Part 21 (1/2)
That pa.s.sion was for speed. When he was a very small child he had made it his habit to descend the stairs by way of the rail at the infinite risk of his neck. Once he had run his head through the slats of a chicken coop into which an over-swift hopmobile had thrown him. On roller skates his accidents had been beyond counting because his calculations of distance often seemed not to work out harmoniously with his velocity. It was because Doctor Hanc.o.c.k thought that if the boy had the responsibility for his father's machine and for other people's bones he would learn to exercise proper care, that he had consented to let him become his chauffeur. The plan had seemed to work well, but once in a while the desire to fly got the better of James's discretion.
”Here's where the car gets ahead of the aeroplane,” said the doctor. ”An aviator would find it dangerous work to skim along only two feet above ground.”
”I did want to go up with that airman at Chautauqua last summer!” cried James.
”Why didn't you?”
”Cost too much. Twenty-five plunks.”
The doctor whistled.
”Flying high always costs,” he said meditatively.
”The Ethels went up. They haven't done talking about it yet. They named the man's machine, so he gave them a ride.”
”Good work! Look out for these corners, now. When you've studied physics a bit longer you'll learn why it is that a speeding body can't change its direction at an angle of ninety degrees and maintain its equilibrium unless it decreases its speed.”
James thought this over for a while.
”In other words, slow up going round corners,” he translated, ”and later I'll learn why.”
”Words to that effect,” replied the doctor mildly.
”Here's a good straight bit,” exclaimed James. ”You don't care if I let her out, do you? There's nothing in sight.”
”Watch that cross road.”
”Yes, sir. Isn't this moon great!” murmured James under his breath, excited by the brilliant light and the cool air and the swift motion.
”Always keep your eyes open for these heavy shadows that the moon casts,” directed Doctor Hanc.o.c.k. ”Sometimes they're deceptive.”
”I'll keep in the middle of the road and then the bugaboo in the shadow can see us even if I can't see him,” laughed James, the moonlight in his eyes and the rush of wind in his ears.
”There's something moving there! LOOK OUT!” shouted the doctor as a cow strolled slowly out from behind a tree and chewed a meditative cud right across their path. James made a swift, abrupt curve, and did not touch her.
”That was a close one,” he whispered, his hands shaking on the wheel.
”It hasn't worried her any,” reported his father, looking back. ”She hasn't budged and she's still chewing. You did that very well, son. It was a difficult situation.”
James flushed warmly. His father was not a man to give praise often so that every word of commendation from him was doubly valued by his children.
”Thank you. I shouldn't like to have it happen every day,” James confessed.
They sped on in silence after the cow episode, the boy glad of the chance to steady his nerves in the quiet, the doctor thinking of the case he was to visit in a few minutes.
The patient's house stood on the edge of Glen Point, and James sat in the car resting and watching the machines of the townspeople pa.s.sing by with gay parties out to enjoy the moonlight. Some, like themselves, had been to Rosemont, and some of his schoolmates waved to him as they pa.s.sed.
”It was a great show, old man,” more than one boy shouted to him.
It had been a good show. He knew it and he was glad that he belonged to a club that really amounted to something. They did things well and they didn't do them well just to show off or to get praise--they had a good purpose behind. He was still thinking about it when his father came out.