Bright Ideas: A Record of Invention and Misinvention

Bob Templeton tucked a leg under him on the parapet of the bridge on which he was sitting, and with a look of gloomy disgust spread a number of coins, the contents of his trouser pocket, on the weather-beaten stone.

"Eleven and ninepence," he said, dolefully. "That's all."

Tom Eves, who had been leaning his elbows on the bridge, and watching the roach darting among the weeds in the clear running stream below, straightened himself, smiled, and, diving a hand into his pocket, gave a comical glance at the coins it returned with, and said:

"Well, you beat me. I've got seven and fivepence halfpenny, and no chance of more for nearly a couple of months. We're sturdy beggars: under a pound between us."

"You can't do much with a pound."

"True, old sport, and still less with nineteen and twopence halfpenny. Might as well not count the halfpenny."

"And there was so much I wanted to do. There's the levitator, and the smoke machine, and the perpetual pump----"

"And the microphone, and the lachrymator, and the super-stink----"

"And the electric cropper, and the tar entanglement, and--but what's the good of talking? They all mean cash."

"Well, haven't I read, in the days of my youth, in the excellent Samuel Smiles, that most inventors have been poor men?"

"That's all very well; but they started with more than nineteen and twopence half-penny--and war prices, too! It's maddening to think what chances we are missing. This is just the sort of place where you can think out things quietly. No masters to pounce on your inventions before they are half finished. That automatic hair-cutter, now; there was a ripping idea simply squashed flat. A few touches would have made it perfect. If that blatant ass, young Barker, hadn't shouted before he was hurt----"

"Barked before he was bitten."

"Eh? Oh, that's a pun. I wish you'd be serious. If he hadn't shouted and brought old Sandy on the scene the thing might have been finished by now, and on the market."

"And what would the Hun say when he came back after the war and found your patent cutter in every one's pocket? His job would be gone. Really, I've a sneaking sympathy with the gentle Hun."

"I haven't--not a ha'porth. Anyway, now we've got to begin all over again, simply because young Barker hadn't the pluck of a--of a----"

He paused for want of a word.

"Of a cucumber?" suggested Eves, promptly filling the gap.

"Yes--of a cucumber," snapped Templeton, who, for all his lack of humour, was quick to suspect levity in his chum.

"By gum, he did look a sight!" added Eves, grinning in gleeful reminiscence. "Half his crumpet bald as a billiard ball; t'other half moth-eaten."

"Serve him right. If he'd waited until we'd readjusted the clippers, and shut his face instead of raising Cain and bringing old Sandy rushing in at a mile a minute, I'd have made a thorough good job of him. He was a beautiful subject, too; hadn't seen a barber for six weeks."

"And enough grease on his mane to make the thing self-lubricating. There's an idea for you, old man."

"Yes; I hadn't thought of that. But what's the good? Here we're in a quiet village, with the run of old Trenchard's disused barn; all the conditions favourable, but no funds! Upon my word----"

"Hullo, Postie," cried Eves at this point. "Anything for us?"

The village postman, a veteran of sixty years, had appeared round the corner of the lane that abutted on the bridge, his boots white with the dust gathered since he had started his morning tramp of ten miles a couple of hours before.

"Marnen, young genelmen," said the postman. "Fine marnen, to be sure. Ay, I've got one little small thing in the way of a registered letter."

"Then I've no further interest in you, my friend," said Eves. "Registered letters are not in my scheme of life."

"Good now; that saves me the trouble of asking ye which is Mr. Robert Templeton. No, no," he added, as Templeton held out his hand. "Ye'll sign the bit o' paper first. Just there, with my pencil, an 'ee please; 'twon't rub out, and I've got to think of my fame in the land; forty year in the service and no complaints, I don't care who the man is."

Templeton signed the green-tinted receipt slip; the postman handed over the letter, bade them good morning, and shambled away.

"From my aunt," remarked Templeton as he cut open the envelope.

"My prophetic soul!" exclaimed Eves. "How much, Bob?"

Templeton flourished a ten-pound note, but made no reply until he had read through the accompanying letter, which he then handed to Eves with the remark, "She's a good old sort."

"Wasn't it Solomon said, 'Go to the aunts'?" said Eves. A broad smile spread over his face as he read the letter, which ran as follows:

"MY DEAR NEPHEW,

"I am really sorry that we shall not be able to spend the holidays together this year, as we have often done so delightfully in the past, but I feel that I am only doing what is right. It is so important in these terrible times that everybody should practise the strictest economy in food; and every one must do what he (or she) can for our dear country; and I have every hope that by going about the villages in my caravan, as I told you in my last, and delivering simple lectures on the greens and other public places, I may persuade the dear people, especially the mothers, that it is not really necessary to health to have both bacon and eggs for breakfast every morning. If you were a little older and more experienced I am sure that you would be able and willing to give me very great assistance; but after your arduous labours at school I feel you need complete rest from brain work, and you will get that nowhere so well as with dear Mr. and Mrs. Trenchard. To make up for your disappointment in being deprived of our usual simple pleasures I send you a little pocket-money, which I am sure you will spend wisely. I hope and believe that you will not indulge in luxuries; we all of us owe it to our King and country to eat as little as we can. You will find that barley water and onions fried in margarine make an excellent light breakfast; will you tell Mrs. Trenchard that, with my love? In the course of my tour I hope to reach Polstead before your holidays come to an end. I will give you good notice, and rely on you to ensure me a large audience.

"Your affectionate aunt, "CAROLINE TEMPLETON."

"Excellent Aunt Caroline!" exclaimed Eves. "But your 'arduous work,' Bobby. My hat!"

"I work jolly hard."

"The labour we delight in don't show on our reports, old man. Anyway, you've got a tenner. Better an aunt in England than a pater in India. The old boy's all right, of course; I don't blame him, but that old mummy of a solicitor who manages things here. He'll pay Mother Trenchard's weekly bills on the nail, but he won't send me another penny till next quarter day; theory is, teach me economy, as if any man could come through the summer term with a pocketful of money! The wonder is I've got fivepence halfpenny plus seven bob."

"Well, Aunt Caroline's tenner will go a long----"

"Will go along too fast," Eves interrupted. "What will you try first?"