seemed as if now they certainly had the prize for which they had been searching. Moreover, with the water clock a new factor in time came into being. Instead of tellingwhen, as the sundial did, the clepsydra, by measuring a given interval, toldhow long, which was a very different thing indeed. In other words it began to draw people's attention to the duration of time."
"That is different, isn't it?" mused the boy.
"Quite another matter altogether," McPhearson said. "Immediately the Athenians, who had invented the device, put it to work and proceeded to limit the length of time speakers should talk in their courts of justice. Evidently then, as now, men were fond of making speeches and arguing and became so fascinated by hearing themselves talk that they forgot to stop. Now here was something that would put a check on them. When a case came up for a hearing, the accuser was allowed the first jar of water, the accused the second,and the judge the third. Stationed beside the clepsydra was a special officer whose duty it was not only to fill it but to stop the flow whenever a speaker was interrupted, thereby making certain he was not cheated of any of the time due him."
"A bully scheme!" Christopher remarked.
"It worked," McPhearson answered. "With such strict rules you may be sure there was none of the thing the Athenians termed 'babbling.' Men guarded their words like jewels when each word meant the dripping away of his allotted time."
"And did people continue to use this water clock?"
"Yes, for quite a time, but after a while they began to find fault with it. In the first place they noticed that when the vessel was full the greater pressure of water caused it to drip much faster than when there was not much in it. This they had not considered before, and the discovery forced them to attempt to improve it. This they did by concocting a sort of double jar. In the lower one there was a float that rose as the container filled; and since the top one was constantly replenished, it kept the pressure in the bottom one uniform."
"The best yet!"
"Much the best. In fact it was a stride ahead from several standpoints, for although it could not really be termed a machine it nevertheless was a device that did for man something he would otherwise have had to do for himself, which isthe aim of all machinery. In just that proportion he moved toward a civilization where artificial methods relieved him of his labor. Thus he advanced quite a distance from that primitive condition when he did everything with his hands toward his next state of fashioning tools that would do what he wished to do better and quicker; here was something which worked independently of him."
"Why, so it was! I never thought before that man passed through those three stages," ejaculated Christopher with pleasure; "it makes our old forefathers twice as interesting, doesn't it?"
"Three times as interesting," the Scotchman laughingly responded. "Facts make very delightful stories, if you fasten them together. Scattered, unrelated information is both dry and worthless. It is only when linked up in the chain of history that it becomes interesting and valuable."
"The trouble with me is I never know where the things I learn belong," observed the lad soberly. "It's like fitting pieces into a puzzle when you've no notion what picture you are making."
"I know, sonny," returned the old man with sympathy. "But do not imagine you are the only one who is not always able to put in the proper place the scraps of knowledge in his possession. Many an older person has wondered what part his learning had in the gigantic total of the ages. World history is conceived on a pretty big scale, you see. But that all we glean is somehow linkedup with the rest, you may be very sure. Certainly this clepsydra was."
"It's easy enough to see thatafterward," asserted Christopher. "And so the Greeks managed to fix up their water clock to their satisfaction, after all."
"Alas, not wholly to their satisfaction," was the answer, "for presently other difficulties concerning it arose. For example, unless the water poured into it was absolutely clean, the hole would fill up and the drip become slower; moreover, you must consider what happened in cold weather, for not only were these water clocks in unheated buildings, but you will recall they were set up in the market place or public square so the villagers might consult them. Here assembled the watch, whose duty it was to patrol the town and blow a horn for the changing of the guard; here, too, was stationed the officer whose duty it was at stated hours to refill the clepsydra."
"Oh, I suppose the darn thing froze—that probably was the next obstacle," grinned Christopher.
"It was," nodded McPhearson.
"Then it couldn't have been much better than the old sundial," the lad sniffed, with contempt.
"It had its outs. Nevertheless it held the front of the stage about two thousand years, and then I am sure you will agree it was high time a better device was substituted."
"And what was that?"
"The sand glass."
