“Something wrong with the spark.”

“Bless me!  Can you fix it?”

“I think so.  Now, if you will be good enough to turn that crank.”

“With pleasure.  What an extraordinary piece of mechanism.—­”

“A little faster.”

“The momentum—­”

“A little faster.”

“Very heavy fly-wheel—­”

“Just a little faster.”

“Friction—­mechanics—­overcome—­”

“Now as hard as you can, Professor.”

“Exercise, muscle, but hard work.  The spark,—­is it there?  Whew!” and the Professor stopped, exhausted.

It was the repetition of those experiences that sobered the Professor and led him to speak of his work at home, which he feared he was neglecting.  At the last stop he stood in a pool of water and turned the crank without saying anything that would bear repetition.

While touring, look out for glass, nails, and the country mechanic,—­of the three, the mechanic can do the largest amount of damage in a given time.  His well-meant efforts may wreck you; his mistakes are sure to.  The average mechanic along the route is a veritable bull in a china shop,—­once inside your machine, and you are done for.  He knows it all, and more too.  He once lived next to a man who owned a naphtha launch; hence his expert knowledge; or he knew some one who was blown up by gasoline, therefore he is qualified.  Look out for him; his look of intelligence is deception itself.  His readiness with hammer and file means destruction; if he once gets at the machine, give it to him as a reward and a revenge for his misdirected energy, and save time by walking.

Even the men from the factory make sad mistakes; they may locate troubles, but in repairing they will forget, and leave off more things than the floor will hold.

At Batavia we put in new batteries, repacked the pump, covered the coil with patent leather, so that neither oil nor water could affect it, and put on a new chain.  Without saying a word, the bright and too willing mechanic who was assisting, mainly by looking on, took the new chain into his shop and cut off a link.  A wanton act done because he “thought the chain a little too long,” and not discovered until the machine had been cramped together, every strut and reach shortened to get the chain in place; meanwhile the factory was being vigorously blamed for sending out chains too short.  During it all the mechanic was discreetly silent, but the new link on the vise in the shop betrayed him after the harm was done.

The run from Batavia to Canandaigua was made over roads that are well-nigh perfect most of the way, but the machine was not working well, the chain being too short.  Going up stiff grades it was very apparent something was wrong, for while the motor worked freely the carriage dragged.