“It's a good while since you've invented anything, isn't it, Hawkins?” I had said the night before.
“Um-um,” Hawkins had murmured.
“Must be two months?”
“Ah?” Hawkins had smiled.
“What is it? Life insurance companies on to you?”
“Um-ah,” Hawkins had replied.
“Or have you really given it up for good? It can't be, can it?”
“Oh-ho,” Hawkins had yawned, and there I stopped questioning him.
Satan himself must have concocted the business which sent me—or started me—toward Philadelphia next morning. Perhaps, though, the railroad company was as much to blame; they should have known better.
The man in the moon was no further from my thoughts than Hawkins as I stepped ashore on the Jersey side of the ferry to take the train. Yet there stood Hawkins in the station.
He seemed to be fussing violently as he lingered by the door of one of the offices. Unperceived, I came close enough to hear him murmur thrice in succession something about “blamed nonsense—devilish red-tape.”
Surely something had worked him up. I wondered what it was.
As I watched, an apologetic-looking youth appeared in the door of the office and handed Hawkins an official-appearing slip of paper.
The inventor snatched it impolitely and turned his back, while the youth gazed after him for a moment and then returned to the office.
“Set of confounded idiots!” Hawkins remarked wrathfully.
Then, ere I could disappear, he spied me.
“Aha, Griggs, you here?”
“No, I'm not,” I said flatly. “If there's any trouble brewing, Hawkins, consider me back in New York. What has excited you?”
“Excited me? Those fool railroad officials are enough to drive a man to the asylum. Did you see how they kept me standing outside that door?”
“Well, did you want to stand inside the door, Hawkins?”
“I didn't want to stand anywhere in the neighborhood of their infernal door! The idea of making me get a permit to ride on an engine! Me!”
“I don't know how else you'd manage it, Hawkins, unless you applied for a job as fireman. Why on earth do you want to ride on a locomotive?”
“Oh, it's not a locomotive, Griggs. You don't understand. Where are you bound for?”
“Philadelphia.”
“Ten:ten?” Hawkins cried eagerly.
“Ten:ten,” I said.
“Then, by George, you'll be with us! You'll see the whole show!”
Hawkins caught my coat-sleeve and dragged me toward the train-gates.
“See, here,” I said, detaining him, “what whole show?”
“The—oh, come and see it before we start.”
“No, sir!” I said firmly. “Not until I know what it is. Are you going to play any monkey-shines with the locomotive, Hawkins? What is it?”
“But why don't you come and see for yourself?” the inventor cried impatiently. “It's—it's——”
He paused for a moment.
“Why, it's the Hawkins Alcomotive!” he added.
“And what under heavens is the Hawkins——”
“Well, you don't suppose I'm carrying scale drawings of the thing on me, do you? You don't suppose that I'm prepared to give a demonstration with magic lantern pictures on the spot? If you want to see it, come and see it. If not, you'd better get into your train. It's ten:three now.”
I knew no way of better utilizing the remaining seven minutes. I walked or rather trotted—after Hawkins, through the gates, down the platform, and along by the train until we reached the locomotive—or the place where a decent, God-fearing locomotive should have been standing.
The customary huge iron horse was not in sight.
In its place stood what resembled a small flat-car. On the car I observed an affair which resembled something an enthusiastic automobilist might have conceived in a lobster salad nightmare.
It was, I presume, merely an abnormally large automobile engine; and along each side of it ran a big cylindrical tank.
“There, Griggs!” said Hawkins. “That doesn't look much like the old-fashioned, clumsy locomotive, does it?”
“I should say it didn't.”
“Of course it's a little rough in finish—just a trial Alcomotive, you know—but it's going to do one thing to-day.”
“And that is?”
“It's going to sound the solemn death-knell of the old steam locomotive,” said Hawkins, evidently feeling some compassion for the time-honored engine.
“But will that thing pull a train? Is that the notion?”
“Notion! It's no notion—it's a simple, mathematical certainty, my dear Griggs. In that Alcomotive—it's run by vapors of alcohol, you know—we have sufficient power to pull fifteen parlor cars, twelve loaded day-coaches, twenty ordinary flat-cars, eighteen box-cars, or twenty-seven——”
“'Board for Newark, Elizabeth, Trenton, Philadelphia, and all points south,” sang out the man at the gates.
