Further Foolishness: Ch. 5 - The Call of the Carburettor

Ch. 5 - The Call of the Carburettor

Or, Mr. Blinks and his Friends

"First get a motor in your own eye and then you will
overlook more easily the motor in your brother's
eye."--Somewhere in the Bible.

"By all means let's have a reception," said Mrs. Blinks.
"It's the quickest and nicest way to meet our old friends
again after all these years. And goodness knows this
house is big enough for it"--she gave a glance as she
spoke round the big reception-room of the Blinkses'
residence--"and these servants seem to understand things
so perfectly it's no trouble to us to give anything.
Only don't let's ask a whole lot of chattering young
people that we don't know; let's have the older people,
the ones that can talk about something really worth
while."

"That's just what I say," answered Mr. Blinks--he was a
small man with insignificance written all over him--"let
me listen to people talk; that's what _I_ like. I'm not
much on the social side myself, but I do enjoy hearing
good talk. That's what I liked so much over in England.
All them--all those people that we used to meet talked
so well. And in France those ladies that run saloons on
Sunday afternoons--"

"Sallongs," corrected Mrs. Blinks. "It's sounded like it
was a G." She picked up a pencil and paper. "Well, then,"
she said, as she began to write down names, "we'll ask
Judge Ponderus--"

"Sure!" assented Mr. Blinks, rubbing his hands. "He's a
fine talker, if he'll come!"

"They'll all come," said his wife, "to a house as big as
this; and we'll ask the Rev. Dr. Domb and his wife--or,
no, he's Archdeacon Domb now, I hear--and he'll invite
Bishop Sollem, so they can talk together."

"That'll be good," said Mr. Blinks. "I remember years
and years ago hearing them two--those two, talking about
religion, all about the soul and the body. Man! It was
deep. It was clean beyond me. That's what I like to listen
to."

"And Professor Potofax from the college," went on Mrs.
Blinks. "You remember, the big stout one."

"I know," said her husband.

"And his daughter, she's musical, and Mrs. Buncomtalk,
she's a great light on woman suffrage, and Miss Scragg
and Mr. Underdone--they both write poetry, so they can
talk about that."

"It'll be a great treat to listen to them all," said Mr.
Blinks.

A week later, on the day of the Blinkses' reception,
there was a string of motors three deep along a line of
a hundred yards in front of the house.

Inside the reception rooms were filled.

Mr. Blinks, insignificant even in his own house, moved
to and fro among his guests.

Archdeacon Domb and Dean Sollem were standing side by
side with their heads gravely lowered, as they talked,
over the cups of tea that they held in their hands.

Mr. Blinks edged towards them.

"This'll be something pretty good," he murmured to himself
as he got within reach of their conversation.

"What do you do about your body?" the Archdeacon was
asking in his deep, solemn tones.

"Practically nothing," said the Bishop. "A little rub of
shellac now and then, but practically nothing."

"You wash it, of course?" asked Dr. Domb.

"Only now and again, but far less than you would think.
I really take very little thought for my body."

"Ah," said Dr. Domb reflectively, "I went all over mine
last summer with linseed oil."

"But didn't you find," said the Bishop, "that it got into
your pipes and choked your feed?"

"It did," said Dr. Domb, munching a bit of toast as he
spoke. "In fact, I have had a lot of trouble with my
feed ever since."

"Try flushing your pipes out with hot steam," said the
Bishop. Mr. Blinks had listened in something like dismay.

"Motor-cars!" he murmured. "Who'd have thought it?"

But at this moment a genial, hearty-looking person came
pushing towards him with a cheery greeting.

"I'm afraid I'm rather late, Blinks," he said.

"Delayed in court, eh. Judge?" said Blinks as he shook
hands.

"No, blew out a plug!" said the Judge. "Stalled me right
up."

"Blew out a plug!" exclaimed Dr. Domb and the Bishop,
deeply interested at once.

"A cracked insulator, I think," said the Judge.

"Possibly," said the Archdeacon very gravely, "the terminal
nuts of your dry battery were loose."

Mr. Blinks moved slowly away.

"Dear me!" he mused, "how changed they are."

