Amazing Stories, Vol. 2, No. 1 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

ie igeveemen, HICKS’ INVENTIONS WITH A KICK “The throttle has got stuck,” moaned the inven- tor. “I’ll have to extinguish the fire under the boiler, for the brake cannot hold the table against full steam pressure.” But before he had got to the door leading to the kitchen, there suddenly was heard a strange and ominous sound, a hissing sound, like that of a vicious snake. The inventor grew pale. “Lord help us!” said he. “The water must have got too low in the boiler and the pressure has risen so high that a seam has started to pull apart. It may ex- plode at any moment. If you value your lives, keep away from that door!” Irvine made for the only other door in the room. “Tet’s get out,” he said. He took hold of the door- knob. Alas! it was locked. Someone had either withdrawn the key or it was on the other side. Instinctively I turned toward a window, only to remember even before I looked down that this was a third story apartment. The table had meanwhile increased its speed. It gathered more. I tried the brake, but in vain. There was a puff of smoke through the terrific friction. It was no use. The table, freed from the encumbrance of the brake, gathered more speed. The company had shrunk away, pale and agitated, against the wall, but noth- ing was happening so far. Those dishholders cer- tainly did the work. Disasters Accumulate as the Pressure Rises HE table’s speed mounted. We could hear that 2 H.P. rotary turbine hum and the gears sing as they revolved with demon haste. And then things began to leave that table, and when they did, they left it suddenly and with terrific force. A dish full of gravy gave way. It was hurled with precision and with force at the back of the neck of Mr. Smith; most of the contents disappeared down his collar. A large flat dish full of lobster salad next struck the inventor in the face and he sat down kerplunk, looking like an original South Sea Islander. I received a rare-done sirloin steak with full force in the region of the stomach. The white vest it spoiled was worth $19.75. In the kitchen we could hear the ominous hissing of that boiler. The whine grew higher, indicating a further increase in the number of revolutions. One after another, the things that were on the table left it with the force of) projectiles. The unfortu- nate Uncle Jeremiah happened to get in the way of a ten-pound ham as it was flying through the air. He received it in the stomach and fell as if shot. As he did he sat down in a mess of steaming hot brown gravy and turkey-dressing spilled there be- fore. The air was thick with missiles. Pieces of fish, plates, cups, knives, saucers, forks, spoons, gravy dishes with contents, chicken pie, pork sausages, steaks, green salads, bottles of Lea & Perrin’s, pies, tarts, loaves of bread, plates of butter, boxes of pepper, salt and cinnamon, and a hundred other objects were flying through the air in vast num- bers. That table certainly had been well supplied with everything. The guests were dodging this ammunition with an alacrity bordering on the The men were cursing, the women pirieking.. And still due table p galore ee and 5 ae wee AS Shs Paes ae, ee *. ¢ eo yes 5 = moe Wi ¥ . ae bx ys, Te = : ba" s 7 we ¥ Pe ote gett — ere ‘ * 4 ra) wy is wo ? Ce a < a” pe: pte) 57 at each new burst of speed there was another shower of hot and cold, of soft and hard, of large and small, of slick and sticky objects. The walls were painted with brown gravy, white gravy, red gravy; with various salads, vegetables and sauces. | The floor was one sea of foods of every description. And still the whine grew higher, the speed greater. All of a sudden there was a clicking, snapping, popping sound, and at the same time a dark red streak, a thin, hot, fierce streak of red pierced the air and hit the wall beyond. It was the tomato soup. The stop-cock had been forced off by the ter- rific pressure. “Oh, good Lord!” shrieked the inventor, “the. pressure is too high in those liquid vessels. Those stop-cocks—compression washers only—won’t stand the pressure. . . .” he desisted, for a soft-boiled egg had been stopped in its mad flight by striking the inventor in the mouth; he fell over backward and landed with his shoulders where a large dish of honey had been spilled. There he stayed, stuck to the floor. The spout turned a little and played a stream of hot, rich, racy tomato soup against the wall behind him, from which it rebounded and struck the unfortunate inventor on the chin. It was so funny, that even I started to laugh, though the situation was dangerous and I had received four different plates of something on the chest and half a pound of butter behind the ears. I had no sooner started to laugh than my untimely mirth was quenched with a poached egg received on my left eye. Poor Aunt Zelinda ND then there was another “pop” and suddenly a stream of ice-water hit Aunt Zelinda under the jaw, knocking her over against the wall. When she came away her false hair did not come along, but remained adhering to the wall-paper, held there by a mess of very sticky candy that had landed there earlier in the fray. The table broke into another burst of speed, and another hail of things, mostly sweet, began to fall among us, felling guests here and there like flies. The tarts, short-cakes, jellies, jams, marmalades, and other sweets were in this mass, because as I reasoned even then, it took more speed for the smaller top table to be subjectd to the same centri- fugal force as the lower, larger table, whose rim moved more rapidly. As if these articles of con- fection were bound to go where they were needed, a strawberry short-cake landed on the sour visage of Jeremiah McQuincey at the same moment that a large jar of marmalade hit him in the stomach and ° a jelly burst under his ear. Jeremiah fell, like a soldier killed in battle. The hissing continued, growing louder. “Pop!” went the hot tea stop-cock, and Irvine roared as the fierce stream played upon his solar plexus. “Pop!” went the cocoa stop-cock, and at the same moment Smith, who had just raised himself on his hands to get up, went down in a heap, painted fit to sing “Way down upon the Suwanee River” in the réle of an original darkey. “Pop!” went the coffee stop-cock, and Mrs. Smith curled up and went down on the field of battle, and right after her that (Oo eomicbooks.cor 1p . ie ba utes ey b> ots 3 nee A La) | satis sc Si ie