He was lying, but he didn't know it.
“Well, I guess it's—it's time to start,” Hawkins concluded rather nervously.
“Well, may the Lord have mercy on your soul, Hawkins,” I said feelingly. “Good-by. I'll be along on the next train—whenever that is.”
“What! You're coming on the Alcomotive with me!”
“Not on your life, Hawkins!” I cried energetically. “If this railroad wishes to trust its passengers and rolling-stock and road-bed to your alcohol machine, that's their business. But they've got a hanged sight more confidence in you than I have.”
“Well, you'll have confidence enough before the day's over,” said the inventor, grabbing me with some determination. “For once, I'll get the best of your sneers. You come along!”
“Let go!” I shouted.
“Here,” said Hawkins to the mechanic who was warily eying the Alcomotive, “help Mr. Griggs up.”
Hawkins boosted and the man grabbed me. In a second or two I stood on the car, and Hawkins clambered up beside me.
Had I but regained my breath a second or two sooner—had I but collected my senses sufficiently to jump!
But I was a little too bewildered by the suddenness of my elevation to act for the moment. As I stood there, gasping, I heard Hawkins say:
“What's that conductor waving his hands for?”
“He—he wants you to start up,” tittered the engineer. “We are two minutes late as it is.”
“Oh, that's it?” said Hawkins gruffly. “He needn't get so excited about it. Why, positively, that man looks as if he was swearing! If I——”
“Well, say, you better start up,” put in the engineer. “I may get blamed for this.”
Hawkins opened a valve—he turned a crank—he pulled back a lever or two.
The Alcomotive suddenly left the station. So, abruptly, in fact, did the train start that my last vision of the end brakeman revealed him rolling along the platform in a highly undignified fashion, while the engineer sat at my feet in amazement as I clutched the side of the car.
“Well, I guess we started enough to suit him!” observed Hawkins grimly, as we whizzed past towers and banged over switches in our exit from the yard.
We certainly were started. Whatever subsequent disadvantages may have developed in the Alcomotive, it possessed speed.
In less time than it takes to tell it, we were whirling over the marshes, swaying from side to side, tearing a long hole in the atmosphere, I fancy; and certainly almost jarring the teeth from my head.
“How's this for time?” cried the inventor.
“It's all right for t-t-t-time,” I stuttered. “But——”
“Yes, that part's all right,” yelled the engineer, who had been ruthlessly detailed to assist. “But say, mister, how about the time-table?”
“What about it?” demanded Hawkins.
“Why, the other trains ain't arranged to give with this ninety-mile-an-hour gait.”
“They should be. I told the railroad people that I intended to break a few records.”
“But I guess they didn't know—we may smash into something, mister, and——”
“Not my fault,” said the inventor. “If we do by any chance have a collision, the railroad people are to blame. But we won't. I can stop this machine and the whole train in two hundred feet. That's another great point about the Alcomotive, Griggs—the Alcobrakes. You see, when I shut off the engine proper, all the power goes into the brakes. It is thus——”
“Hey, mister,” the engineer shouted again, “here's Newark!”
“Why, so it is!” murmured Hawkins, with a pleased smile. “Really, I had no notion that we'd be here so soon.”
I will say it for Hawkins that he managed to stop the affair at Newark in very commendable fashion. It seems so remarkable that one of his contrivances should have exhibited that much amenity to control that it is worthy of note.
Some of the passengers who alighted to be sure, exhibited signs of hard usage. There were visible bruises in several cases, due, presumably, to the slightly startling suddenness with which our trip began.
But Hawkins was blind to anything of that sort.
“Now, wasn't that fine?” he said proudly.
“Well—we're here—and alive,” was about all I could say.
“I wonder how it feels to be back in the cars. Let's try it,” proposed Hawkins.
“But say, mister,” said the engineer, “who's going to run the darned machine, if you're not here?”
“Why, you, my man. You understand an engine of this sort, don't you? But of course you do. Here! This is the valve for the alcohol—this is the igniter—here are the brakes—this is the speed control. See? Oh, you won't find any difficulty in managing it. The Alcomotive is simplicity on wheels.”
“Yes, but I've got a wife and family——” the unhappy man began.
“Well,” said Hawkins, icily.
