Chatterbox, 1905.

V >> Various >> Chatterbox, 1905.

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'We charged at the midst of the foe' 405
'We will see where this rat came from' 32
'What is it?--a fire? Speak, boy!' 236
'Who'll buy?' 208
'Wootton stood quite upright on the pinnacle of the steeple' 73
'Would you take a message of importance for me?' 168

'Your Majesty is certainly wrong' 108
'"You shall go," said the captain, "if I lose every passenger"' 65
'You young rascal' 296

Chatterbox.

[Illustration: "It rose at once to the ceiling."]

CRUISERS IN THE CLOUDS.

I.--THE TWO BROTHERS OF ANNONAY AND THEIR PAPER BALLOON.

In the chimney corner of a cottage in Avignon, a man sat one day
watching the smoke as it rose in changing clouds from the smouldering
embers to the sooty cavern above, and if those who did not know him had
supposed from his attitude that he was a most idle person, they would
have been very far from the truth.

It was in the days when the combined fleets of Europe were thundering
with cannon on the rocky walls of Gibraltar, in the hope of driving the
English out, and, the long effort having proved in vain, Joseph
Montgolfier, of whom we have spoken, fell to wondering, as he sat by the
fire, how the great task could be accomplished.

'If the soldiers and sailors could only fly,' he thought, 'there would
be no difficulty.' He looked at a picture of the Rock lying on the table
beside him, and saw many places on its summit very suitable for such
flying foes to settle on. 'But, ah! who could give them wings?' He
turned to the fireplace, and his eyes fell once more on the column of
smoke, silently, silently rising; and yet not so silently as the world
might think, for though he had not yet quite understood its meaning,
Joseph Montgolfier had been striving for some time past to learn the
lesson which he felt sure it was to teach him at last. And to-day the
secret came out. Thoughts so active as his did not take long to get from
Gibraltar back to the smoke, and they had not been there many minutes
when Montgolfier jumped from his seat, and, throwing open the door of
the room, called to his landlady. A great idea had occurred to him, and,
to carry it out, he required some light, silky material, called taffeta.
This the good landlady quickly supplied, and when she entered the room
some time later, she found her lodger holding the taffeta, which he had
formed into a bag, over the fire. As the smoke filled it, it certainly
showed an inclination to rise, but once out of reach of the warmest glow
it toppled over and collapsed on the floor.

The landlady watched the experiments for some time in silence. Then,
with a little laugh, she said, 'Ah, M. Montgolfier, why do you not tie
the fire to the bag?'

The great inventor had not thought of that; but he did not require to be
told twice, and obtaining a little bunch of some inflammable material,
he tied it under his bag and set it on fire. The smoke and heat inflated
the tiny balloon, and it rose at once to the ceiling. A few minutes
later the inventor called for pen and ink, and wrote the following
letter:

'Prepare without delay a supply of taffeta and cordage, and you shall
see one of the most astonishing things in the world.'

This hasty note was addressed to M. Stephen Montgolfier at Annonay, near
Lyons, and never was a request made that was more likely to be carefully
and promptly granted. Stephen Montgolfier, like his brother, had busy
thoughts concerning means for rising in the air, and when Joseph
returned from Avignon, they set to work with stronger hope of realising
their dreams. As they were the largest and best paper-makers in Annonay,
they did not lack material for carrying on experiments, and when these
experiments had repeatedly resulted in success, they decided that the
rest of the world should be admitted into their secret. A large balloon,
made of paper and taffeta, should be inflated in the public square, and
be allowed to rise before the eyes of any who might gather there to see
it. And they carried out this determination on June 5th, 1783. On that
day there assembled at Annonay a number of local celebrities, and no
better opportunity could have been chosen.

In the public square a large circular space was railed off to keep the
crowd at a proper distance, and in the centre of this space rose a
wooden platform to accommodate the new cloud-ship and the fire which was
to fill it with the power of flight. Never had the brothers Montgolfier
had a busier morning; never had the good people of Annonay seen such
excitement in their quiet village. The crowd had gathered from far and
near, and watched the busy workers round the mysterious platform with
widely different thoughts. Some were silent with expectation, some
jeered noisily; but, unconscious of praise or laughter, the two brothers
directed their little band of workmen, confident of coming triumph.

