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Frank Reade and His Steam Horse.

By “NONAME.”

Author of “The Steam Man of the Plains,” “The Boy Balloonist,” etc., etc., etc.

CHAPTER I.
PUTTING THE “ANIMILE” TOGETHER.

Table of Contents

“Musha, my God, an’ what do ye call it?”

Frank Reade looked up with a pleasant smile, as a brick-colored head was thrust into the half-open doorway of the wood-shed, where he was hard at work putting the several parts of his invention together.

“Call it!” said the sixteen-year-old genius, with a proud glance at his wonderful idea; “why, I call it a steam horse.”

“A harse, is it?”

“It is,” said Frank.

“Wid stale an’ iron legs, an’ a big copper belly on him?”

“You’re right.”

“An’ can he walk?”

“Yes, and run too.”

“Worra, worra, did yez iver hear the loikes o’ that?” cried the Irishman, throwing up his hands in astonishment. “Would ye have the nateness to allow me to sthep in for a whist, while I obsarve the construction of the conthrivance? I can philosophize, and so forth, but be the smoke o’ Kate Kelly’s pipe (be the same token, it was a rale black dudeen), this bates me philosophy, it do.”

“Who are you?” asked Frank.

“Patrick McSpalten’s my name. Will yez allow me in?”

“I suppose so,” said Frank, and into the wood-shed walked the Irishman.

He was a good-natured looking man of about thirty, pleasant-faced, well-dressed, and full of blarney.

“Arrah, it’s a jaynus ye are,” he said as he looked at Frank’s invention. “An’ do ye mane to tell me that you constructed that conthrivance all out of yer own head, me gossoon?”

“Oh, no,” grinned Frank. “I use quite a quantity of steel, iron and copper.”

“Oh, I didn’t mane that,” hastily said Patrick McSpalten. “I want to know if ye conthrived the masheen all alone?”

“You bet your bottom dollar I did,” said Frank. “I could make a metal casting of any animal and send it traveling with speed. This horse will probably travel at the rate of sixty miles an hour when under high pressure, and could keep going thirty-five or forty miles an hour for ten hours, with occasional ten minute stops to cool a hot joint.”

“Is that so?” ejaculated Patrick. “I can philosophize and so forth, but that bates me. Now, I moind that I was jist as much surprised whin I was tould about a Sthame Mon that thraveled over the counthry out west and——”

“What?” cried Frank Reade, surprise ringing in his voice. “The Steam Man was my invention.”

“Ye mane it?”

“Of course; I invented the old fellow and traveled over the west with him.”

“Honor bright now?” said McSpalten.

“Honor bright,” said Frank.

“Thin ye are the broth of a gossoon he was telling me about.”

“Who?”

“Me cousin.”

“What’s his name?”

“Barney Shea.”

“What!” cried the much-pleased boy, “is Barney Shea your cousin?”

“Av coorse he is. Me grandfeyther on me mother’s side was an O’Reilly, and Barney’s grandmother on his feyther’s side was a McSpalten, and didn’t they mate one foine summer’s marning, and all the lossies and lods——”

“Oh, hire a stump,” broke in Frank. “Never mind the old folks, but tell me about Barney. How is he?”

“Well and harety.”

“When did you see him last?”

“A month ago, when he said God speed to me on the quay at Dublin. Ah, he’s a great mon in the county now, is me cousin, Barney Shea. Frank Rade is yer name, for mony a toime has he tould me of yer diviltries with the red haythen out in the west.”

“Frank Reade is my name,” said the young inventor. “Is Barney coming back to this country, do you know?”

“Faith, I heerd him talkin’ about the matther, an’ saying that he moight take a pleasure trip to this land.”

“Do you know his address?”

“Do I, don’t I?” cried Pat. “Would yez be afther sinding a letther to the mon?”

“That’s the idea,” said Frank.

“For what?”

“To get him to come out here and travel with me.”

“And with that thing?”

