Originally published: Sept. 24, 1892
Genres: Western, Science Fiction
Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/200518773-frank-reade-jr-and-his-new-steam-man-or-the-young-inventor-s-trip-t
Gutenberg link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53932
Chapters: 21
Warning: This may include outdated and derogatory language and attitudes.
CHAPTER I
A GREAT WRONG
Frank Reade was noted the world over as a wonderful and distinguished inventor of marvelous machines in the line of steam and electricity. But he had grown old and unable to knock about the world, as he had been wont once to do.
So it happened that his son, Frank Reade, Jr., a handsome and talented young man, succeeded his father as a great inventor, even excelling him in the variety and complexity of invention. The son speedily outstripped his sire.
The great machine shops in Readestown were enlarged by young Frank, and new flying machines, electric wonders, and so forth, were brought into being.
But the elder Frank would maintain that, inasmuch as electricity at the time was an undeveloped factor, his invention of the Steam Man was really the most wonderful of all.
“It cannot be improved upon,” he declared, positively. “Not if steam is used as a motive power.”
Frank, Jr. laughed quietly and patted his father on the back.
“Dad,” he said, with an affectionate, though bantering air, “what would you think if I should produce a most remarkable improvement upon your Steam Man?”
“You can’t do it!” declared the senior Reade.
Frank, Jr. said no more but smiled in a significant manner. One day later, the doors of the secret draughting-room of design were tightly locked and young Frank came forth only to his meals.
For three months this matter of closed doors continued. In the machine shop department, where the parts of machinery were secretly put together, the ring of hammers might have been heard, and a big sign was upon the door:
No admittance!
Thus matters were when one evening Frank left his arduous duties to spend a few hours with his wife and little boy.
But just as he was passing out of the yard, a black man, short in stature and of genial features, rushed excitedly up to him.
“Oh, Marse Frank,” cried the sable servitor, “Jes’ wait one moment!”
“Well, Pomp,” said Frank, pleasantly, “what can I do for you?”
The black man, who was a faithful servant of the Reades, and had accompanied both on their tours in foreign lands, ducked his head, with a grin, and replied:
“Yo’ father wants yo’, Marse Frank, jes’ as quick as eber yo’ kin come!”
“My father,” exclaimed Frank, quickly. “What is it?”
“I don’t know nuffin’ ‘bout it tall, Marse Frank. He jes’ say fo’ me to tell yo’ he want fo’ to see yo’.”
“Where is he?”
“In his library, sah.”
“All right, Pomp. Tell him I will come at once.”
The black man darted away. Frank saw that the doors to the secret rooms were locked. This was a wise precaution for hosts of cranks and demented inventors were always hovering about the place and would quickly have stolen the designs if they could have got at them.
Not ten minutes later Frank entered the library where his father was.
The elder Reade was pacing up and down in great excitement.
“Well, my son, you have come at last!” he cried. “I have much wanted to see you.”
“I am at your service, father,” replied Frank. “What is it?”
“I want you to tell me what kind of a machine you have been getting up.”
“Come now, that’s not fair,” said Frank Jr. with twinkling eyes.
“Well, if it’s any kind of a machine that can travel over the prairies tell me so,” cried the elder Reade, excitedly.
Frank, Jr. was at a loss to exactly understand what his father was driving at. However, he replied:
“Well, I may safely say that it is. Now explain yourself.”
“I will,” replied the senior Reade. “I have a matter of great importance to give you, Frank, my boy. If your invention is as good as my steam man even and does not improve upon it, it will yet perform the work which I want it to do.”
A light broke across Frank, Jr.’s face.
“Ah!” he cried. “I see what you are driving at. You have an undertaking for me and my new machine.”
Frank Sr. looked steadily at Frank Jr. and replied:
“You have hit the nail on the head.”
“What is it?”
“First, I must tell you a story.”
“Well?”
“It would take me some time to go into the details, so I will not attempt to do that but give you a simple statement of facts; in short, the outline of the story.”
“All right. Let us have it.”
The senior Reade cleared his throat and continued:
“Many years ago when I was traveling in Australia I was set upon by bushmen and would have been killed but for the sudden arrival upon the scene of a countryman of mine, a man of about my own age and as plucky as a lion.
“His name was Jim Travers, and I had known him in New York as the son of a wealthy family. He was of a roving temperament, however, and this is what had brought him to Australia.
“Well, Travers saved my life. He beat off my assailants, and nursing my wounds brought me back to life.
“I have felt ever since that I owed him a debt which could not be fully repaid. At that time I could make no return for the service.
“Jim and I drifted through the gold fields together. Then I lost track of him, and until the other day, I had not seen or heard from him.
“But I now find that it is in my power to give him assistance, in fact, to partly pay the debt I owe him. This brings us to the matter at hand.
“Six months ago it seems that Jim who is now a man of great wealth, still a bachelor and for a few years past living at a fashionable hotel in New York went to his club. When he returned in the evening he found a note worded like this:”
Mr. Reade laid a note upon the table, Frank read it:
“Dear Travers:—I would like to see you tonight upon a very important matter. Will you meet me in twenty minutes at the cafe on your corner? I must see you, so be sure and come. “A Friend.”
“Of course, Jim wondered at the note, but he did not know of an enemy in the world, so he felt perfectly safe in keeping the appointment. He started for the cafe.
“The night was dark and misty, Jim walked along and got near the cafe when somebody stepped out of a dark hallway and grasped his arm.
“‘Come in here,’ a sharp voice said, ