Chapter XXII: Action Is Equal to Reaction

The dry weather continued. In the memory of the oldest inhabitant there had not been so long an interval without rain. Cattle and sheep sought the protection of shade. Stunted and withered, the corn leaves rolled upward to hold the scanty supply of dew which fell, but it was sucked away by the sun; and their need of drink was still unfurnished. In the road timothy and June grass were dried and lopped over. Other grass, withered before maturity, was laid flat and thickly powdered with sand, yellow along its blades, showing green near its roots, even through its veil of dirt. Clouds of dust were almost continually in motion, coming from the wheels of passing vehicles and from drags and cultivators at work on the moistureless summer fallows. The smell of burning marshes was in the air. Fire, started accidentally or thoughtlessly, was running here and there through the country, uniting with the drought to render unavailing their farmer's toil.

The effect of the fire and dust was to level distinctions of color in nature. Vegetation was draped in dirt; so that grass and tree, plowed field and meadow, all approached the same faded hue. The atmosphere seemed to share the general taint, as if the eye were constantly looking through a dust-smeared glass. Over and among the woods hung a haze of smoke, a connecting shade between cerulean and green, which made less marked their division where the tree-tops cut an irregular border in the sky.

Northern Michigan had been blazing. Thousands of families were homeless. For these sufferers subscriptions had been raised to which the people had liberally contributed. Then a great smoke arose from Oakville; and when it cleared, half the village had been consumed. Again the subscription was passed around, but this time it met with poorer success. A fortunate merchant who had escaped without loss visited Ratke as a solicitor for his fellow-townsmen. The major had just threshed a part of his wheat and had in his pocket forty dollars which he was to pay to the Enterprise Machine Company of Chicago, The note was due, and his impatient creditors had threatened him. "They can wait," he said. "Our neighbors cannot wait. Take it, Marsh, I wish I had more for you."

Montcalm had announced his intention to quit farm labor. It was with reluctance that his employer saw him take the train at Barton Junction.

July twenty-third was long a day of anticipation to Ratke, On that day he must deed away in Sharptown the Barton hundred and sixty in order to satisfy Durgenson, who, he feared, would drive him from his old farm. On that day he was to meet in the same town a man who with a view to purchasing would examine the New Jerusalem. As was related in the preceding chapter, an account of the invention had been published in the Indianapolis Standard, and shortly after a letter had come to the major from Madgeburg, Indiana, stating that a representative of the wagon-works in that city would be in Sharptown the twenty-third, and that, if Major Ratke would meet him at the Cass House, they might negotiate a sale. The letter was signed J. Boutwell, president. On the note-head was printed J. Boutwell, President; T. C. Parker, Treasurer.

"Fortune is with me, Maria," said the philosopher. "The Madgeburg wagon works are among the largest in the country. If they believe the New Jerusalem is a success, fifty thousand dollars is no price for it. Its value once proven, it will take everything by storm. I would rather have a percentage on the sales than to sell for cash."

"Well, that man is a fool," remarked Mrs. Grippin. "That's all I've got to say about him. He isn't fit to be president of any wagon company."

The major order Daggett to harness Taylor and Bill to the New Jerusalem. With approbation he looked over its low boxes and its high posts and wheels. He had taken it from the shop still unpainted because it would not have time to dry before it went to Sharptown for examination.

Seated in the bottom of the front box, he drove out of his yard with his head not five feel from the ground. Behind him was the second box, which was empty. On either side of each six-foot wheel and towering still afoot higher, was a post connected by a board with its mate at the top. The wheels had been favored with limited provisions for greasing; and one of them emitted at every revolution three squeaks, the first two short and spirited, the last dolorous and prolonged.

The major's neighbors did not gratify him by manifesting surprise. But, as he drove into Break o'Day, he and his conveyance created something of a sensation. Some of the citizens came out and delighted him by making minute inquiries. The boys were especially pleased with the novel exhibition. As the wagon started, several of them imitated the three squeaks of the noisy hind wheel with tolerable accuracy. But their companions remembering the peanuts and candy which the kind-hearted philosopher had given them, obliged them to desist from the annoyance.