"Our hourglass, you mean?"
"Yes—or half-hour, quarter-hour—any fraction of an hour you choose. The idea of the sand glass was not entirely new, because some form of running sand had long before been used in the Far East. But the sand glass as we know it was new to the European world, and you cannot but agree it was a far more practical article than was the clepsydra for it neither froze nor had to be replenished. Moreover, it was lighter, less bulky, and could be carried about, and the old water clocks could not—that is, not without great inconvenience and danger of breaking. Oh, the sand glass was vastly better! Even now, after all these years, it is not entirely out of date, for it is still used to mark definite intervals of time."
"I have one at home to practice by."
"Many persons use them," the clockmaker averred. "It is not unusual to have speakers limit their addresses by them. In fact, a two-minute glass is still employed in the House of Commons and until 1839 the British Navy measured the watch on shipboard by a glass that ran an hour and a half. The marking off of time in such definite lengths as this, however, did not take place in ancient times. At that period people seldom attempted fine measurements of the day. The problem of hours, minutes, seconds, and fractions of them was something they scarcely dreamed of. Nor did they need to cut their time up into such small parts. Life, as I before remarked, was not very rushing. Nobody expected to meet anybody else at a particular instant in those far-away, lazy, easy-going times, or to go anywhere on the minute.If you arrived at where you were going before the darkness fell that was all even the most ambitious asked. The splitting up of time with our present-day nicety is of comparatively modern working out."
"That seems funny, doesn't it?" Christopher suggested.
"Yes, until you see how naturally it grew out of an advancing civilization. After this slow-moving, sleepy interval of idleness and ignorance, when there were no books, no schools, no learning of any kind, there came a great waking up, or Renaissance, which stirred the populace in every direction. Printing was invented, books written, and people, hearing of other lands, began to travel. In consequence life became busier and time more valuable. Moreover, with the spread of Christianity, monasteries and convents were everywhere erected, and attached to these religious orders were specified intervals for work, prayer and various masses and services. Such periods were marked off by the ringing of bells. Thus it happened quite consistently that the first clocks introduced were in religious buildings and on the spires of churches and were without faces or hands, merely indicating by the stroke of one or more bells the termination of the hour."
"But I should not call that a clock at all," Christopher objected.
"Oh, it was a clock. Such a contrivance could not perform its function without works. The bell or bells rung as a result of turning wheels. Moreover, the very word 'clock' is derived from aroot which in almost every language means 'bell.' The French wascloche, the Saxonclugga. Thus it came about that later on the works of more modern clocks frequently had two distinct mechanisms: the bell portion that chimed or struck the hour, and the section that included the moving of the hands. Years afterward we find this distinction still maintained, and discover old clockmakers speaking of a clock that did not strike merely as atimekeeper."
"How curious!" murmured Christopher. "And who was it that evolved this machine that would strike the hours?"
"That, I suppose, we shall never positively know; but in all probability it was a monk, who, having considerable leisure at his command and perhaps being held responsible for the ringing of the monastery bell once in so often, bethought himself of a scheme whereby the bell could be made to ring without him. History tells us that William, Abbott of Hirschau, who died toward the end of the eleventh century, invented a horologium modeled after the celestial hemisphere; therefore he may have been the inventor of the clock, for soon after his death these striking bells begin to make their appearance on church towers and in other religious buildings.
"A couple of centuries later we read of clocks being sent as presents. Sultan Saladin sent to Emperor Frederick II a very ambitious article which by means of weights and wheels not only indicated the hours but the course of the sun, moon, and planets. Now who invented such an affair as thatwe do not know. It must, however, have been some ingenious Saracen who certainly could have heard nothing about the Abbott of Hirschau and his striking bells. Indeed, when one considers the superstition of the age, we cannot but grant it was almost fortunate a clock such as ours was not then invented, for people were great believers in witchcraft and were liable to attribute to evil spirits anything they did not understand, and forthwith destroy it."
"How ridiculous!" scoffed Christopher.
