But the druggist had caught the contagion of his own idea. Diving back again behind the prescription case he emerged with a bottle of acid and a large sack of bicarbonate. "Come on," he said, enthusiastically, "we'll give it a good dose."
Before Mr. Fosdick could remonstrate further the druggist had emptied a peck of the alkali into the mixing chamber and stood ready with the bottle of acid. "Get in the machine and get all ready to pull out," he said cheerfully, "for when I pour in the sulphuric acid the pressure will generate very quickly."
Mr. Snodgrass looked at Mr. Fosdick and Mr. Fosdick looked at Mr. Snodgrass.
"Hurry!" said the druggist.
There was a compelling ring in the apothecary's voice and slowly and with the greatest of reluctance the men climbed into the machine.
"I hope nothing happens," groaned Mr. Snodgrass.
Mr. Fosdick made no reply. Although his face was pale there was a set to his jaw that expressed a determination to stay with his machine to the end.
No sooner were they seated than the druggist eagerly poured in five gallons of acid and then quickly screwed down the cap.
There was a sudden click of the pressure gauge and the hand flew around to the extreme limit.
"My God!" ejaculated Mr. Snodgrass. "The index shows the limit of the gauge—six hundred pounds. At what point is your safety set?"
"There is no safety valve," confessed Mr. Fosdick weakly. "I didn't think it would be necessary."
"The pressure is fine!" exclaimed the druggist as his eye caught the gauge. "And agitating the reservoir always increases the action of the acid," and catching hold of the wheel he gave the machine a vigorous shaking back and forth.
"Stop that!" screamed Mr. Fosdick. "Do you want to blow us up?"
The druggist suddenly stopped and scratched his chin. "I forgot something," he said cheerfully. "It is this: The acid will eat out your brass reservoir in a few minutes and will probably blow you into the next county."
"Here," yelled Mr. Snodgrass, "let me out," and he made a desperate effort to climb out of the machine.
But the frightened Mr. Fosdick knew there was but one thing to do and that was to reduce the pressure of the reservoir by exhausting the gas through the engine. With a sudden movement he threw the throttle wide open and then with the roar of a mogul engine the Seidlitzmobile took down the dusty road at better than a hundred-mile-an-hour clip.
Never has there been such a ride chronicled in the annals of automobiling as the maiden effort of the Seidlitzmobile. It made the ninety-three miles between Jonesboro and Smith's Corner in twenty-seven minutes, and in seven of the nine towns it passed through it was reported as a comet; the other two wired the Weather Bureau of the visitation of that most unusual phenomenon of nature, a dry cloud-burst. As the machine tore its way across the state, spouting carbonic acid gas from its exhaust pipes, it asphyxiated thirty-seven dogs that endeavored to pursue it and killed all vegetation on both sides of the road for a distance of two hundred yards. Goose Creek, which paralleled the road for forty miles, ran pure soda-water for two weeks afterwards, and it cost Mr. Snodgrass seven thousand dollars to have the oxygen replaced in forty-three townships, which he did only after suit had been filed.
How far the machine would have traveled is difficult to determine, although old Prof. Snooks, Mr. Fosdick's implacable enemy, calculated that the Seidlitzmobile would have gone three and a fraction times around the earth before becoming winded. But as a matter of history, it did not go this distance; it made one hundred and eleven miles before the druggist's prediction came true. At Smither's Junction the reservoir exploded. It changed the course of Wild Cat run. The concussion was felt in nine states and the seismograph at the University of Tokio reported an earthquake somewhere in the Aleutian Islands.
Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Fosdick finally came to earth on a haystack in an adjoining township after having made an ascent of two hours and fifteen minutes, missing luncheon en route. The Aero Club of France, which sent a special representative to the spot, calculated their flight at something over two million kilometers and presented both men with a pilot's license and an honorary membership in the club, which, it must be told, they both refused, saying that their flight was unpremeditated and that they could not honorably accept the licenses.
When Mr. Snodgrass alighted upon the haystack he found that Mr. Fosdick had preceded him by some minutes. There was a dazed, dreamy look upon Mr. Fosdick's face that somewhat alarmed his companion.
"What's the matter, Fosdick?" he inquired, shaking him. "Are you unconscious?"
"No," replied the genius, coming out of his musing with an appreciable effort, "I have just thought of a new invention."
"Well, you can leave me out," retorted Mr. Snodgrass, sourly.
THE END