At last the specially invited guests had all arrived, and when they were
accommodated with seats, one of the brothers made a little speech of
explanation, ending with the remark that he would apply a torch to the
heap of chopped straw and wool beneath the platform. The smoke arising
from these different kinds of fuel formed, when combined, he said, the
most suitable gas for raising a substance into the air. These diligent
brothers, however, had only partly learned the truth as yet, or they
would have known that it was the _heat_, and not the _smoke_, which
lifted the paper bag.

The torch was put to the straw, the yellow flames leapt up, and the
smoke, passing through a hole in the platform, entered the open end of
the globe-shaped bag, which up to the present had, of course, been lying
flat and empty. Instantly a paper dome seemed to rise from the platform.
This continued to grow in size, while the workmen stood round in a ring,
each holding a rope which passed to the top of the dome. The ropes grew
longer and longer as the balloon filled, and it soon became hard work to
hold them. But on no account were the men to let go until the word was
given.

When at last the paper walls were extended to their uttermost size, the
wondering spectators saw a huge ball of some one hundred and ten feet in
circumference, swaying uneasily to and fro with every breath of air, as
though straining at its fetters. At last came the word. The ropes were
released, and the great body rose rapidly into the air, followed by a
thunder of applause. With straining eyes the crowd followed that
wondrous flight. Higher and higher, nearer and nearer to the clouds,
till what a few moments before was so very imposing in size seemed no
bigger than a child's plaything. Then, caught in a current of air, it
drifted out of sight for ever.

Such was the launching of the first ship in the new navigation of the
clouds. On the place from which it started a handsome monument has been
erected, bearing the names of the two builders--Joseph and Stephen
Montgolfier--the brothers who always worked together, sharing equally
the fame that their discovery brought, and never selfishly seeking for
self-advancement. Recent searchings seem to show that the principal
honour is due to Joseph, the elder, and, if one of the many stories told
in detail (and repeated at the beginning of this article) may be relied
upon, surely we ought to also remember with some praise the unknown
woman who let lodgings in Avignon.

JOHN LEA.

THE WAY TO WIN.

'I wish I could win one!' a lassie was sighing,
When sitting quite still in a meadow one day,
And thinking of prizes not won without trying--
Not won by mere wishing as time slips away.

And as she sat wishing she heard a hen clucking;
She lifted her eyes and that hen she could see,
And soon it was rapidly scratching and chucking--
As gay and as busy and glad as could be.

She watched how it struggled to upturn a treasure,
A thing it was wishing for, something to eat,
A worm to be dug for with patience and pleasure!
'Twas found, and it gave Henny-Penny a treat!

That worm the hen wished for she could not have eaten
Unless she had scratched it right up from the ground;
And Mabel had seen that the hen was not beaten--
By carefully _working_ the prize had been found.

So Mabel thought quietly over the matter,
And learnt the good lesson, 'No prize can be won
By thinking and wishing, by waiting and chatter!'
And soon she jumped up and to work she begun.

D. H.

FREED IN VAIN.

Prince, the parrot, was a proud and happy bird; he was proud of his
gorgeous red and green feathers, of his ability to say 'Pretty Poll' and
'How do?' and, above all, of his fine gilded cage, which stood just
inside the breakfast-room window.

But, in an evil hour, Prince, watching the birds which flew to and fro
outside the glass, was struck with a desire for freedom. He thought no
more of his splendid feathers, or his handsome cage; but, from morning
till night, he wondered how he should get out. There was not wit enough
in his parrot brain to make him understand that the cold English garden
was not in the least like the flowery forest of his native island.

His chance came one snowy morning; the French window had been opened,
after breakfast, that some one might go out and scatter crumbs for the
robins. The cage-door happened to be open too. Unobserved, Prince darted
swiftly out, and perched amid the leafless boughs of one of the high
trees on the lawn.

He was free! but, oh, how cold it was! How wretched he was already
beginning to feel! He crouched shivering on a bough; and when the snow
began to fall again in large, wet flakes, he was more miserable than he
had ever been in all his petted life.

Paralysed with cold and fear, he clung to the tree, too unhappy even to
cry out and let people know where he was.

[Illustration: "Paralysed with fear, he clung to the bough."]

Poor Prince! he must soon have died if some one had not noticed the
empty cage. The alarm was given at once, but it was some time before the
bird was seen on his lofty perch.

When they did see him, and everybody called and coaxed 'Poor Prince!
dear Prince!' to come down, he was too stupefied with cold and misery to
do as he was told.

