Mr. Hawkins' Humorous Adventures

  CHAPTER IX.

  The gathering at the Hawkins' home that night was, I suppose, in thenature of a house-warming.

  The Blossoms, the Ridgeways, the Eldridges, the Gordons were there, inaddition to perhaps a dozen and a half other people whom I had nevermet. Also, Mr. Blodgett was there.

  Old Mr. Blodgett is Hawkins' father-in-law. There is a Mrs. Blodgett,too, but she is really too sweet an old lady to be placed in themother-in-law category.

  Blodgett, however, makes up for any deficiencies on his wife's part inthe traditional traits. He seems to have analyzed Hawkins with expertcare and precision--to have appraised and classified his character andattainments to a nicety.

  Consequently, Hawkins and Mr. Blodgett are rarely to be observedwandering hither and thither with their arms about each other's waists.

  Finally, I was there myself with my wife.

  It seems almost superfluous to mention my presence. Whenever Hawkinsis on the verge of trouble with one of his contrivances, some esotericforce seems to sweep me along in his direction with resistless energy.

  Sometimes I wonder what Hawkins did for a victim before we met--but letthat be.

  Dinner had been lively, for the guests were mainly young, and thewines such as Hawkins can afford; but when we had assembled in thedrawing-room, conversation seemed to slow down somewhat, and to passover to a languid discussion of the house as a sort of relaxation.

  Then it was that a pert miss from one of the Oranges remarked:

  "Yes, the frescoing is lovely--almost all of it. But--whoever could havedesigned that frieze, Mr. Hawkins?"

  "Er--that frieze?" repeated the inventor, a little uncomfortably,indicating the insane-looking strip of painting a foot or so wide whichran along under the ceiling.

  "Yes, it's so funny. Nothing but dots and dots and dots. Whoever couldhave conceived such an idea?"

  "Well, I did, Miss Mather," Hawkins replied. "I designed that myself."

  "Oh, did you?" murmured the inquisitive one, going red.

  Hawkins turned to me, and the girl subsided; but old Mr. Blodgett hadoverheard. He felt constrained to put in, with his usual tactful thoughtand grating, nasal voice:

  "It's hideous--simply hideous. I don't see--I can't see the sense inspending that amount of money in plastering painted roses and undressedyoung ones all over the ceiling, Herbert."

  "No?" said Hawkins between his teeth.

  "Folly--pure folly," grunted the old gentleman. "No reason for it--noreason under the sun."

  Hawkins at least reserves family dissensions for family occasions. Heheld his peace and his tongue.

  "Yes, sir," persisted Blodgett, "everything else out of the question,the house might catch fire to-night, and your entire stock of paintedbabies go up in smoke. Then where'd they be? Eh?"

  "See here," said Hawkins, goaded into speech, "you just keep your mindeasy on that score at least, will you, papa, dear?"

  "What's that? What's that?"

  "This house isn't going up in smoke," went on the inventor tartly. "Youcan take my word for it."

  "Isn't, eh?" jeered the elderly Blodgett with his nasty sneering littlechuckle. "And how do you know it's not? Eh? Smarter men than you, myboy, and in better built houses have----"

  "Look here! This particular place isn't going to burn, because----"Hawkins rapped out.

  "What isn't going to burn, Herbert?" inquired Mrs. Hawkins, with a cold,warning glance at her husband as she perceived that hostilities were inprogress. "Is he teasing you again, papa?"

  "Teasing me!" sniffed Blodgett with an unpleasant leer at Hawkins.

  "Teasing that antiquity!" Hawkins growled in my ear. "Say, isn't thatenough to----"

  "Don't whisper, Herbert--it isn't polite," continued Mrs. Hawkins, theplayfulness of her manner somewhat belied by the glitter in her eye."Let us all into the secret."

  "Oh, there's no secret," said the inventor shortly.

  "No dance, either," pouted the girl from Jersey, who was an intimate ofthe family.

  It was the signal for the light fantastic business to begin. Hawkins isnotoriously out of sympathy with dancing. He took my arm and guided mestealthily from the drawing-room.

  "Phew!" remarked the inventor when we had settled ourselves up-stairswith a couple of cigars. "Say, Griggs, do you still wonder at crime?"

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning dear papa Blodgett," snapped Hawkins. "Honestly, do you believeit would be really wicked to lure that old human pussy-cat down cellarand sort of lose him through the furnace-door?"