“And if the thing should balk——”
“Balk! Rats! Come, Griggs. It's time you started, my man. I'll wave my hand when we reach the car.”
Frankly, I think that it was a downright contemptible trick to play on the defenceless engineer. Had I been able to render him any assistance, I should have stayed with him.
But Hawkins was already trotting back to the cars, and, with a murmured benediction for the hapless mechanic who stood and trembled alone on the platform of the Alcomotive, I followed.
We took seats in one of the cars.
“Well, why doesn't he start?” muttered the inventor.
“Maybe the fright has killed him,” I suggested. “It's enough——”
Bang!
The Alcomotive had sprung into action once more. People slid out of their seats with the shock, others toppled head over heels into the aisle, the porter went down unceremoniously upon his sable countenance and crushed into pulp the plate of tongue sandwich he had been carrying.
But the Alcomotive was going—that was enough for Hawkins. He sat back and watched the scenery slide by kinetoscope fashion.
“Lord, Lord, where's the old locomotive now?” he laughed pityingly.
“Don't shout till you're out of the wood, Hawkins,” I cautioned him. “We haven't reached Philadelphia yet.”
“But can't you see that we're going to? Won't that poor little mind of yours grapple with the fact that the Hawkins Alcomotive is a success—a success? Can't you feel the train shooting along——”
“I can feel that well enough,” I said dubiously; “but suppose——”
“Suppose nothing! What have you to croak about now, Griggs? Actually, there are times when you really make me physically weary. See here! The Alcomotive supersedes the locomotive first, in point of weight; second, in point of speed; third, in economy of operation; fourth, it is absolutely safe and easy to manage.
“No complicated machinery—nothing to slip and smash at critical moments—perfect ease of control. Why, if that fellow really wished to stop—here, now, at this minute——”
Whether the fellow wished it or not, he stopped—there, then, at that minute!
We stopped with such an almighty thud that it seemed as if the cars must fly into splinters. They rattled and shook and cracked. The passengers executed further acrobatic feats upon the floor; they clutched at things and fell over things and swore and gurgled.
“Well, by thunder!” ejaculated Hawkins. That was about the mildest remark I heard at the time. “What do you suppose he did?”
“Give it up,” I said, caressing the egg-like eminence that had appeared upon my brow as if by magic. “Probably he fell into the infernal thing, and it has stopped to show him up.”
“Nonsense! We'll have to see what's happened. Come, we'll go through the cars. It's quicker.”
We ran through the coaches until we had reached the front of the train. Hawkins went out upon the platform.
The Alcomotive was apparently intact. The engineer stood over the machinery, white as chalk, and his lips mumbled incoherently.
“What is it?” cried Hawkins.
“How'n blazes do I know?” demanded the engineer.
“But didn't you stop her?”
“Certainly not. She—she stopped herself.”
“What perfect idiocy!” cried the inventor “You must have done something!”
“I did not!” retorted the engineer. “The blamed thing just stood stock-still and near bumped the life out of me! Say, mister, you come up here and see what——”
“Oh, it's nothing serious, my man. Now, let me think. What could have happened? Er—just try that lever at your right hand.”
“This one?”
“Yes; pull it gently.”
“Hadn't we better git them people out o' the train first?” asked the engineer. “You know, if anything happens, people just love to sue a railroad company for damages, and——”
“Pull that lever!” Hawkins cried angrily.
The man took a good grip, murmured something which sounded like a prayer, and pulled.
Nothing happened.
“Well, that's queer!” muttered Hawkins. “Doesn't it seem to have any effect?”
“Nope.”
“Well, then, try that small one at your left. Pull it back half way.”
The man obeyed.
For a second or two the Alcomotive emitted a string of consumptive coughs. One or two parts moved spasmodically and seemed to be reaching for the engineer. The man dodged.
Then the Alcomotive began to back!
“Here! Here! Something's wrong!” cried Hawkins, as the accursed thing gathered speed. “Push that back where it was.”
“Nit!” yelled the engineer, picking up his coat and running to the side of the car. “I ain't going to make my wife a widow for no darned invention or no darned job! See?”
“You're not going to jump?” squealed the inventor.
“You bet I am!” replied the mechanic, making a flying leap.
He was gone.
The Alcomotive was now without any semblance of a controlling hand.
