Around the World in 100 Days (33 page)

“Yes,” said Phileas Fogg. “No doubt you're right.”

“And perhaps,” said Harry pointedly, “you will tell us some of
your
adventures, in turn.”

“But you've heard about my journey a hundred times.”

“I was not referring to your journey, sir. I meant your seafaring adventures.”

For the first time in Harry's memory, a full-fledged look of surprise came over his father's face.

“You see,” said Harry, “I met Captain Keough.”

“Ah. Well, perhaps some of those adventures should remain untold, as well. For your mother's sake.”

“Fair enough. I'll see you at home, then?”

“Actually,” said Phileas Fogg, “I thought I'd help you with the
Flash
—having her towed, or whatever is necessary.”

Now it was Harry's turn to look surprised. “Of course. I didn't suppose you'd want to.”

“If motorcars are to be the future of transportation,” said his father, “it would behoove us all to learn a little something about them, don't you think?”

“Yes, I do. When we've got her running again, perhaps you'd like to take a turn at the wheel?”

Phileas Fogg gave a small, wry smile. “I don't believe I care to know
that
much about them.”

 

Not wanting to lead a flock of newspaper reporters to Johnny, Harry stored the motorcar in a livery stable near Savile Row. A week or so later, when he was sure that the newspapers were done with him, he had the
Flash
towed—embarrassingly enough, by a team of horses—to the blacksmith shop in York Court, where he found Johnny hard at work cleaning up the charred remains of his shed. Harry had intended to share the four thousand pounds that remained, but Johnny refused. “You'll need that money,” he said. “For engineering school.”

Harry gave him a doubtful look. “You really think I should?”

“Don't you?”

“Well, I could give it a try.” Harry scratched his head. “Do you think any decent school will have me?”

“Of course,” said Johnny. “You're the famous Harry Fogg.”

“But what about our plans to build a new, improved version of the
Flash
?”

“We'll work nights,” said Johnny. “And weekends.” He sat on the running board and pulled from his trouser pocket a piece of paper covered with mysterious scrawls and sketches. “Want to see my drawings?”

“Does Ganesha have an elephant's head?”

“I don't know,” said Johnny.

“Well, he does. Now, let's see what you've got.” Though Johnny was not the most communicative person in the world, nor the most skilled draftsman, Harry managed to decipher his drawings and his halting explanation. The new
Flash
would be powered, like the car in Iowa, by electricity. But, unlike Morrison's vehicle, theirs could travel long distances, for the batteries would be recharged by a small, extremely efficient engine like the one patented seventy-five years earlier by another Scotsman named Stirling. Harry wasn't sure precisely how the Stirling engine worked, only that it needed no boiler and burned a fraction of the fuel used by a steam engine.

“This is brilliant, lad!” he said. “When do we start on her?”

“After we clean this up,” said Johnny. “And build another workshop.”

“Right.” Harry doffed his coat and picked up a shovel. “Listen, Johnny, I never apologized to you for selling the
Flash
to Drummond.”

“You didn't sell her.”

“Well, I nearly did. Anyway, I'm sorry.”

Johnny shrugged. “If you hadn't, we'd still be in San Francisco.” He set to work shoveling ashes and debris into a cart and Harry followed suit.

They got a welcome respite when Charles Hardiman turned up, carrying the latest edition of the London
Daily Graphic
. “Have you fellows seen this?”

“Seen what?”

“A very extensive and somewhat overwrought account of our journey, written by a certain Miss Annie Laurie.”

“Overwrought?”

Charles fished his eyeglasses from his coat pocket. “Listen to this: ‘It was at this point that your reporter was compelled to part company with Messrs. Fogg, Hardiman, and Shaugnessey. Even now, she cannot write of her reasons for leaving without suffering acute embarrassment, and yet she feels she owes her loyal readers some explanation of her actions.'”

Harry glanced at Johnny, who had ceased working and was listening intently. “Um, Charles, I think I'd prefer to read it for myself.” Perhaps Elizabeth needed to clear her conscience, but there was no need for Johnny to hear it.

With a puzzled look, Charles surrendered the paper. “Yes, all right, but . . .” He trailed off as Harry frowned and gave a slight shake of his head.

Harry found the passage and, sitting on the running board of the
Flash
, scanned it silently:

Harry grinned and shook his head incredulously. “Well. There's no question that Annie Laurie will become a household name. She clearly knows how to appeal to her readers.”

“Someone told me that, since her dispatches began appearing in the
Graphic
, the paper's circulation has nearly doubled.”

“What does she say about us?” asked Johnny.

“She says,” replied Harry, “that we were the cleverest and most amusing of companions, and that, when we make our next journey, she will insist upon coming with us.”

“Our next journey?” said Charles.

“To test the new, improved model,” said Johnny.

“What sort of improvements do you mean to make?”

“Actually,” said Harry, “we were thinking of building an entirely new and revolutionary sort of vehicle. It will consist of a large covered wagon—”

“A
covered wagon
?”

“Yes, and it will pulled by a giant steam-powered mechanical man.”

“Ho, ho. Very amusing.”

“Well, I wasn't certain you'd understand if I told you we're going to use a Stirling engine.”

“I know what a Stirling engine is,” said Charles, a bit indignantly.

“Really? Then perhaps you'll explain it to me.”

“It's . . . well, it's an engine that . . . that was designed by Stirling.”

“Thank you for that insight.”

“You're welcome. See here, Harry, are you looking for investors?”

“Don't tell me your father wants to get into the motorcar business.”

“No. Despite everything, he's still convinced that cars are unreliable and impractical. But I have some money of my own, and I'd like to help finance your new, improved model.”

“Are you certain? There's no guarantee that you'd make back your investment, you know.”

“I'm willing to take that risk.”

Harry glanced at him in surprise. “I believe you've learned a new word, Charles.”

“
Risk
, you mean?”

“Yes.” Harry scratched his head thoughtfully. “Has it ever occurred to you,” he said, “how some people—your father, for instance—are like locomotives? Their mind travels on a single set of tracks—tracks that were laid down, often very long ago, by someone else. And then others are like motorcars; they choose their own path.”

Now Charles was the one to look surprised. “That's actually a rather profound thought, Harry.”

“Yes, it is, isn't it? I've had a number of them lately. It must be all that meditation I've been doing.” Harry got to his feet. “Well, that's enough thinking. Time to get back to work. Here.” He thrust his shovel into Charles's hands. “If you really want to be a partner in this business, old chum, you'll have to start from the ground up.”