  "Don't talk nonsense, Hawkins," I laughed.

  "It isn't nonsense. It's the way I feel. But I'll get square on thatspiteful tongue of his some day--and when I do! There isn't anythingsweeter waiting for me in Heaven than to feel myself emptying a pan ofdishwater on that old reprobate from one of the upper windows.

  "Why, Griggs, sometimes in the night I dream I have him on the floor,that I'm just getting even for some of the things he's said to me andabout me, and I wake up in a dripping perspiration and----"

  "Stop, Hawkins!" I guffawed.

  "Strikes you funny, too, does it?" the inventor cried angrily. "Isuppose you think it's all right for him to talk as he does? Criticisemy decorations, tell me they'll all burn up some day, and all that?"

  "Well, but they might."

  "They might not!" shouted Hawkins in a fury. "You don't know any moreabout it than he does. You couldn't burn up this house if you soakedevery carpet in it with oil!"

  "Why not?"

  "Aha! Why not? That's just the point. Why not, to be sure? Because it'sall prepared for ahead of time."

  "Private wire to the engine-house?" I queried.

  "Private wire to Halifax! There's no private wire about it. See here,Griggs, do you suppose that poor little brain of yours could comprehenda truly great idea?"

  "It could try," I said meekly.

  "Then listen. You remember those dots on the frieze all through thehouse? You do? All right. Just close your eyes and conceive a littlemetal tube running back into the wall. Imagine the little tube openinginto a large supply pipe in the wall.

  "Is that clear? Then conceive that the supply pipe in each room connectswith a supply pipe in the rear of the house, and that the big pipeterminates--or rather begins--in a big tank on the top floor!"

  "But what on earth is it all?"

  "It's the Hawkins Chemico-Sprinkler System!" announced the inventor.

  "For the Lord's sake!" I gasped.

  "Yes, sir! It's something like the sprinkling system you see infactories, but all concealed--perfectly adapted to private housepurposes! Every one of those dots is simply a little hole in the wallthrough which, in case of fire, will flow quart after quart of mychemical fire-extinguisher? How's that?"

  "Er--is the tank full?" I asked, gliding hurriedly away from the wall.

  "Of course it is. Oh, sit where you were, Griggs, don't drag in thatasinine clownishness of yours. Or, better still, come up with me and seethe business end of the thing--the tank and all that."

  "The stuff isn't inflammable, is it? We're smoking, you know."

  "An inflammable fire-extinguishing liquid!" cried Hawkins. "Why, can'tyou understand that--bah!"

  He laid a course to the upper regions and I followed.

  "Out here in the extension," he explained, when we reached the topfloor. "There!"

  We stood in a bare room, whose emptiness was accentuated by the cold,electric light.

  Furnishings it had none, save for the big tank in the center. This was awooden affair, lined with lead.

  Over the top, and some two feet above the tank proper, the heavy coverwas suspended by a weird system of pulleys and electric wires. To theunder side of the cover was fastened a big glass sphere filled withwhite stuff.

  It was a remarkable contrivance.

  "There--that's simple, isn't it?" said Hawkins, with a happy smile.

  "It may be if you understand it."

  "Why, just look here. See that
big glass ball? That's full of marbledust--carbonate of lime, you know. The tank is filled with weaksulphuric acid. When the ball drops into the acid--what happens?"

  "You have a nasty job fishing it out again?"

  "Not at all. It smashes into flinders, the marble dust combines with thesulphuric acid, and forms a neutral liquid, bubbling with carbonic acid.Even you, Griggs, must know that carbonic acid gas will put out anyfire, without damaging anything. There you are."

  "I see. You smell fire, rush up here and knock that ball into the tank,and the house is flooded through the dots in your frieze. Remarkable!"

  "Oh, I don't even have to come up here," smiled Hawkins. "See that?"

  "That" was a little strand of platinum wire in a niche in the wall.

  "That's just a test fuse, so that I can see that she's all in workingorder," pursued the inventor, leaning his cigar against it. "There'shalf a dozen of them in every room in the house. As soon as the heattouches them, they melt and set off my electric release--and down dropsthe cover of the tank--ball and all. The ball breaks, the valve atthe bottom opens automatically--and down goes the tank, full ofextinguisher."

  "Well, I must say it looks practical."