At last Tom, the page-boy, volunteered to climb the tree and try to
reach Prince. It was rather a dangerous task, as the bark was slippery
from the frost and snow; but Tom persevered, and, by dint of much
effort, got hold of the parrot.

Prince was restored to his cage, but he had caught a bad cold, and never
again held up his head as jauntily, or seemed as proud of himself, as he
had done in former days.

C. J. BLAKE.

A KINDLY VISIT.

Willie Mortimer was a cripple, but he did not often complain of his lot,
nor, as a rule, did he feel very unhappy about it. His love for drawing
and painting was such a resource to him, that when he could hobble on
his crutches down to the shore, he was never tired of watching the sea
and the boats, and of trying to make sketches which he could work up
into pictures at home, as he sat in the window of the little cottage.

But it was a year since the accident which had made the amputation of
his leg a necessity, and for the first time Willie's cheerfulness was
beginning to forsake him. He could not help noticing how worn and
anxious his mother looked, and he knew how hard it was for her to earn
enough money, by her plain sewing, to keep up the little house. Until
the previous summer she had let lodgings, but she could not manage it
when she was nursing Willie, and waiting on him after he left the
hospital, and this year no people had applied for her rooms yet.

One of her former lodgers had been an artist, and it was he who, being
struck with Willie's talent, had given him instruction, and taught him
all he knew about art. But the boy was now thirsting for more knowledge.
If only he could be trained to be an artist! That was his dream, and
often he would sit at his little window, looking over the blue waters
of the bay, while his eyes would fill with tears as he thought how
impossible it was for a little ignorant boy to paint pictures which
would have any beauty.

His pathetic face attracted Dora and Elsie Vaughan as they passed the
cottage every day. They were having a perfectly lovely time in this
Devonshire village, where their father had taken a house for the summer
holidays. Mr. Vaughan was a celebrated artist, and Willie would watch
him eagerly as he passed with his canvas and sketching materials, and
would long for a sight of the pictures which would soon be so famous.

'That poor little cripple boy does look sad,' Dora said to her sister.
'I think we ought to go and visit him and take him some flowers.'

'But he is not always a prisoner,' Elsie answered. 'I see him on the
beach sometimes with his crutches, and he is often trying to sketch
boats and things.'

[Illustration: "He could hardly find words to welcome them."]

'Anyway it must be dull for him, and we might cheer him up a little,'
Dora persisted.

'It is rather tiresome, though, when there are such heaps of lovely
things to do, and the holidays do fly so quickly,' Elsie argued, for she
was not as unselfish as her sister, and did not much care to give up her
own pleasure.

However, Dora had her way, for Elsie knew from former experience that if
she were really set on a thing, it saved trouble to give in at once and
make the best of it. She even found a box of chocolates not quite
empty, and with the sweets that were left, and some of Dora's, was able
to fill a smaller box. Then they begged some cakes from the cook, and
hunted up a couple of story-books from the number they had brought with
them, and in the end had quite a well-filled basket for Elsie to carry.
Dora picked a bunch of roses and then they set out for the cottage.

When they arrived Willie was sitting before his easel, looking sadly at
his latest attempt at a picture, and thinking how poor it was compared
with the scene his imagination painted. He was so shy and so much
overcome by the honour of their visit that he could hardly find words to
welcome them, but the girls' exclamations of delight when they saw his
picture soon set him at ease.

'How lovely!' Dora cried. 'Did you really paint it yourself?'

'I have watched you sketching on the beach, but I never thought you were
so clever,' Elsie told him, and Willie blushed with pleasure at their
praise.

Then he opened the box on which his painting materials stood, and showed
them all the pictures and sketches he had done in the past year.

'You see, Miss,' he said to Dora, 'now I cannot get about much, it
passes the time; but I do wish I had somebody to tell me all the faults
in them, and help me to do better.'

'We must bring Father to see them; he will not be backward about
pointing out faults,' said Elsie, laughing, 'though I cannot find any
myself.'

'But Mr. Vaughan is such a great artist, he would never look at my poor
little pictures,' Willie said, flushing at the very thought.

'He may be a great artist, but he is a very kind father,' Elsie told
him, 'and he nearly always does what we ask him.'

Certainly he did not disappoint his daughters this time. Moreover, he
was amazed at the progress the boy had made with so little help, and saw
that he was worth training.

