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The Weathercock: Being the Adventures of a Boy with a Bias, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 9. How To Heat The Greenhouse |
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_ CHAPTER NINE. HOW TO HEAT THE GREENHOUSE "Vane, my boy, you are like my old friend Deering," said the doctor one morning. "Am I, uncle?" said the lad. "I'll have a good look at him if ever I see him." The doctor laughed. "I mean he is one of those men who are always trying to invent something fresh; he is a perfect boon to the patent agents." Vane looked puzzled. "You don't understand the allusion?" "No, uncle, I suppose it's something to do with my being fond of--" "Riding hobbies," said the doctor. "Oh, I don't want to ride hobbies, uncle," said Vane, in rather an ill-used tone. "I only like to be doing things that seem as if they would be useful." "And quite right, too, my dear," said Aunt Hannah, "only I do wish you wouldn't make quite such a mess as you do sometimes." "Yes, it's quite right, mess or no mess," said the doctor pleasantly. "I'm glad to see you busy over something or another, even if it does not always answer. Better than wasting your time or getting into mischief." "But they always would answer, uncle," said Vane, rubbing one ear in a vexed fashion--"that is, if I could get them quite right." "Ah, yes, if you could get them quite right. Well, what about the greenhouse? You know I was telling the parson the other day about your plans about the kitchen-boiler and hot-water." Vane looked for a moment as if he had received too severe a check to care to renew the subject on which he had been talking; but his uncle looked so pleasant and tolerant of his plans that the boy fired up. "Well, it was like this, uncle: you say it is a great nuisance for any one to have to go out and see to the fire on wet, cold, dark nights." "So it is, boy. Any one will grant that." "Yes, uncle, and that's what I want to prevent." "Well, how?" "Stop a moment," said Vane. "I've been thinking about this a good deal more since you said you must send for the bricklayer." "Well, well," said the doctor, "let's hear." "I expect you'll laugh at me," said Vane; "but I've been trying somehow to get to the bottom of it all." "Of course; that's the right way," said the doctor; and Aunt Hannah gave an approving nod. "Well," said Vane; "it seems to me that one fire ought to do all the work." "So it does, my boy," said the doctor; "but it's a devouring sort of monster and eats up a great deal of coal." "But I mean one fire ought to do for both the kitchen and the greenhouse, too." "What, would you have Martha's grate in among the flowers, and let her roast and fry there? That wouldn't do." "No, no, uncle. Let the greenhouse be heated with hot-water pipes." "Well?" "And connect them, as I said before, with the kitchen-boiler." "As I told Syme," said the doctor. "No, no, no," cried Aunt Hannah, very decisively. "I'm quite sure that wouldn't do; and I'm certain that Martha would not approve of it." "Humph!" ejaculated the doctor. "I'm afraid our Martha does not approve of doing anything but what she likes. But that would not do, boy. I told Syme so, but he was hot over it--boiler-hot." "Well, then, let it be by means of a small boiler fitted somewhere at the side of the kitchen range, uncle; then the one fire will do everything; and, with the exception of a little cost at first, the greenhouse will always afterwards be heated for nothing." "Come, I like that idea," said the doctor, rubbing his nose. "There's something in that, eh, my dear? Sounds well." "Yes," said Aunt Hannah, "it sounds very well, but so do all Vane's plans; and, though I like to encourage him so long as he does not make too much mess, I must say that they seldom do anything else but sound." "Oh, aunt!" "Well, it's quite true, my dear, and you know it. I could name a dozen things." "No, no, don't name 'em, aunt," said Vane hurriedly. "I know I have made some mistakes; but then everyone does who tries to invent." "Then why not let things be as they are, my dear. I'm sure the old corkscrew was better to take out corks than the thing you made." "It would have been beautiful, aunt," cried Vane, "if--" "It hadn't broken so many bottles," said the doctor with a humorous look in his eyes. "It wouldn't have mattered if it had been aunt's cowslip wine, but it always chose my best port and sherry." "And then there was that churn thing," continued Aunt Hannah. "Oh, come, aunt, that was a success." "What, a thing that sent all the cream flying out over Martha when she turned the handle! No, my dear, no." "But you will not see, aunt, that it was because the thing was not properly made." "Of course I do, my dear," said Aunt Hannah. "That's what I say." "No, no, aunt, I mean made by a regular manufacturer, with tight lids. That was only a home-made one for an experiment." "Yes, I know it was, my dear; and I recollect what a rage Martha was in with the thing. I