The ride from Break o' Day to Sharptown was one of victorious pomp, and the New Jerusalem a triumphal car. All along the route the squeaking hind wheel summoned hosts of spectators. There was no boy who did not suspend his play, no woman whose face was not pressed close to a window or thrust through a door, no man who did not pause in his work and follow the wonderful sight with his eye until it had receded far up the road, taking with it, after it had passed from view, its wailing squeak. Through the windows of one school-house appeared the upstretched heads of the pupils, and the teacher, although disapproving of their conduct, was careful to stand where she could hear her class without taking her gaze from the old man who was huddled in a low box half-hidden by posts and wheels. At the next school-housel the pupils were having recess. He invited them to ride; and two of the boys, unheeding the bell, went with him for a mile. The driver on the power of a threshing-machine near the road yelled vociferously at his horses until they stopped. The gang of hands left their places to examine the new wonder. The major obtained an oil can from the driver and endeavored to grease the wheels of his wagon, but the closely fitting posts would not allow him properly to apply the oil.

No interest which he had aroused was worthy of comparison with that which he awakened in Sharptown. The central portion of the town, which contained two thousand inhabitants, was situated on the crest of a gradual slope. When Ratke entered the outskirts, several pedestrians were walking along the one side of the street which had a sidewalk. This number received additions from the houses and from the cross-streets. Farther on there was a walk on either side, and the throng divided and increased. Numbers from upper town observing the slow-moving procession, met and turning, joined the tide which, made up of footmen, horses and vehicles, filled the sidewalks and the street and confined travel to one direction.

A philosophic Scipio, the major leaned back in his car and viewed the homage which the gaping multitude unwittingly tendered him. He remembered that Scipio had fallen from appreciation, and he preferred, therefore, to compare himself to Caesar. Before him was a common wagon loaded with wheat. Anciently the conquered foe walked before the conqueror, "Likewise," thought Ratke, "the common wagon goes before the New Jerusalem, which is destined soon to sweep it completely out of use."

The greatest incongruity in his position was that he was very low for a conquering hero. The horses obscured his vision, and he was obliged to twist his head to one side in order to see his wagon's vanquished rival jolting along through the dust, unconscious of its doom.

When the proud inventor stopped on Main Street, the most prominent merchants came out to meet him. There, surrounded by the wondering population, he explained the principles of his invention, its lightness of draught, its adaptation to the farm and to the city. Many of the best men of Sharptown, carried away by his eloquence, became admirers of the singular vehicle. Before the spectators had asked half the questions which they wished to propound, he drove to the Cass House, thinking it advisable to leave their curiosity but partly appeased.

The hotel which had been appointed as the place of meeting, was the most pretentious in the town. The major was conducted to a room where he found the president of the Madgeburg wagon works. Mr. Boutwell was a very good-looking man with a business-like air, which was sustained by his manner, words and clothes. Ratke would have liked him better had he shown more of the agent's flattery and less of the buyer's independence. Still, he was equally independent in the negotiation, and he was willing to take the manufacturer's money, even though it was brusquely tendered.

"I'm glad you've come," said Br. Boutwell. "My nephew got hold of an Indianapolis 'Standard' and read the account of your wagon. We may not make a deal, probably sha'n't, but I'm willing to look at it. Where is it?"

"Out by the barn," answered the major. "You can see it from that window."

"I wish there wasn't such a crowd around it," remarked Mr. Boutwell. "We can't do anything looking at it now. We shall have to wait till they go away."

"I was anxious to finish the negotiation at once," said the major. "I must raise some money, and unless I sell the wagon, I must dispose of a piece of land. That is why I am anxious to come to a conclusion immediately."

"Oh, we can't make a deal to-day," said Mr. Boutwell. "Not under two weeks anyway. I must go to the company and report. If I think it is worth while, we'll take the wagon down to Madgeburg to look at it. Then if we all think it's an improvement, we'll give you a fair price for it."