There was no way for Hawkins to reach the contrivance, for the car was four or five feet distant from the train proper, and to attempt a leap or a climb to the Alcomotive, with the whole affair rocking and swaying as it was, would simply have been to pave the way for a neat “Herbert Hawkins” on the marble block of their plot in Greenwood Cemetery.
“Well, what under the sun——” began Hawkins.
“Good heavens! This train! The people!” I gasped.
“Well—well—well—let us find the conductor. He'll know what to do!”
“Yes, but he can't stop the machine—and we're backing along at certainly fifty miles an hour; and any minute we may run into the next train behind.”
“Come! Come! Find the conductor!”
We found him very easily.
The conductor was running through the train toward us as we reached the second car, and his face was the face of a fear-racked maniac.
“What's happened?” he shrieked. “Why on earth are we backing?”
“Why, you see——” Hawkins began.
“For God's sake, stop your machine! You're the man who owns it, aren't you?”
“Certainly, certainly. But you see, the mechanism has—er—slipped somewhere—nothing serious, of course—and——”
“Serious!” roared the railroad man. “You call it nothing serious for us to be flying along backwards and the Washington express coming up behind at a mile a minute!”
“Oh! oh! Is it?” Hawkins faltered.
“Yes! Can't you stop her—anyway?”
“Well, not that I know—why, see here!” A smile of relief illumined Hawkins' face.
“Well? Quick, man!”
“We can have a brakeman detach the Alcomotive!”
“And what good'll that do, when she's pushing the train?”
“True, true!” groaned the inventor. “I didn't think of that!”
“I'm going to bring every one into these forward cars,” announced the conductor. “It's the only chance of saving a few lives when the crash comes.”
“Lives,” moaned Hawkins dazedly. “Is there really any danger of——”
The conductor was gone. Hawkins sank upon a seat and gasped and gasped.
“Oh, Griggs, Griggs!” he sobbed. “If I had only known! If I could have foreseen this!”
“If you ever could foresee anything!” I said bitterly.
“But it's partly—yes, it's all that cursed engineer's fault!”
People began to troop into the car. They came crushing along in droves, frightened to death, some weeping, some half-mad with terror.
Hawkins surveyed them with much the expression of Napoleon arriving in Hades. The conductor approached once more.
“They're all in here,” he said resignedly. “Thank Heaven, there are two freight cars on the rear of the train! That may do a little good! But that express! Man, man! What have you done!”
“Did he do it? Is it his fault?” cried a dozen voices.
“No, no, no, no!” shrieked the inventor. “He's lying!”
“You'd better tell the truth now, man,” said the conductor sadly. “You may not have much longer to tell it.”
“Lynch him!” yelled some one.
There was a move toward Hawkins. I don't know where it might have ended. Very likely they would have suspended Hawkins from one of the ventilators and pelted him with hand satchels—and very small blame to them had there been time.
But just as the crowd moved—well, then I fancied that the world had come to an end.
There was a shock, terrific beyond description—window panes clattered into the car—the whole coach was hurled from the tracks and slid sideways for several seconds.
Above us the roof split wide open and let in the sunlight. Passengers were on the seats, the floor, on their heads!
Then, with a final series of creaks and groans, all was still.
Hawkins and I were near the ragged opening which had once been a door. We climbed out to the ground and looked about us.
Providence had been very kind to Hawkins. The Washington express was standing, unexpectedly, at a water tank—part of it, at least. Her huge locomotive lay on its side.
Our two freight cars and two more passenger cars with them were piled up in kindling wood. Even the next car was derailed and badly smashed.
The Alcomotive, too, reclined upon one side and blazed merrily, a fitting tailpiece to the scene.
But not a soul had been killed—we learned that from one of the groups which swarmed from the express, after a muster had been taken of our own passengers. It was a marvel—but a fact.
Hawkins and I edged away slowly.
“Let's get out o' this!” he whispered hoarsely. “There's that infernal conductor. He seems to be looking for some one.”
We did get out of it. In the excitement we sneaked down by the express, past it, and struck into the hills.
Eventually we came out upon the trolley tracks and waited for the car which took us back to Jersey City.
Now, there is really more of this narrative.
The pursuit of Hawkins by the railroad people—their discovery of him at his home that night—the painful transaction by which he was compelled to surrender to them all his holdings in that particular road—the commentary of Mrs. Hawkins.
untold.
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