  "It is!" asserted Hawkins. "Some night--if the night ever comes--whenyou see a roaring blaze in one of these rooms subdued in ten seconds bythe gentle drizzle that comes out of that frieze, you will----"

  "Mr. Hawkins, sir," interrupted Hawkins' butler at the door.

  "Well, William?"

  "Mrs. Hawkins, sir, she says as how your presence is desireddown-stairs."

  "Oh, all right," said the inventor wearily. "I'll be down directly."

  "No rest for the wicked," he commented to me. "Come on, Griggs, we'llhave to dance."

  The festivity was in full swing when we descended.

  Mrs. Hawkins came over to us and remarked in low tones to her spouse:

  "Now just try to make yourself agreeable, Herbert. It's not nice for youto steal away and smoke."

  "I'm not smoking."

  "Mr. Griggs is."

  "So I am," I said, suddenly realizing the fact. "William, will youdispose of this, please?"

  "Now go right in, both of you," Mrs. Hawkins began. Then she was calledaway.

  "Griggs!" muttered Hawkins, thoughtfully tapping his forehead.

  "Yes?"

  "What--what the deuce did I do with my cigar?"

  "I'm sure I don't know."

  "But I had it up-stairs. We were both smoking."

  "So you did," I said. "The last I saw of it you leaned it against thatfuse thing----"

  "Great Scott! That's what I did!" gasped the inventor, turning white.

  "Well, what of it?"

  "Why, suppose the infernal thing has burned down to the fuse!" criedHawkins hoarsely. "Suppose it melts through the wire and sends down thattop!"

  "Will it start the stuff running?"

  "Start it! Of course it'll start it. Gee whizz! I'm going up there now,Griggs!"

  Hawkins made for the stairs. I smiled after him, for he seemed ratherworked up.

  I turned back to the dancers. It was a pretty scene. To the rhythm of aparticularly seductive waltz, the guests were gliding about the floor.I noted the gay colors of the ladies' gowns, the flowers, the sparklingdiamonds.

  And then--then I noted the frieze!

  My eyes seemed instinctively to travel to that stretch of ugliness--theyfastened upon the dots with a kind of fascination. And none too soon.

  From one of the dots spurted forth what looked like a tiny stream ofwater. Another followed and another and yet another. The whole multitudeof dots were raining liquid upon the dancers from all sides of the room!

  The streams came from north, east, south, and west. They came from thehallway behind me--a hundred of them seemed to converge upon my devotedback. I was fairly soaked through in a second.

  The panic can hardly be fancied. Men and women shrieked together in theutter amazement of the thing. They laughed aloud, some of them. Otherscried out in terror.

  They leaped and sprang back and forth, to this side and that, in thevain endeavor to dodge the innumerable streams. Some slipped and almostfell, carrying down others with them. And all were doused.

  Then, as suddenly as it had started, the flood ceased.

  "Well, God bless my soul!" ejaculated Mr. Blodgett, putting up a hand towring his collar. "What in Heaven's name happened?"

  "Great Caesar's ghost!" said Hawkins' voice behind me.

  He had returned from his trip to the top floor extension.

  "It's all right," he called with cheery indifference to the contrarysentiments of two dozen people. "There's no danger. It won't hurt you."

  "But it does. It bites!" cried the girl from Jersey. "What is it? Wheredid it come from?"

  "Yes, it does bite! It smarts awfully! By Jove! The stuff's eating me!What is it, Hawkins? Oh, Mr. Hawkins, wherever did it come from? Why,it ran out of those dots--I saw it! What is it?" echoed from differentparts of the room.

  "It's only my sprinkler--my fire-extinguisher," Hawkins explained. "Itwent off by accident, you see. There's nothing in it to hurt you. It'sperfectly neutral. It can't bite--that's imagination."

  "But it does!" cried Mrs. Gordon. "It stings like acid. It actuallyseems to be eating my skin!"

  "Bite! I should say it did!" growled Mr. Blodgett. "It's chewing myhands off--I believe it's carbolic acid. I do--I'll swear I do. Nosmell--but it's been deodorized. That's it--carbolic acid!"

  "Carbolic fiddlesticks!" said Hawkins.

  Then a puzzled expression came into his eyes. He raised one of his wethands and tasted it--and spat violently.

  "Say! Hold on! Wait a minute!" he cried.

  Hawkins darted off up-stairs. I could hear him bounding along, two stepsat a time, until he reached the top.