“Yes,” said Frank. “He was the darndest cuss to fight that ever I laid my eyes on. He was always spoiling for a first class shake-up or knock-down, and he was the toughest boy in a rough hand-to-hand scrimmage that ever walloped his way through the West. I could depend on him when there was fighting for us to handle, and he was a mighty stanch friend to me. What’s his address?”

“Esquire Barney Shea, Clonakilty, County of Cork, Ireland.”

“All right,” said Frank, jotting it down in a book, “I’ve got it.”

“Whist now,” said Pat, “whin ye direct the letther, moind that yez don’t lave off the esquire.”

“I’ll moind,” said Frank.

“Now, will ye be afther havin’ the extrame nateness of showin’ me how in the name of the seven wondhers of the worruld ye mane to make that conthrivance thravel loike a harse?”

“Certainly,” said Frank, approaching the invention with a great deal of pardonable pride. “You can see very plainly that the machine is in every respect similar to a horse.”

“I moind that same.”

“Then I will begin with the information necessary to make you understand how the old thing works,” said Frank. “In the first place this copper belly is nothing more nor less than a well-tested, strongly-made boiler, occupying the greater part of the distance between the fore legs and hind ones; this gives room to the steam-chest proper and boiler, and they extend into the haunches. Understand?”

“Oh, yis, I can philosophize an’ so forth,” said McSpalten, sitting on a wooden bench and looking as wise as an owl.

“Then here, almost on the top of the horse’s haunches,” said Frank, “are the valves, by means of which I can at any time examine either the water or the steam, and regulate accordingly. Forward of this is the place where my fire burns, the door of the furnace being in the chest, as you can see. Flues running up through the animal’s head will allow the smoke to pass out of his ears, while similar pipes will carry the steam out of the horse’s nose.”

“Musha! musha! did yez iver hear the bate o’ that?” murmured Patrick.

“In the head,” continued Frank, “I have arranged a clock-work contrivance that will feed coils of magnesium wire as fast as it burns to the flame of a small lamp that is set between a polished reflector and the glass that forms each eye. I shall thus have a powerful light at night time, and on the level plains shall be able to see very clearly one mile ahead, if the night was just as black as a piece of coal.”

“Worra! worra!” gasped McSpalten. “Me head is turnin’ round. Go on, me gossoon.”

“Of course the power is applied by means of iron rods running down the hollow limbs, and having an upward, downward, and forward motion. By reversing steam I can make the horse back. Here, at the knees, I open these slides and rake out the cinders and ashes that fall from the fire in the horse’s chest. The animal’s hoofs are sharp shod, so there’s no danger of him slipping, either uphill or down.”

“An’ will ye be afther ridin’ on the back of that crayture?”

“Oh no,” smiled Frank, “I am making a wagon to ride in and carry my supplies for myself and the horse, and the animal will be harnessed to the truck, which will be constructed so as to stand the joltings of rapid travel. There, now, I guess you can understand the idea of the thing pretty well, can’t you?”

“Oh, yis, I can philosophize an’ so forth, an’ I have the ijee very foinely,” said Patrick McSpalten. “An’ now I’ll be afther goin’ to me cousin’s, the O’Flaherty family, hard by. It’s out wist I’m goin’ mesilf to-morrow, an’ I may mate you there some foine day. I’ll grow wid the counthry, an whin I make a fartune loike me Cousin Shea, then it’s back to swate Clonakilty I’ll go, an’ thin I’ll be Esquire McSpalten. Do yez moind that?”

“Success to you,” said Frank. “You’ll make it out, I guess.”

“Faith, I’ll thry,” said Patrick. “Will yez be afther havin’ the nateness to sind me respects to me Cousin Shea, and tell the mon that I hope to mate him in this land?”

“I will,” said Frank. “Take care of yourself, look out for sharpers, keep your weather eye skinned, and your hand on your wallet. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, me brave gossoon,” said the Irishman, grasping the boy’s slender hand in a farewell shake. “Ye can’t fail o’ making your mark, for ye can philosophize an’ so forth as well as mesilf; and I’ll wager the last bit o’ baccy for me pipe that you’ll raise the very divil wid yer Sthame Horse.”