The Inventions of the Idiot Page 3

  III

  The Transatlantic Trolley Company

  "If I were a millionaire," began the Idiot one Sunday morning, as he andhis friends took their accustomed seats at the breakfast-table, "I woulddevote a tenth of my income to the poor, a tenth to children's fresh-airfunds, and the balance to the education through travel of a dear andintimate friend of mine."

  "That would be a generous distribution of your wealth," said Mr.Whitechoker, graciously. "But upon what would you live yourself?"

  "I should stipulate in the bargain with my dear and intimate friendthat we should be inseparable; that wherever he should go I should go,and that, of the funds devoted to his education through travel, one-halfshould be paid to me as my commission for letting him into a goodthing."

  "You certainly have good business sense," put in the Bibliomaniac. "Iwish I had had when I was collecting rare editions."

  "Collecting rare books and a good business sense seldom go together, Ifancy," said the Idiot. "I began collecting books once, but I gave it upand took to collecting coins. I chose my coin and devoted my time togetting in that variety alone, and it has paid me."

  "I don't exactly gather your meaning," said Mr. Whitechoker. "You choseyour coin?"

  "Precisely. I said, 'Here! Most coin collectors spend their time lookingfor one or two rare coins, for which, when they are found, they payfabulous prices. The result is oftentimes penury. I, on the other hand,will look for coins of a common sort which do not command fabulousprices.' So I chose United States five-dollar gold pieces, irrespectiveof dates, for my collection, and the result is moderate affluence. Ihave between sixty and a hundred of them at my savings-bank, and when Ihave found it necessary to realize on them I have not experienced theslightest difficulty in forcing them back into circulation at cost."

  "You are a wise Idiot," said the Bibliomaniac, settling back in hischair in a disgusted, tired sort of way. He had expected some sympathyfrom the Idiot as a fellow-collector, even though their aims weredifferent. It is always difficult for a man whose ten-thousand-dollarlibrary has brought six hundred dollars in the auction-room to find,even in the ranks of collectors, one who understands his woes and helpshim bear the burden thereof by expressions of confidence in his sanity.

  "Then you believe in travel, do you?" asked the Doctor.

  "I believe there is nothing broadens the mind so much," returned theIdiot.

  "But do you believe it will develop a mind where there isn't one?" askedthe School-master, unpleasantly. "Or, to put it more favorably, don'tyou think there would be danger in taking the germ of a mind in a smallhead and broadening it until it runs the risk of finding itself confinedto cramped quarters?"

  "That is a question for a physician to answer," said the Idiot. "But, ifI were you, I wouldn't travel if I thought there was any such danger."

  "_Tu quoque_," retorted the School-master, "is _not_ true repartee."

  "I shall have to take your word for that," returned the Idiot, "since Ihave not a Latin dictionary with me, and all the Latin I know is to befound in the quotations in the back of my dictionary, like '_Status quoante_,' '_In vino veritas_,' and '_Et tu, Brute_.' However, as I saidbefore, I'd like to travel, and I would if it were not that the sea andI are not on very good terms with each other. It makes me ill to crossthe East River on the bridge, I'm so susceptible to sea-sickness."

  "You'd get over that in a very few days," said the Genial Old Gentlemanwho occasionally imbibed. "I have crossed the ocean a dozen times, andI'm never sea-sick after the third day out."

  "Ah, but those three days!" said the Idiot. "They must resemble thethree days of grace on a note that you know you couldn't pay if you hadthree years of grace. I couldn't stand them, I am afraid. Why, onlylast summer I took a drive off in the country, and the motion of thewagon going over the thank-ye-marms in the road made me so sea-sickbefore I'd gone a mile that I wanted to lie down and die. I think Ishould have done so if the horse hadn't run away and forced me to rideback home whether I wanted to or not."

  "You ought to fight that," said the Doctor. "By-and-by, if you give wayto a weakness of that sort, the creases in your morning newspaper willaffect you similarly as you read it. If you ever have a birthday, let usknow, and we'll help you to overcome the tendency by buying you ababy-jumper for you to swing around in every morning until you get usedto the motion."

  "It would be more to the purpose," replied the Idiot, "if you as aphysician would invent a preventive of sea-sickness. I'd buy a bottleand go abroad at once on my coin collection if you would guarantee itto kill or to cure instantaneously."

  "There is such a nostrum," said the Doctor.

  "There is, indeed," put in the Genial Old Gentleman who occasionallyimbibes. "I've tried it."

  "And were you sea-sick?" asked the Doctor.

  "I never knew," replied the Genial Old Gentleman. "It made me so illthat I never thought to inquire what was the matter with me. But onething is certain, I'll take my sea-voyages straight after this."

  "I'd like to go by rail," said the Idiot, after a moment's thought.

  "That is a desire quite characteristic of you," said the School-master."It is so probable that you could. Why not say that you'd like to crossthe Atlantic on a tight-rope?"

  "Because I have no such ambition," replied the Idiot. "Though it mightbe fun if the tight-rope were a trolley-wire, and one could sitcomfortably in a spacious cab while speeding over the water. I shouldthink that would be exhilarating enough. Just imagine how fine it wouldbe on a stormy day to sit looking out of your cab-window far above thesurface of the raging and impotent sea, skipping along at electricspeed, and daring the waves to do their worst--that would be bliss."

  "And so practical," growled the Bibliomaniac.

  "Bliss rarely is practical," said the Idiot. "Bliss is a sort of mugwumpblessing--too full of the ideal and too barren in practicability."

  "Well," said Mr. Whitechoker. "I don't know why we should say thattrolley-cars between New York and London never can be. If we had toldour grandfathers a hundred years ago that a cable for the transmissionof news could be laid under the sea, they would have laughed us toscorn."