'Your son has great natural talent,' he said to Willie's mother. 'I am
even inclined to think he may be a genius. You must allow me to make it
easy for him to be trained in the best schools.'

And so poor crippled Willie, instead of being a burden to his mother,
became her pride and joy, beginning a career which was one day to make
him even more famous than the artist who had given him a helping hand.

M. H.

THE BOY TRAMP.

CHAPTER I.

The first time I saw Captain Knowlton, we were living in lodgings at
Acacia Road, Saint John's Wood. My Aunt Marion had breakfasted in bed,
and I, having nothing better to do, wandered downstairs to what our
landlady called the 'hall,' where I stood watching Jane as she dipped a
piece of flannel into her pail, and smacked it down noisily on to the
oilcloth, until there was a loud ringing of the street-door bell.

As Jane rose from her knees, rubbing her red hands on her apron, I edged
along the passage, keeping touch of the wall, and staring unabashed at
the tall, well-dressed, distinguished-looking visitor.

'Does Miss Everard live here?' he inquired.

'Yes, sir,' answered Jane.

'I should like to see her.'

'Master Jack!' cried Jane, 'do you know if your aunt has come down yet?'

But as I was on the point of running upstairs to find out, the visitor
called me back.

'Half a second,' he said. 'Are you young Everard?'

'Yes,' I replied; and fixing an eyeglass in his left eye, he looked at
me with considerable curiosity.

'Tell your aunt,' he continued, 'that Captain Knowlton wishes to see
her.'

And upon that I ran off, shouting, 'Aunt Marion! Aunt Marion!' at the
top of my voice. 'Aunt Marion,' I repeated, entering the sitting-room,
'Captain Knowlton is downstairs, and he wants to speak to you.'

'Captain Knowlton!' she murmured.

'Shall I bring him up?' I asked.

Rising from the sofa, and laying down the newspaper which she had been
reading, Aunt Marion walked towards the door. She must have been near
her thirty-fifth year at that time, about the same age as our visitor.
She was tall, fair, and nice-looking, good-tempered, and perhaps a
little careless. That morning she was wearing a light blue
dressing-gown, although it was past eleven o'clock.

'Yes, bring Captain Knowlton up,' she answered, 'and ask him to wait a
few minutes.'

As she went to the bedroom, I returned to the street door, where Captain
Knowlton stood gazing at Jane as she continued to smack the oilcloth
with her wet flannel.

'You are to come upstairs,' I cried, and following me to the
sitting-room, he sat down and began to stare afresh.

'So you are poor Frank Everard's boy!' he said.

'Did you know my father?' I demanded, for I had no recollection of
either parent, or of any relative with the exception of Aunt Marion,
under whose charge I had moved about from lodging-house to lodging-house
since I was four years of age.

'Well,' said Captain Knowlton, 'if I had not known him, I should not be
here to-day.'

He became silent for a few moments, and then added, as he took my hand
and drew me against his knee, 'Your father once saved my life, Jack. How
old are you?' he asked.

'Eleven next month,' I replied, and, somewhat to my disappointment, Aunt
Marion entered the room as I spoke, wearing the dress in which she went
to church on Sundays.

'I have often heard of you, Captain Knowlton,' she said, as he rose from
his chair, 'although I have never seen you before.'

'Oh, well,' he answered, 'I have been in India the last five years! I
came home last week, and from a few words I heard at the club, I
gathered that poor Frank Everard's boy----'

Aunt Marion's cheeks flushed, and she held her head a little further
back.

'I have done the best I could for him,' she exclaimed.

'I am certain of that,' he continued; 'but, anyhow, I made inquiries,
and, after some difficulty, succeeded in discovering your address.
Perhaps,' he added, glancing in my direction, 'you would not mind
sparing me a few minutes alone.'

To my great disgust, she told me to run away, so that I returned to the
damp passage, which was now deserted by Jane. After waiting there what
seemed a long time, I saw Captain Knowlton on the stairs. After bidding
me good-bye, he let himself out of the house.

'Aunt Marion!' I cried, before there was time to reach the sitting-room,
'he says that Father saved his life!'

'Well, Jack, he said what was quite true.'

'But,' I continued, 'why did Captain Knowlton call father "poor Frank
Everard?" Was he really poor?'

Aunt Marion sighed before she answered.

