XI. MY DOMESTICATED AUTOMOBILE
I HAVE said that I left Millington happily working over his automobilewhen I went to the Country Club that afternoon. When I returned hewas still working away, and so well had I wrecked his car that all hisrepairing seemed to have made not the slightest impression on it.
"John," he said brightly, "you certainly did a good job. It will bemonths before I have this car in any shape at all, I am sure. It isgoing to take all my spare time, too. I mean to set my alarm clock forthree, and get up at that time every morning."
It is always a pleasure for me to see another man happy, and athalf-past two the next morning I was waiting for Millington at hisgarage door. He came out of his house promptly at three, and jokedmerrily as he unlocked the garage door, but the moment he threw open thedoor his face fell. And well it might! The dished wheel had been trued,the crushed hood had been straightened and painted, a new cylinder hadreplaced the cracked one, and when Millington tried the engine itran without a sound except that of a perfectly working piece ofwell-adjusted machinery. Millington got out of the car and stood staringat the motor, and suddenly, with a low cry of anguish, he fell overbackward as stiff as a log. Mrs. Millington and I managed to carry himto bed, and then I returned to the garage. I was not going to desertMillington in his adversity.
After the doctor had visited the house, Mrs. Millington came outand told me that her husband was still in a comatose state, due tobrain-shock, but that he kept repeating "Sell it! Sell it!" over andover, and she was sure he must mean the car. She said that whileshe would hate to part with the car, and give up all the pleasure ofstarting for Port Lafayette, she feared for her husband's reason if hecontinued to receive such shocks, and she was willing to sacrificethe car at a very low price, if I insisted. She said I had not, likeMillington, become habituated to hearing a knocking in the engine, so'the lack of it would not bother me, and that owning a car that repaireditself over night was what most automobile owners would call a goldenopportunity.
I suppose if I had come home and said to Isobel: "My dear, I have boughtan Asiatic hyena," she would have been less shocked and surprised thanshe was when I entered the house and said: "Well, my dear, I have boughtan automobile."
Isobel is of a rather nervous disposition, and driving behind Bob, ourhorse, had tended to eliminate any latent speed mania she may have everhad, for Bob is not a rapid horse. Of course, Isobel drove the horse ata trot occasionally, but that was when she wanted to go slower than awalk, for Bob was what may be called an upright trotter--one of thosehorses that trot like a grasshopper: the harder they trot the higherthey rise in the air, and the less ground they cover. When Bob wasin fine fettle, as we horsemen say, he could trot for hours with aperpendicular motion, like a sewing machine needle, and remain in oneidentical spot the whole time. He could trot tied to a post. Sometimeswhen he was feeling his oats he could trot backward.
I suppose that when I mentioned automobile Isobel had a vision of abright-red car about twenty-five feet long, with a tonnage like an oceansteamer, and a speed of one hundred and ten miles an hour--one of themachines that flash by with a wail of agony and kill a couple of menjust around the next corner. But Millington's automobile was not thatkind. It was a tried and tested affair. It had been in a Christianfamily for five years, and was well broken. Nor was it a longautomobile; it was one of the shortest automobiles I have ever seen;indeed, I do not think I ever saw such a short automobile. "Short andhigh" seemed to have been the maker's motto, and he had lived up to it.He couldn't have made the automobile any shorter without having cogson the tires, so they could overlap. If the automobile had been muchshorter the rear wheels would have been in front of the fore wheels.But what it lacked in length it made up in altitude. It averaged prettywell, multiplying the height by the length. It was the type known in theprofession as the "camel type." When in action it had a motion somewhatlike a camel, too, but more like a small boat on a wintry, wind-tossedsea. But, ah! the engine! There was a noble heart in that weak body!When the engine was in average knocking condition, one knew when itstarted. In two minutes after the engine started the driver was on theground; if he did not become dizzy, sitting at such a height, and falloff, the engine shook him off.
But, if Isobel did not take kindly to the idea of owning Millington'sautomobile, Rolfs seemed glad I was going to buy it.
"You won't be everlastingly asking me to take a little run up to PortLafayette," he said. "For years before you moved out here Millingtonbothered the life out of me, and I cannot bear riding in automobiles. Ihate them worse than that hired man of yours does. How does he like theidea?"
I told him, rather haughtily, that I did not usually consult Mr. Prawleywhen I bought automobiles. Then Rolfs said he thought, usually, it wasjust as well for an ignorant man to consult some one, but that he knewMillington's automobile was a good one. He said he knew the man that hadowned the machine ten or twelve years before Millington bought it. Hesaid that every one knew that machines of that make that were madein 1895 were extremely durable. He said he remembered about this oneparticularly, because it was the period when milk shakes were thepopular drink, and his friend used to make his own. He said his friendwould put the ingredients in a bottle, and tie the bottle to theautomobile seat, and then start the engine for a minute or two, and themilk would be completely shaken. So would his friend.
Rolfs asked me to let him know when I brought the automobile overfrom Millington's. I had no difficulty in doing so. When I ran thatautomobile the only difficulty was in concealing the fact that it wasarriving anywhere and in getting it to arrive. Often it preferred not toarrive at all, but when it did arrive, it gave every one notice. Isobelnever had to wonder whether I was arriving in my machine, or whether itwas some visitor in another machine. Under my regime my machine had asweet, purring sound like a road-roller loaded with scrap iron crossinga cobblestone bridge. When the engine was going and the car was not, itsounded like giant fire-crackers exploding under a dish pan.
