Judge — July 14, 1906 — page 10: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

} T CHANCED one evening as Hafa Nuther sat at the door of his tent smoking a Paradise Lost Perfecto that had been presented to him by a footsore wayfarer whom he had fed in the morning, there ambled over the horizon a thun- der-storm, To the ordinary man this would have brought no other thoughts, perhaps, than those of goloshes and umbrellas, or possi- bly of Benjamin Franklin and his kite; but a profound philosopher like Hafa Nuther recognizes in all the manifestations of nature a suggestion for profitable medita- tion. “It is a curious thing,” he murmured to himself, abstract- edly rewrapping the outer layer of the Paradise Lost Perfecto, «that so much lightning goes to waste in the ordinary thunder-storm. For example, if in the large city which lies some thirty miles behind my humble tent they could preserve the lightning of two or three average storms there would be no need of electric or gas plants for illuminating the city, As a friend of human- ity, therefore, it behooves me to be of what benefit I may be to my fellows.” Making another unsuccessful attempt to preserve the administra- tive entity of the Paradise Lost Perfecto, he threw the cigar away and went into his tent, There he found a large glass jar, or bottle, such as druggists often display filled with colored water in their windows, The bottle had a broad glass stopper. Glass," Hafa Nu- ther observed to himself, “is not a conductor. Gtass, we might say, is a motorman. Ergo, and hic ego demonstrandum, glass is the thing to take charge of the lightning. So saying, he wan- dered out upon the plain and placed himself in the path that had evidently been selected by the storm. Soon it was upon him in all its fury, as Bulwer Lytton so feeling- ly observes in the Last Da presented by means of balle tionist, and some fireworks). It was an inspiring spectacle. Hafa Nuther, absorbed in his great project, stood firmly yet cautiously in the midst of the storm, his eyes alert for the first lightning-flash that should head toward him. His vigilance was soon rewarded. (This phrase, we pause to state, is lifted bodily from Dumas’ + Count of Monte Cristo,” but not from the stage version.) His vigilance was soon rewarded by the sight of a leaping, lissome lightning-bolt that hurtled at him at the rate of 245.867.489 per second, (Vide * How To Be Your Own Boss When It Comes to nce.") With a sudden twist of the wrist Hafa Nuther 1 the open mouth of the bottle beneath the lightning-flash, and it speedily curled and coiled upon itself in the bottom of the bottle. In- stantly Hafa Nuther clapped in the glass stopper, effectually thwarting the peal of thunder that was waiting, even as the bass-drum waits the swish of the slap-stick, ‘Then Hafa Nuther returned to his tent and put the bottle of lightning on a shelf. The bottle was filled with a cor- uscating glow, within which writhed and twisted and danced a sinuous, unresting, livid line—the streak of lightning. It illuminated the tent so thoroughly that Hafa Nuther was compelled to cover the bottle with a saddle-blanket before he could go to sleep. s of Pompeii” (the edition which is not girls, two tight-rope artists, one contor- STRANGE EXPERIENCE OF HAFA NUTHER AND THE CORKED LIGHTNING, By W. D, NESBIT. *** You are lightning bug-house," asserted the chief of police."* Next morning he tucked the bottle beneath his arm and made for. the great city which lay thirty miles behind his tent. Traveling on foot as he did, in the leisurely manner befitting a philosopher and student, it was evening of the second day ere he arrived in the city. Once there, however, he went to the city-hall, where he found the mayor and the chief of police. *Good-evening, gentlemen,” said Hafa Nuther. “Howdy 2" responded the mayor. “Aren't you the chap that 0 with a jugged cyclone ?” and you unjugged the cyclone and drifted in here a year or so + Tam," was the suave reply ; it blew daylight through a large section of your city “Tthought I remembered you. What's up now? ir, I have solved the problem of lighting your city.” So have we," remarked the mayor, patting a roll of bills in his vest-pocket and winking knowingly at the chief 2f police, who patted a similar roll in his pocket and carried the wink along to the electric- hting contractor, who was sitting with his feet on the official desk, smoking a fat, black cigar. (Boodlers never smoke anything but fat, black cigars. See any political novel.) + But my plan is the most economical that ever was heard of," ar- sued Hafa Nuther, his countenance falling. + An economical system of street-lighting 2" laughed the mayor. ++ We might be able to use it in daylight, if there is anything in it for us, but not at night. We've got that all arranged—the night part of it. However, rather than disappoint you, I will listen to your scheme.” replied Hafa Nuther, uncorking the bottle. Then he went into detail, showing how it would be an easy matter to capture any quantity of lightning at an expense so trifling as to be con- at all. Any druggist, he urged, would give you the nd then all you had to do was to wait for the first thunder- storm and bottle the lightning. He placed the bottle on the mayor's desk, and its” brilliant glow filled the room and surged out into the street, aking the electric lights about the city hall seem like pencil-marks against its whiteness. “+ Lightning !" snort- ed the contractor, pull- ing his feet off the desk. ++ Lightning-bugs, I say! That's what's the matter with this fellow—he’s got htning-bug You are wrong, sir,” was the dignified reply of Hafa Nuther. “You are lightning bug-house !" asserted the chief of police, taking his cue from the contractor. “It is not a scheme, sidered a li ‘Then you do not see the worth of my system?” asked Hafa Nuther with dejection. ++ It isn’t worth a cent to us," remarked the mayor. + Look here, Mr. Hafa Nuther; you seem to make a specialty of bringing trouble to town. Now, my advice to you is that you take the trail to your little your motto, ‘There's No Place Like Home,’ and kiup and ri don't come pestering around trying to prove it.” + You mean that ['""— «That you are to git !” said the chief of police. + Very well; but [will take my bottle of lightning home with me.” + Not much! You leave that here. How do we know it’s light- ning + You have my word.” + Well, we'll have to investigate that.” “Gentlemen, I beg of you,” said Hafa Nuther ; «I beg of you not to tamper with that bottle.”” But his pleading was laughed at, and he was led to the edge of the town and told (o scatter. So he did. He scattered himself straight ahead until he had put two miles between himself and the city, Then he turned and looked back. Suddenly, from the location of the city-hall, there was a prodigious (Continued on third advertising page following.)