'Goodness knows, he ought not to have been,' she said. 'Your father had
a lot of money when he came of age, but he was foolish enough to spend
it all, and the consequence was that nothing remained for your mother,
or for you when she died.'

'Hasn't Captain Knowlton any money either?' I asked.

'He has lately come into a large fortune,' she said; and then she told
me that he had promised to come again at the same hour to-morrow
morning, and take me out with him.

Captain Knowlton seemed so satisfactory in every way that the mere
prospect of walking in the street by his side was enticing. I lay awake
that night a long time, wondering where he would take me.

When I awoke the next morning, Aunt Marion said I was to put on my best
clothes (which were nothing to boast of), and insisted on washing me
herself, putting a quantity of soap into my eyes, oiling my hair, and,
in short, doing her best in readiness for Captain Knowlton's arrival.

'Well, Jack, are you ready?' he asked, as he entered our room.

'Rather!' I answered.

'Have you got a handkerchief?' said Aunt Marion, and I drew it from my
jacket as proof.

'Come along, then,' cried Captain Knowlton, and I rejoiced to see that
he had kept his hansom at the door.

The first stoppage on that eventful morning was at the hair-dresser's,
where I sat in a high chair, enveloped in a loose cotton wrapper, while
Captain Knowlton smoked a cigarette and a man cut my hair, after which
we went to a tailor's, where I was measured for two suits of clothes.
Having visited a hatter's and a hosier's in turn, we entered a large
restaurant, sitting down one on each side of a small table, Captain
Knowlton leaning across it and reading the bill of fare aloud for my
benefit.

'I think I will have roast turkey,' I said, after prolonged consideration,
and I accordingly had it, with the accompaniment of sausage and bread
sauce, to say nothing of the sweets and the ice which followed. But
even what Captain Knowlton described as luncheon, and what I regarded as
a kind of king of dinners, was eclipsed by what came afterwards, for we
were driven to a theatre, where a comic opera was being played; and at
seven o'clock that evening a very tired and sleepy boy, with his right
hand tightly clenched on a half-sovereign in his jacket pocket, was
deposited on the steps of the house in Acacia Road.

During the next few weeks Captain Knowlton was a frequent visitor,
while, for my own part, I wished that he would come every day. One
afternoon he arrived in the rain and stayed to tea.

'Now, Jack,' he said, setting down his empty cup, 'I should like to hear
you read.'

But as I was bringing one of our small collection of books from the
sideboard, he called me away.

'No, none of that,' he cried, with a laugh; 'something you have never
seen before. Try the newspaper.'

Although I appeared to win approval by my reading of the extremely
uninteresting leading article, he shook his head at the sight of my
handwriting, whilst he seemed to be astounded by my total ignorance of
Latin and French.

'The fact is,' he said, 'it is high time you went to boarding-school!'

Before he left the house that afternoon he had another private
conversation with Aunt Marion, and a week or two later he arrived with
the announcement that 'everything had been arranged.'

'Windlesham has been very strongly recommended to me,' he explained.
'The Reverend Matthew Windlesham, to give him his full title.'

'Has he a living?' inquired Aunt Marion.

'No, but he has a capital house, with a large garden and a meadow, at a
place called Castlemore.'

'Where is that?'

'About a hundred miles from London. Windlesham has a wife and five
daughters, and at present there are only six or seven pupils. As Jack is
rather backward, it will suit him better than a larger school.'

So everything was decided, and I fancy that Aunt Marion looked forward
to my departure with a satisfaction equal to my own--it could scarcely
have been greater. Boys and girls were at that time an unknown quantity
to us, as were most of their sports and pastimes.

It was true that there were scarcely enough of us at Ascot House for
football or cricket; nevertheless we did our best in the meadow at the
bottom of the garden, our scanty numbers being eked out by Mr. and Mrs.
Windlesham's five girls. They were nice, kind people, and, when the
first shyness had worn off, I settled down happily at Castlemore. During
the next three uneventful years I received occasional visits from
Captain Knowlton, while I grew greatly in stature, and, it is to be
hoped, in knowledge.

The holidays were, for the most part, spent with Aunt Marion, sometimes
in boarding-houses at the seaside, sometimes in London, and I had no
anticipation of troubles ahead until shortly after I passed my
fourteenth birthday.

(_Continued on page 12._)

[Illustration: "'Does Miss Everard live here?' he inquired."]

[Illustration: "His grandfather lay gagged and bound on the floor."]