It was a relief to him to edge his way quietly into
another group of guests where he felt certain that the
talk would be of quite another kind.

Professor Potofax and Miss Scragg and a number of others
were evidently talking about books.

"A beautiful book," the professor was saying. "One of
the best things, to my mind at any rate, that has appeared
for years. There's a chapter on the silencing of exhaust
gas which is simply marvellous."

"Is it illustrated?" questioned one of the ladies.

"Splendidly," said the professor. "Among other things
there are sectional views of check valves and flexible
roller bearings--"

"Ah, do tell me about the flexible bearings," murmured
Miss Scragg.

Mr. Blinks moved on.

Wherever he went among his guests, they all seemed stricken
with the same mania. He caught their conversation in
little scraps.

"I ran her up to forty with the greatest of ease, then
threw in my high speed and got seventy out of her without
any trouble."--"No, I simply used a socket wrench, it
answers perfectly."--"Yes, a solution of calcium chloride
is very good, but of course the hydrochloric acid in it
has a powerful effect on the metal."

"Dear me," mused Mr. Blinks, "are they all mad?"

Meantime, around his wife, who stood receiving in state
at one end of the room, the guests surged to and fro.

"So charmed to see you again," exclaimed one. "You've
been in Europe a long time, haven't you? Oh, mostly in
the south of England? Are the roads good? Last year my
husband and I went all through Shakespeare's country.
It's just delightful. They sprinkle it so thoroughly.
And Stratford-on-Avon itself is just a treat. It's all
oiled, every bit of it, except the little road by
Shakespeare's house; but we didn't go along that. Then
later we went up to the lake district: but it's not so
good: they don't oil it."

She floated away, to give place to another lady.

"In France every summer?" she exclaimed. "Oh, how perfectly
lovely. Don't you think the French cars simply divine?
My husband thinks the French body is far better modelled
than ours. He saw ever so many of them. He thought of
bringing one over with him, but it costs such a lot to
keep them in good order."

"The theatres?" said another lady. "How you must have
enjoyed them. I just love the theatres. Last week my
husband and I were at the _Palatial_--it's moving
pictures--where they have that film with the motor
collision running. It's just wonderful. You see the
motors going at full speed, and then smash right into
one another--and all the people killed--it's really fine."

"Have they all gone insane?" said Mr. Blinks to his wife
after the guests had gone.

"Dreadful, isn't it?" she assented. "I never was so bored
in my life."

"Why, they talk of nothing else but their motor-cars!"
said Blinks. "We've got to get a car, I suppose, living
at this distance from the town, but I'm hanged if I intend
to go clean crazy over it like these people."

And the guests as they went home talked of the Blinkses.

"I fear," said Dr. Domb to Judge Ponderus, "that Blinks
has hardly profited by his time in Europe as much as he
ought to have. He seems to have observed _nothing_. I
was asking him about the new Italian touring car that
they are using so much in Rome. He said he had never
noticed it. And he was there a month!"

"Is it possible?" said the Judge. "Where were his eyes?"

All of which showed that Mr. and Mrs. Blinks were in
danger of losing their friends for ever.

But it so happened that about three weeks later Blinks
came home to his residence in an obvious state of
excitement. His face was flushed and he had on a silly
little round cap with a glazed peak.

"Why, Clarence," cried his wife, "whatever is the matter?"

"Matter!" he exclaimed. "There isn't anything the matter!
I bought a car this morning, that's all. Say, it's a
beauty, a regular peach, four thousand with ten off. I
ran it clean round the shed alone first time. The chauffeur
says he never saw anybody get on to the hang of it so
quick. Get on your hat and come right down to the garage.
I've got a man waiting there to teach you to run it.
Hurry up!"

Within a week or two after that one might see the Blinkses
any morning, in fact every morning, out in their car!

"Good morning, Judge!" calls Blinks gaily as he passes,
"how's that carburettor acting?--Good morning. Archdeacon,
is that plug trouble of yours all right again?--Hullo,
Professor, let me pick you up and ride you up to the
college; oh, it's no trouble. What do you think of the
bearings of this car? Aren't they just dandy?"

And so Mr. Blinks has got all his friends back again.

After all, the great thing about being crazy is to be
all crazy together.

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