"They were children, remember—intellectual children—ignorant as babies because, poor souls, they had had neither books nor teaching. Savages are, you know, terrified at a thing they cannot fathom and these persons were as yet little more. Well, at any rate, clocks began to make their appearance. By 1286 one of these faceless mechanisms was put up on St. Paul's Cathedral in London; and before 1300, others were, by order of the clergy, installed at Canterbury and Westminster."
"And these just chimed or struck?"
"That is all. On some was a single bell; on others crudely carved wooden figures beat out the hour on a series of bells. All these were known as 'clocks,' the term 'horologe' not yet being in common use."
"Horologe!" repeated Christopher slowly. "You don't suppose that word has anything to do with the Latinhora, meaning hour, do you?"
"I suppose it has a good deal," McPhearson returned with a dry smile.
"Really!" Plainly Christopher was delighted by this discovery. "Well, well! Old Cæsar, Esquire, isn't so bad, after all.Hora!I never expected to see the day that stuff would be of any earthly use."
"I told you all you needed to do with what you learn is to link it to something else."
"But I never seemed to be able to hook it on before," confided the lad frankly. "Gee, but it makes me chesty! I'm pleased to death with myself!"
To save himself the old Scotchman could not but chuckle at his companion's naïve satisfaction.
"Somehow it's a bit tough to get this linking-up idea just when I can't do any more studying," added the boy a trifle wistfully.
"Oh, you will be back at school before long, son; and if you go back more eager to learn will that not be a gain?"
"Sure it will!Hora!Jove! I made a neat guess, didn't I? And that's where that horologium you were talking about came from, too. I'm not so worse. Miss Alden, my Latin teacher, would fall in a faint if she heard me rolling out these Latin derivatives, I'll bet. I'm not often taken this way. Say, Mr. McPhearson, I seem to be learning quite a lot if I'm not in school. This is a darn pleasanter way to do it, too."
Bythe end of two weeks, school with its games and its bells for recitation had become a thing of the past and Christopher felt as much at home in his father's shop as if his name was inscribed upon its payroll.
Nevertheless, despite the lapse of time, no trace either of the missing gems or of the two diamond robbers had been secured. Both Mr. Burton and Mr. Norcross were beginning to be discouraged, and feared the culprits would never be captured; even Christopher's hope of seeing his adventure brought to a favorable climax was fading. As for poor Hollings, he was another man altogether and it seemed as if he would never be able to hold his head up again. A part of the value of the gems was, to be sure, covered by burglar insurance, and therefore the loss to the firm would not be great; rather it was the disgrace of the episode that bowed the salesman to the ground. He was an old and trusted employee who took the matter so hard that within the fortnight he aged visibly and his hair actually seemed to whiten. Christopher pitied him and so did everybody else, and by and by public sentiment was almost more concerned with his unhappiness than with the tragedy that caused it.
"Dad doesn't harbor any grudge against you, Mr. Hollings!" repeated the lad for the twentieth time, in a hope of consoling the unfortunate clerk. "Neither does Mr. Norcross. I heard him tell my father so."
"That isn't the point, sonny," his listener responded dejectedly. "Of course it's kind of them not to blame me. They'd be well within their rights were they to turn me off. What bothers me is that I should let such a thing happen."
"You couldn't help it."
"I know—I know. It doesn't seem as if I could," the man answered, shaking his head. "But I ought to have helped it—somehow."
That was Hollings' constant lament.
Round and round in a circle went he and Christopher, the lad constantly trying to brighten and encourage, and the clerk as invariably bringing up with this same doleful plaint. He was not to be comforted.
In the meantime Christopher, along with offering optimistic and repeated assertions that the diamonds would surely be found, was gleaning a surprising amount of information as he flitted about the store. He learned not only of clocks but interesting bits concerning the value and cutting of gems, the repairing of jewelry; the patterns of silverware, strange facts about pearls.