believe that if I had insisted upon her going on using that thing, she would have left." "I wish you wouldn't keep on calling it a thing, aunt," said Vane, in an ill-used tone; "it was a patent churn." "Never mind, boy," said the doctor, "yours is the fate of all inventors. People want a deal of persuading to use new contrivances; they always prefer to stick to the old ones." "Well, my dear, and very reasonably, too," said Aunt Hannah. "You know I like to encourage Vane, but I cannot help thinking sometimes that he is too fond of useless schemes." "Not useless, aunt." "Well, then, schemes; and that it would be better if he kept more to his Latin and Greek and mathematics with Mr Syme, and joining the other pupils in their sports." "Oh, he works hard enough at his studies," said the doctor. "I'm very glad to hear you say so, my dear," said Aunt Hannah; "and as to the rather unkind remark you made about the churn--" "No, no, my dear, don't misunderstand me. I meant that people generally prefer to keep to the old-fashioned ways of doing things." "But, my dear," retorted Aunt Hannah, who had been put out that morning by rebellious acts on the part of Martha, "you are as bad as anyone. See how you threw away Vane's pen-holder that he invented, and in quite a passion, too. I did think there was something in that, for it is very tiresome to have to keep on dipping your pen in the ink when you have a long letter to write." "Oh, aunty, don't bring up that," said Vane, reproachfully. But it was too late. "Hang the thing!" cried the doctor, with a look of annoyance and perplexity on his countenance; "that was enough to put anyone out of temper. The idea was right enough, drawing the holder up full like a syringe, but then you couldn't use it for fear of pressing it by accident, and squirting the ink all over your paper, or on to your clothes. 'Member my new shepherd's-plaid trousers, Vane?" "Yes, uncle; it was very unfortunate. You didn't quite know how to manage the holder. It wanted studying." "Studying, boy! Who's going to learn to study a pen-holder. Goose-quill's good enough for me. They don't want study." Vane rubbed his ear, and looked furtively from one to the other, as Aunt Hannah rose, and put away her work. "No, my dear," she said, rather decisively; "I'm quite sure that Martha would never approve of anyone meddling with her kitchen-boiler." She left the room, and Vane sat staring at his uncle, who returned his gaze with droll perplexity in his eyes. "Aunt doesn't take to it, boy," said the doctor. "No, uncle, and I had worked it out so thoroughly on paper," cried Vane. "I'm sure it would have been a great success. You see you couldn't do it anywhere, but you could here, because our greenhouse is all against the kitchen wall. You know how well that rose grows because it feels the heat from the fireplace through the bricks?" "Got your plans--sketches--papers?" said the doctor. "Yes, uncle," cried the boy, eagerly, taking some sheets of note-paper from his breast. "You can see it all here. This is where the pipe would come out of the top of the boiler, and run all round three sides of the house, and go back again and into the boiler, down at the bottom." "And would that be enough to heat the greenhouse?" "Plenty, uncle. I've worked it all out, and got a circular from London, and I can tell you exactly all it will cost--except the bricklayers' work, and that can't be much." "Can't it?" cried the doctor, laughing. "Let me tell you it just can be a very great deal. I know it of old. There's a game some people are very fond of playing at, Vane. It's called bricks and mortar. Don't you ever play at it much; it costs a good deal of money." "Oh, but this couldn't cost above a pound or two." "Humph! No. Not so much as building a new flue, of course. But, look here: how about cold, frosty nights? The kitchen-fire goes out when Martha is off to bed." "It does now, uncle," said the lad; "but it mustn't when we want to heat the hot-water pipes." "But that would mean keeping up the fire all night." "Well, you would do that if you had a stove and flue, uncle." "Humph, yes." "And, in this case, the fire on cold winters' nights would be indoors, and help to warm the house." "So it would," said the doctor, who went on examining the papers very thoughtfully. "The pipes would be nicer and neater, too, than the brick flue, uncle." "True, boy," said the doctor, still examining the plans very attentively. "But, look here. Are you pretty sure that this hot-water would run all along the pipes?" "Quite, uncle, and I did so hope you would let me do it, if only to show old Bruff that he does not know everything." "But you don't expect me to put my hand in my pocket and pay pounds on purpose to gratify your vanity, boy--not really?" said the doctor. "No, uncle," cried Vane; "it's only because I want to succeed." "Ah, well, I'll think it over," said the doctor; and with that promise the boy had to rest satisfied. _ |
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