"Then," said the major sadly, "I must sell the farm. My business is such that I cannot wait."

The Barton hundred and sixty was a fertile piece of land and had excellent buildings. A grasping farmer was ready to buy it for his son who was soon to be married, but knowing Ratke's circumstances, he would offer but thirty dollars an acre, little more than half its value. The cashier of the Second National Bank handed out a number of bills, which Ratke put into a bag. The bag was light, but the heart of the major was heavy.

The afternoon was well spent when Ratke returned to the Cass House. The New Jerusalem, waxing old as an object of wonder, was nearly deserted by the crowd.

As their acquaintance was prolonged, Mr. Boutwell became more talkative, or rather more agreeable, for he had been at first not unwilling to talk.

"How do you like philosophy?" inquired the major.

"Very well," answered Mr. Boutwell. "I used to have a special liking for it."

"What author is your favorite?" asked Ratke.

"Oh, I like Comstock," said Mr. Boutwell. "I think he's about as good as any of them."

"Comstock," said the major in disgust, "he is the author of an elementary physics."

"There are different tastes about authorities," observed Mr. Boutwell. "Some may not like Comstock. I think he does pretty well."

"How do you like Hobbes?"

"First-rate," ventured Mr. Boutwell, thinking that he now heard the name of the major's favorite, "I like him very much."

"I do not. His theories are the most selfish ever put forth by a philosopher. What do you think of his work, the Leviathan?"

"If I remember rightly," said Boutwell, "it has a fine description of the whale."

The major concluded that Mr. Boutwell had given his entire energies to business. "I hope you are not a disciple of Hobbes," he remarked. "If you are, you will beat me down as much as you can on the price of my wagon. In that case, I can expect an offer from you of not more than five hundred."

"Oh, no," said Boutwell, "not by any means. What I meant was that he could write pretty well. Now, am I right? Isn't his work in good style?"

"A good style of its class," answered Ratke. "He attempts no excellence except in ratiocination."

"It's a good while since I've looked up these matters," said Mr. Boutwell, "and as for rationation, that's away beyond my depth. I can over see the making on wagons and find sales for them, but I'm a poor hand to ratiocinate. It's six o'clock. We'll take some supper now. I'll have it brought up here, and then we can talk by ourselves."

Ratke did not decline the manufacturer's invitation. They ate slowly, and lingered about the table after their appetites were satisfied.

"Come up to my place," said the major. "We can have a good chance there. We can test it in every way you wish."

"I don't know but I'll have to," acquiesced Mr. Boutwell. "They're not as thick as they were down there. New ones seem to be coming up all the time, though. I'll write a letter to Madgeburg before I go."

Ratke waited for the president of the wagon works to write his letter. He had not purchased one of the articles for which Mrs. Grippin had sent. The sun was down when he had performed his many errands. At twilight he and Mr. Boutwell descended to the wagon, to which the hostler had hitched his team.

"You will admin," said the major, "that the invention is original."

"Yes," responded Mr. Boutwell, "nobody will dispute that. But what is the matter with the boxes?"

On the front box had been chalked a death's-head, A mule and various other designs. On the rear one had been pasted some enormous show-posters and some small bills.

"The man that done that ought to be prosecuted," remarked the manufacturer.

"Oh, no," said the major, apparently not in the least out of humor. "It was quite likely, done by boys. They meant no harm and did little. The posters can be washed off, and as for the chalk marks, they will not show when they are covered with paint."

"I am afraid," said Mr. Boutwell, when they had started on the angling road leading from Main Street to Break o'Day, "that the wagon will bother about hauling poles."