  "That's true," said the School-master. "But we know more than ourgrandfathers did."

  "Well, rather," interrupted the Idiot. "My great-grandfather, who diedin 1799, had never even heard of Andrew Jackson, and if you had askedhim what he thought of Darwin, he'd have thought you were guying him."

  "Respect for age, sir," retorted Mr. Pedagog, "restrains me fromcharacterizing your great-grandfather, if, as you intimate, he knew lessthan you do. However, apart from the comparative lack of knowledge inthe Idiot's family, Mr. Whitechoker, you must remember that with theadvance of the centuries we have ourselves developed a certain amount ofbrains--enough, at least, to understand that there is a limit even tothe possibilities of electricity. Now, when you say that just becausean Atlantic cable would have been regarded as an object of derision inthe eighteenth century, we should not deride one who suggests thepossibility of a marine trolley-road between London and New York in thetwentieth century, it appears to me that you are talking--er--talking--Idon't like to say nonsense to one of your cloth, but--"

  "Through his hat is the idiom you are trying to recall, I think, Mr.Pedagog," said the Idiot. "Mr. Whitechoker is talking through his hat iswhat you mean to say?"

  "I beg your pardon, Mr. Idiot," said the School-master; "but when I findthat I need your assistance in framing my conversation, I shall--er--Ishall give up talking. I mean to say that I do not think Mr. Whitechokercan justify his conclusions, and talks without having given the subjectconcerning which he has spoken due reflection. The cable runs along thesolid foundation of the bed of the sea. It is a simple matter,comparatively, but a trolley-wire stretched across the ocean by thesimplest rules of gravitation could not be made to stay up."

  "No doubt you are correct," said Mr. Whitechoker, meekly. "I did notmean that I expected ever to see a trolley-road across the sea, but Idid mean to sa
y that man has made such wonderful advances in the pasthundred years that we cannot really state the limit of hispossibilities. It is manifest that no one to-day can devise a plan bymeans of which such a wire could be carried, but--"

  "I fear you gentlemen would starve as inventors," said the Idiot."What's the matter with balloons?"

  "Balloons for what?" retorted Mr. Pedagog.

  "For holding up the trolley-wires," replied the Idiot. "It is perfectlyfeasible. Fasten the ends of your wire in London and New York, and fromcoast to coast station two lines of sufficient strength to keep the wireraised as far above the level of the sea as you require. That's simpleenough."

  "And what, pray, in this frenzy of the elements, this raging storm ofwhich you have spoken," said Mr. Pedagog, impatiently--"what would thenkeep your balloons from blowing away?"

  "The trolley-wire, of course," said the Idiot. Mr. Pedagog lapsed into ahopelessly wrathful silence for a moment, and then he said:

  "Well, I sincerely hope your plan is adopted, and that the promoterswill make you superintendent, with an office in the mid-ocean balloon."

  "Thanks for your good wishes, Mr. Pedagog," the Idiot answered. "If theyare realized I shall remember them, and show my gratitude to you byusing my influence to have you put in charge of the gas service.Meantime, however, it seems to me that our ocean steamships could bedeveloped along logical lines so that the trip from New York toLiverpool could be made in a very much shorter period of time than isnow required."

  "We are getting back to the common-sense again," said the Bibliomaniac."That is a proposition to which I agree. Ten years ago eight days wasconsidered a good trip. With the development of the twin-screw steamerthe time has been reduced to approximately six days."

  "Or a saving, really, of two days because of the extra screw," said theIdiot.

  "Precisely," observed the Bibliomaniac.

  "So that, provided there are extra screws enough, there isn't any reasonwhy the trip should not be made in two or three hours."

  "Ah--what was that?" said the Bibliomaniac. "I don't exactly followyou."

  "One extra screw, you say, has saved two days?"

  "Yes."

  "Then two extra screws would save four days, three would save six days,and five extra screws would send the boat over in approximately notime," said the Idiot. "So, if it takes a man two hours to succumb tosea-sickness, a boat going over in less than that time would eliminatesea-sickness; more people would go; boats could run every hour, and Mr.Whitechoker could have a European trip every week without deserting hiscongregation."

  "Inestimable boon!" cried Mr. Whitechoker, with a laugh.

  "Wouldn't it be!" said the Idiot. "Unless I change my mind, I think Ishall stay in this country until this style of greyhound is perfected.Then, gentlemen, I shall tear myself away from you, and seek knowledgein foreign pastures."

  "Well, I am sure," said Mr. Pedagog--"I am sure that we all hope youwill change your mind."

  "Then you want me to go abroad?" said the Idiot.

  "No," said Mr. Pedagog. "No--not so much that as that we feel if youwere to change your mind the change could not fail to be for the better.A mind like yours ought to be changed."

  "Well, I don't know," said the Idiot. "I suppose it would be a goodthing if I broke it up into smaller denominations, but I've had it solong that I have become attached to it; but there is one thing about it,there is plenty of it, so that in case any of you gentlemen find yourown insufficient I shall be only too happy to give you a piece of itwithout charge. Meanwhile, if Mrs. Pedagog will kindly let me have mybill for last week, I'll be obliged."

  "It won't be ready until to-morrow, Mr. Idiot," said the landlady, insurprise.

  "I'm sorry," said the Idiot, rising. "My scribbling-paper has run out. Iwanted to put in this morning writing a poem on the back of it."

  "A poem? What about?" said Mr. Pedagog, with an irritating chuckle.

  "It was to be a triolet on Omniscience," said the Idiot. "And, strangeto say, sir, you were to be the hero, if by any possibility I couldsqueeze you into a French form."