The very day I purchased the car and brought it into my yard Mr. Prawleycame to me and told me he had a very important communication to make. Hesaid his poor old mother was sick, and he would like a month's vacation.He added that he imagined the automobile would last about twenty-ninedays. As he said this his lean, villainous face wore a look of fear,and when I told him he could have the vacation, he departed, walkingbackward, keeping one eye on the automobile all the while.
But the automobile did not behave in the bewitched manner for me thatit had for Millington. It did not repair itself over night at all. Ifanything it deteriorated.
Oddly enough, now that the automobile was quite tame, Isobel, whousually has perfect confidence in me, declined to ride in it. Butfrequently we took rides together, driving side by side, she in herbuggy behind Bob, and I in my automobile, and, occasionally, when theroad was rough and the engine working well, I would drop in on herunexpectedly. But not always. Sometimes I fell off on the other side.
I found these little trips very pleasant and exceedingly good for atorpid liver--if I had had one--and I enjoyed having Isobel with me,especially when we came to bits of sandy road where the rear wheels ofmy automobile would revolve uselessly, as if for the mere pleasure ofrevolving.
Then I would unhitch Bob from the buggy and hitch him to the automobile,and he would tow me over the sandy stretch, aided by the engine. It wasa pretty picture to see this helpfulness, one to the other, especiallywhen my engine was palpitating in its wild, vibratory manner, and Bobwas trotting at full speed, while I fell out of the automobile, first onone side and then on the other.
Isobel enjoyed these little moments exceedingly and often I had to goback to her, after I had passed the sandy spot, and pat her on the backuntil she could get her breath again. She had to admit that she hadnever imagined she could get so much pleasure out of an automobile. Butit was that kind of an automobile--any one could get more pleasure outof it than in it.
I myself found that after the first novelty wore o
ff automobiling becamea bore. As a method of securing pleasure the cost per gallon to eachunit of joy was too high, in that machine. Riding in my machine was notwhat is called "joy riding." It was more like a malady.
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Of course we never attempted a long tour, like that to Port Lafayette,which is eleven miles from Westcote, and it was about the time my tiretroubles began that I thought of domesticating my automobile. I rememberwith what pride I discovered my first puncture. Every automobile ownerof my acquaintance had tire troubles, and I had never had any, and Ifelt slighted. Sometimes I felt tempted to take an awl and puncture atire myself, so I, too, could talk about my tire troubles, but I had afeeling that that would be unprofessional. I had never heard of any realsporty automobilist punching holes in his tires with awls; in fact theyseemed to consider there was no particular pleasure in punctured tires.That was the way they talked--as if a puncture was a misfortune--but Iknew better. I could hear the undercurrent of pride in their voicesas they announced: "Well, I had three punctures and two blow-outsyesterday. I was running along slowly, about fifty-five miles an hour,between Oyster Bay and Huntington, when--" And then the next man wouldpipe up and say: "Yes? Well, I beat that. I was speeding a little--notmuch, but about sixty miles an hour--on the Jericho Turnpike last night,and all four tires--" And through it all I had to sit silent. I longedto be able to say: "I was speeding along yesterday at about half a milean hour, the machine going better than usual, when suddenly I jumped outand stuck my penknife into the forward, left-hand tire--" I had neverhad a puncture. I was not in their class.
But my turn came. I was speeding a little--about one city block everyfive minutes--on Thirteenth Street, when my sparker stopped sparking.When your engine misses fire there are six hundred and forty-two thingsthat may be the matter, and after you have tested the six hundredand forty-two, it may be an entirely new six hundred and forty-thirdtrouble. I have known a man to try the full six hundred and forty-tworemedies unavailingly, and then sigh and wipe his goggles, and theengine began working beautifully. And it was only by chance--purechance--that he happened to wipe his goggles. Probably he had not wipedthem for years. But after that the first thing he did when his enginedid not fire was to wipe them. And never, never again did it have theleast effect on the engine. That is one of the peculiar things about anautomobile. And there are nine hundred and ninety-nine other peculiarthings, each of which is more peculiar than all the rest.
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I had just taken my automobile apart to discover why the engine did notwork, and the various pieces of its anatomy were scattered up and downthe street for a block or more, and I was hunting up another pieceto take out, when I noticed that one of my tires was flat. I had apuncture! I suppose I would have thrilled with joy at any other time,but just after a man has dissected his automobile is no time for him tothrill. He has other things to amuse him. I have even known a man whohad just discovered that his last battery had gone dead to swear alittle when he discovered that two tires had also gone flat.
It was when I was pumping up that new inner tube that I decided todomesticate my automobile. It seemed to be a shame to take such adelicate piece of machinery out on the rough, unfeeling road, and Iremembered that Rolfs had told me of a Philadelphia friend of his whohad half domesticated his automobile. Rolfs said that once, when he wasfoolish, he had ridden half an hour, out to his friend's farm, and therethe automobile was jacked up and a belt attached to one of the rearwheels, and in less than five minutes the car was doing duty as a pieceof farm machinery, running a feed cutter. Rolfs said it was great. Hesaid it was the only time he ever felt satisfied that an automobile wasgetting what it deserved. He said that all the men had to do was to keepthe fodder-cutter fed with fodder, and that it kept two farm hands busy.He said I ought to get some fodder and cut it that way and stop beingan obstruction in the public highways. He suggested that I get some woodand saw wood with the automobile, or get some apples and make cider. Hesuggested a thousand things I could do with the automobile, and not oneof them was riding in it.
I had tried riding in it myself, and after owning it a week or two Idecided it was just the kind of automobile that was meant to do generalhousehold work. So I domesticated it.