"There is not the least trouble about that," assured the inventor. "You can take out all the end boards and put the poles, the forward parts in the forward box, the rear parts in the rear box. Of course, there is a small portion of the weight which has no support underneath, but not enough to cause a dangerous transverse strain. The intensity of stress on the wagon, too, is inconsiderable. It is, in terms of acceleration, force divided by area, M L divided by L T square. Land T, you observe, in this case are very large in proportion to M. And the poles can be so conveniently loaded. You have to raise them no higher than you do when you are carrying them. How many ruptures and strains would be saved if men could load wheat into this wagon. After we get home, we will haul poles until you are satisfied."

"The high posts are one objection," said Mr. Boutwell. "They look bad, and I can't think of anything they're good for."

"I can think of several uses which they have," said Ratke. "They make good standards for a hay-rack. This morning Dr. Rorus observed that this would be the best wagon in the world for public occasions, such as the Fourth of July. Flags and banners could be attached to the posts, and they could be seen for a great distance."

"How about its draught?" asked Mr. Boutwell.

"That is its strong point," said Ratke. "The propelling force has a good chance to act. Its point of application is low. And it lessens the pressure on the wheels. The six-foot wheel and the two-inch pivot, too, form another great advantage, as they materially lessen the friction. Every time a wheel revolves, one fourth the weight of the load scrapes over the circumference of its axel or pivot. In the New Jerusalem the wheel is six feet in diameter, and the pivot two inches. In the common wagon the wheel is, say five feet, and the axle three inches. In the New Jerusalem the load is propelled seventy-two inches while the movement at the point of friction is two inches. In the common wagon the load is propelled sixty-inches, while the movement at the point of friction is three inches. In the New Jerusalem the ratio of frictional movement to the distance of transportation is thirty-six. In the common wagon it is twenty."

"Wouldn't it be a good plan to have a spindle turn on rollers?" asked Mr. Boutwell.

"I have thought of that," said the major. "That changes the loss of power at the spindle or pivot from sliding to rolling friction. But these small wheels must turn on spindles or pivots and engender the sliding friction they are calculated to prevent. Thus we exchange the sliding friction for both sliding and rolling friction."

"What will you take for that nigh horse?" asked Mr. Boutwell.

"Four thousand dollars," replied the major.

"He must be a good one," commented Mr. Boutwell.

"Fair," said Ratke, in a way which intimated that he was stating Taylor's merits with moderation.

"I have been talking some of getting me a horse," said Mr. Boutwell, "but that is more than I want to invest. Can't you start him up? I'd like to see him move off a little faster."

"Charge," said the major in a quiet tone.

The wagon started with such suddenness that the sleek manufacturer was jerked violently backward. His beaver fell and was run over by the hind wheel. The president of the wagon works clutched the side of the box and remonstrated with Ratke on his fast driving. "Oh, I wouldn't drive too fast. Major! It's a warm night."

"My team is good for it," responded Ratke.

"It ain't safe," said Mr. Boutwell, after a heavy jolt had thrown him to the opposite side of the box. "Something might break. Hold on. Major, I've lost my hat!"

"Halt," commanded the major. Instantly the team topped, and Mr. Boutwell was pitched headlong against the dashboard.

"That's useless fast driving," he said. "It's unreasonable in hot weather." His face was sad as he returned with his once magnificent hat which, with its crown crushed in, was quite ruined.

The major, stopping at Birch & Bigney's store, purchased a hat for Mr. Boutwell, not, indeed, one so impressive as the demolished beaver had been, but the best which Break o' Day afforded. He was not sorry for the misfortune of his companion, who, intent on the transaction of their business, had taken no pains to make himself agreeable. He wished that the company had sent another man, whose criticism was less free.

"I don't like that squeaking," said Mr. Boutwell. "It looks to me as if there wasn't much of a chance to grease the wheels. Your machinist must be a poor workman."

"I can soon fix the wheels so we can grease them," said the major. "Now, as to the pivot, you think that it is very rough. You notice that the pitch of the squeak is high, on the key of C, I think. There must be, then, one thousand and fifty-six vibrations per second. The motion at the pivot, as I said, is slight. In order to have one thousand and fifty-six vibrations of sound result from a slight motion the protuberances must be very small. What do you think you can pay me for my wagon?"

