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The self-starter hummed as it spun the flywheel, but nothing whatever was elicited save a profane phrase from Foster and a growl from Mert. Bud sat back flaccid, his whole body owning defeat. "Well, that means a tow in to the nearest shop," he stated, after a minute of dismal silence. "She's dead as a doornail." Mert sat back in his corner of the seat, muttering into his collar.
"And when we are about to drown." "Weeping will not save us," flung back Ruth. Her strong hands held the wheel-spokes with a grip unbreakable. She could force the Stazy's head to the seas. "Can you start the engine on the reverse, Miss?" bawled Gordon. "I can try!" flashed Ruth. "Say when." In a moment the cry came: "Ready!" "Aye, aye!" responded Ruth, spinning the flywheel.
"You see, the gyroscope is really a flywheel mounted on gimbals and can turn on any of its angles so that it can assume any angle in space. When it's at rest like this you can turn it easily. But when set revolving it tends to persist always in the plane in which it was started rotating." I took hold of it, and it did turn readily in any direction. I could feel the heavy little flywheel inside.
Just beyond was a blacksmith's forge and a timber-yard behind, where a dealer in old iron had a shop, in front of which was a rusty boiler and a gigantic flywheel half buried in the sand.
The whole was shielded by a wooden hood which permitted no light, except the slender ray, to strike it. The film revolved slowly across the field, its speed regulated by the flywheel, and all moved by an electric motor.
Cora spun the flywheel, and the boat took its place. She looked every inch a girl to win, while Hazel kept close to the steering wheel and the twins did their part in just looking pretty. The motor girls' boat was the cynosure of every eye, as it happened to be the only boat in that class run by girls. The signal was given and they started off. "Steady!" Jack called. "Go it, sis!"
"This is a very simple motor," explained Cora, showing how readily the gas could be turned on and how promptly the engine responded to the spark. "It's a beauty," agreed Ben, as the "chugchug" answered the first turn of the flywheel. Belle and Bess sat in the stem and Cora went forward.
The situation seemed somewhat relieved. "It's all right now," spoke Cora in a low voice, and with an easier air. "Let's go." With pleasant words for Ben and Dan she and her friends prepared to start off again. Walter gave the flywheel a few vigorous turns, but there was only a sort of apologetic sigh from the motor. "Prime it a bit," suggested Ed.
No explosion resulted when he turned the flywheel over, not even when he primed the cylinder by putting a little gasoline in through the cocks on the cylinder heads. "That's funny," he remarked to himself as he rested from his labors and contemplated the "dead" motor. "First time it has gone back on me."
And Clark, after waving farewell at the big gates of the works, had gone into the rail mill and stood in the shadow in deep contemplation. He glanced at the massive flywheel, the great dominant dynamo and the huge, inflexible rolls. At one end were the heating furnaces, their doors open, and gentle fires glowing softly within to slowly raise the temperature of newly set brick.
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