Since he was free to browse wherever he chose, he found no monotony in his environment. Furthermore he gradually sifted out the men who had made something of their calling and attached himself to them because they invariably proved to bethe most interesting. Those who merely sold what they had to sell and received the money he classed as bores and thereafter avoided.
It was amazing how many more of the latter there were than the former. The man possessing a broad knowledge of the wares he handled was rare. Several clerks, for example, were behind the gem counters but the boy soon discovered that when they wished an expert opinion they with one accord turned to a stumpy little fellow with a bald head who appeared to know every stone in the showcase by heart and knew just what country it came from; whether it was well cut; if it was perfect or marred by flaws; whether it was a tinge off the desired color, and numerous other facts concerning it. Christopher had not dreamed there was so much to know about precious stones, let alone all the wealth of romance connected with them as Mr. Rhinehart had stored up.
He could tell you where were the largest diamonds, rubies, and emeralds in the world; who owned them, and what they were worth; could give the history of many of the finest pearls and celebrated necklaces made from them; and at his tongue's end were stories regarding various gems as thrilling and delightful as any Arabian Night's tales. He it was who also had not only read about but had actually seen many of the crown jewels of the world and knew where celebrated collections of cameos, jade, and quaint Egyptian ornaments were exhibited. Indeed he seemed to have read and studied omnivorously and not a week passed that he did not add to his store of learning someinteresting romance of a pair of old Sheffield candlesticks or a royal ruby.
In fact Mr. Rhinehart was not just a man; he was a walking story-book, and, like McPhearson, a thoroughly delightful companion. Oh, he did not consider his job a humdrum one, it was easy to see that. He had lifted the traffic of jeweled ornaments, by means of which he earned his daily bread, out of the class of mere salesmanship.
"You never get tired of your work, do you, Mr. Rhinehart?" commented Christopher, when on a day trade was light, he stood listening to the alluring adventure of a string of black pearls.
"Tired of it? Why should I?"
"But lots of the men do," was the naïve observation. "They come in yawning in the morning, and seem bored to death at having to do the same old thing."
Mr. Rhinehart smiled.
"Work is what you make of it. A job can be interesting and carry you far beyond its narrow limitations or it can sink into becoming a daily grind. It's all as you see it. You get out of it just about what you put in."
"I begin to think you do," agreed Christopher. "I'm sure Mr. McPhearson, who repairs clocks upstairs, gets a hundred times more fun out of them than do the other men."
"McPhearson, the old Scotchman, you mean? A fine old chap, isn't he? So you have picked him out already! Well, you have chosen well, for there is almost nothing about clocks that he doesn'tknow," asserted Mr. Rhinehart with enthusiasm.
"I had no idea there was so much to know about them," confided the boy. "All I ever thought about a clock was to look and see whether it was right or not, and blame it if it wasn't. Now I've begun to believe it is pretty wonderful when it is."
"It is pretty wonderful," Mr. Rhinehart agreed. "The trouble with us is that we live in an age of wonders and have come to accept with complacency the fruit of the many brains that have given us myriads of perfect mechanisms. Almost every convenience and luxury about us was produced by toil and patient experiment. Clocks, for example, were very long in becoming the fine, reliable products they now are, as no doubt you have already learned. When their first makers got them to go at all the feat seemed so remarkable that the fact they did not keep good time was entirely lost sight of. But just you letourclocks or watches vary a minute or two a week, and we are quite out of humor with them, never taking into consideration how we jolt them about and subject them to heat, cold, and irregular winding. Where can you find any other piece of machinery that will run as long or as faithfully with so little care?
"A drop or two of oil, a cleaning now and then, and on they go without whimper or complaint, always ticking cheerfully. And the only thanks they ever receive is to be scolded at when they fail to any small degree." Mr. Rhinehart paused, then added drily, "Did any of us human machines do our work as well, we should have earned the rightto belabor them. As it is I consider we stand on rather delicate ground when we berate either a clock or a watch—especially an old one."
"Mr. McPhearson is fixing now a bracket clock made about 1720."