  Silence ensued for a few seconds, save for an exclamation here andthere, as one or another of the guests discovered that his or her neckor ear or arm was smarting.

  Then the servants piled up from below. They, too, were wet andfrightened. They, too, had discovered that the liquid emitted by theHawkins Chemico-Sprinkler System bit into the human epidermis like fire.

  "Phat is it? Phat is it?" the cook was drearily intoning, when hurryingfootsteps turned my attention once more to the stairs.

  Hawkins was coming down at a gallop. In his arms he carried a keg, whichdribbled white powder over the beautiful carpet.

  "Say," he shouted to me. "That ball didn't bust!"

  "It didn't?" I cried.

  "No! There's no marble dust in the stuff!" said the inventor, landingon the floor with a final jump and tearing into the parlor. "It's pure,diluted sulphuric acid!"

  "Acid!" shrieked a dozen ladies.

  "Yes!" groaned Hawkins, depositing his keg on the floor. "But we'll getthe best of it. William, bring up a wash-tub full of water! Mary, go getall the washrags in the house! Quick!"

  The homely household articles arrived within a minute or two.

  "Now," continued Hawkins, dumping half the keg into the tub. "That'sbaking soda. It'll neutralize the acid. Here, everybody. Dip a rag inhere and wash off the acid.

  "Oh, hang propriety and decency and conventionality and all the rest ofit!" he vociferated as some of the ladies, quite warrantably hung back."Get at the acid before it gets at you! Don't you--can't you understand?It'll burn into your skin in a little while! Come on!"

  There was no hesitation after that. Men and women alike made franticallyfor the tub, dipped cloths in the liquid, and laved industriously handsand arms and cheeks that were already sore and burning.

  Picture the scene: a dozen women in evening dress, a dozen men in"swallow-tails," clustered around a wash-tub there in Hawkins' parlor,working for dear life with the soaking cloths.

  "_It was just the sort of thing that could happen underHawkins' roof, and nowhere else_."]

  Ludicrous, impossible, it was just the sort of thing that could happenunder Hawkins' roof and nowhere else--ba
rring perhaps a retreat for theinsane.

  Later the excitement subsided. The ladies, disheveled as to hair,carrying costumes whose glory had departed forever, retired to thechambers above for such further repairs as might be possible. The men,too, under William's guidance, went to draw upon Hawkins' wardrobe forclothes in which to return home.

  The inventor, Mr. Blodgett, and myself were left together in thedrawing-room.

  That amiable old gentleman's coat--he is bitterly averse to undueexpenditure for clothes--had turned to a pale, rotting green.

  "Well, it's a good thing that was diluted acid instead of strong, isn'tit, Griggs?" remarked Hawkins. "Originally I had intended using thestrong acid, you know, for the reason----"

  "Aaaah!" cried Mr. Blodgett. "So that was more of your imbecileinventing, was it? Fire-extinguisher! Bah! I thought nobody but youcould have conceived the idea like that! What under the sun did you letoff your infernal contrivance for?"

  "Oh, I just did it to spite you, papa," said Hawkins, with wearysarcasm.

  "By George, sir, I believe you did!" snapped the old gentleman. "It'slike you! Look at my coat, sir! Look at----"

  I was edging away when Mrs. Hawkins entered. She was clad in somberblack now, and her cheeks flamed scarlet with mortification.

  "Well!" she exclaimed.

  "Well, my dear?" said Hawkins, bracing himself.

  "A pretty mess you've made of our house-warming, haven't you? You andyour idiotic fire-extinguisher!"

  "Madam, my Chemico-Sprinkler System is one----"

  "And not only the evening spoiled, and half our friends so enragedat you that they'll never enter the house again, but do you know whatyou'll have to pay for? Miss Mather's dress alone, I happen to know,cost two hundred dollars! And Mrs. Gordon's gown came from Paris lastweek--four hundred and fifty! And I was with Nellie Ridgeway the day shebought that white satin dress she had on. It cost----"

  "Glad of it!" interposed Blodgett, with a fiendish chuckle. "Serves himjolly well right! If you'd listened to me fifteen years ago, Edith, whenI told you not to marry that fool----"

  "Griggs! W-w-w-where are you going?" Hawkins called weakly.

  "Home!" I said decidedly, making for the hall. "I think my wife's ready.And I'm afraid my hair's loosening up, too, where your fire-extinguisherwet it. Good-night!"