"I can't say now," answered Mr. Boutwell. "I don't know as we can buy it at all. If we take it, we'll give you a good price. But before we negotiate, we would want you to agree not to go to any other company till you've got through with us. If I think it worth while, I'll have you drive out to Madgeburg."

"You can ride with me," said Ratke.

"No," said Mr. Boutwell, "you go too fast and stop too quick for me. I must get back to attend to business. I'll take the cars."

"When you understand one principle you will be all right to ride with me," said Ratke. 'Action is equal to reaction, and in a contrary direction.' What you must guard against is reaction. It was reaction which pitched you against the dashboard. This law has application elsewhere than in the physical world. A man is persecuted by society. In time it is discovered that he has been a martyr, and he is lauded as much as he has been abused. My New Jerusalem is now rediculed. In a few years its praises will be in every man's mouth. 'Action is equal to reaction and in a contrary direction.'"

"Can you always make your horses stop as quick as you did back yonder?" asked Mr. Boutwell.

The major showed his ability to govern his team by again giving the order to stop. The president of the wagon works placed his hands on Ratke's shoulders and pulled him backward. Then he quickly put his knee astride his body and grasped his arms.

"I don't hardly believe I'll go home with you," said Mr. Boutwell with a grin. "I've got to get back to Madgeburg to oversee the wagon works. Now I'd like a little money to pay my fare with."

They were in the center of the swamp, the lights in the farm-houses had gone out, and interference was not likely to come. Ratke was not terrified by the unlooked-for assault. He did not struggle. Calmly and reproachfully he looked up in the face of the robber who had so basely betrayed his confidence.

"I want you to fork over that money," said Mr. Boutwell, "and don't be a great while about it. I'm not going to be fooled with."

Still the major did not answer.

"Are you going to give me that money?" demanded Boutwell.

"No," said Ratke.

"Then I'll make it uncomfortable for you!" exclaimed Boutwell.

"You can have my life," said the major, "and you will have to take it if you get my money."

"We won't ratiocinate now," said Mr. Boutwell. "You're great on sliding friction and rolling friction. Now slide or roll out that money, or there'll be a friction you don't like!"

Boutwell's hand reached quickly towards a side pocket, but it was grasped by Ratke, when, with his left, he struck the old man a heavy blow under the eye. With the blood trickling down his cheek Ratke strove to rise.

"Now," said Boutwell, "you stop kicking around and do as I tell you or I'll shoot you through the heart! Be in a hurry, too. We ain't talking wagon now. Come now, no Hobbes nor transverse strain."

"Charge!" shouted the major. At that magic word the wheels of the New Jerusalem raised clear from the ground, and the three squeaks blended in one, which was shrill, continuous and ear-splitting. Mr. Boutwell was pitched against the rear end-board, but he regained his equilibrium and again struck Ratke. He was in a fair way to administer a terrible punishment to the philosopher when a great jolt threw him off his balance; and before he recovered himself, the old man, whose strength he had under-estimated, rolled him and began to rain blows upon his face. Ratke's fighting blood was up, and he plied his fists with such vigor that Mr. Boutwell soon cried, "Hold up! Hold up! I'll quit. I've got enough."

"I am sorry," said the major, "that I have been obliged to strike a man who was down. I trust you will pardon me. And now you have seen a demonstration of the theorem which I stated. 'Action is equal to reaction and in a contrary direction.' Halt."

The team stopped at the edge of the tamaracks. The New Jerusalem was now a veritable chariot, for it had been uncoupled by the jolt which had demoralized Boutwell, and the hind wheels were far back on the causeway. A thick cloud of dust hovered over the road along which they had sped.

"I will send one of my men down after it to-morrow," said Ratke. "We will go on without it now. You can get up, Mr. Boutwell. Allow me to search your pockets."

Ratke, after taking two revolvers from the pockets of his new acquaintance, drove on in silence. At the large gate by the house he stopped and called, "Mark, Mark, come and take care of the team."