"He is? That means it has ticked and ticked over two hundred years, doesn't it! Neither your machinery nor mine will last that long. Think of the changes a veteran like that has outlived. It would be interesting, wouldn't it, if it could recount its history and tell us where it has been all that long time? A clock that survives for such a stretch of years is lucky, for it must have changed hands many times and traveled far from its birthplace. Moreover, fashion is fickle and owners are seldom loyal enough to respect what is shabby and old. In consequence many a clock has been sentenced to the attic or cellar, there to lie idle and rust out its life. That is the reason a genuine antique clock made by one of the fine makers is so valuable, and why so many of them have disappeared. There are types that are scarce as hen's teeth. Their owners, carried away by more modern designs, could not get them to the junkman fast enough."
Christopher would have laughed at Mr. Rhinehart's indignation had it not been so genuine.
"Oh, I won't pretend some of the more recent products may not be better than some of those of the past. Nevertheless an old clock, every part of which was carefully fashioned by the hand of an intelligent maker in deliberate, painstaking manner, is a far finer product than most of those turnedout by poor machinery. For you know—or will learn—that there are clocksand clocks. Many firms make them but all do not excel. Therefore I would counsel those who own the old aristocrats produced by skilled makers to hold on to them, even if they venerate neither their history nor their age. They may discard a treasure they cannot equal or replace. On the face of it, it stands to reason that any mechanism which will run two centuries or more was turned out by a workman who knew what he was about."
"That's what Mr. McPhearson thinks," said Christopher, rising. "Clocks are almost people to him."
"Are you going, sonny?"
"Yes, I guess I'll quit bothering you and bother Mr. McPhearson for a while. Dad said I mustn't make too long calls on people."
Moving off, the lad called the elevator and ascended to the fourth floor where he found his friend, the Scotchman, in the lowest of spirits.
"Well, she's gone!" exclaimed he mournfully. "I couldn't in conscience keep her here any longer when she was running so well."
"The bracket clock, you mean?"
"I do. I sent Hammond with her. He should have brains enough to land her at home without jouncing the life out of her; and he ought to be able to put her in place and make sure she is ticking even. If not, I shall have to go up where she lives and make sure for myself."
"You don't often leave the shop, do you?"
"Oh, sometimes. I haven't lately because ithasn't happened to be necessary. Moreover, I have had a good deal to do right here. The fall is my season for trotting about. After houses have been closed all summer and owners have neglected their clocks, I have to go round and start them again. What a barbarous custom it is to let clocks run down and stand idle for months! Why, if asked to do so, we can always send reliable men into houses to wind the clocks and keep them regulated. It costs only a trifle and pays in the end, if people were only aware of it. A clock neither wants nor needs a rest. On the contrary it is never so happy as when it is ticking. The woman who stopped her clock nights so it should not be wearing out the works did it no kindness."
A peal of appreciative laughter came from Christopher.
McPhearson reached for a small traveling clock and unscrewed the back of it.
"Humph!" sniffed he. "Solid with dirt! I'll wager it hasn't been cleaned for years. Still, it is expected to go all the same. If its owner had half that amount of dust in his eye he would be off to an oculist as fast as ever his feet would carry him. Such creatures do not deserve to have clocks. They should have lived when there weren't any."
"Back in the thirteenth century, you mean?" queried Christopher, not unwilling to display his knowledge.
"Oh, they were just beginning to get them by that time," McPhearson objected instantly. "By the fourteenth century there were clocks that really began to be clocks. In 1326, for example, theAbbott of St. Albans made a marvelous clock which not only showed the course of the sun and moon but the ebb and flow of the tide. In the meantime more big clocks began to be put up on the church towers. But remember, none of these could boast any nice degree of accuracy; it was many, many years later before the secrets of correct time-keeping were mastered. Nevertheless every little while a leap forward would be made, and one of these jumps came about 1340 when Peter Lightfoot, a monk, made for Glastonbury Abbey a clock with an escapement and regulator for securing equitable motion."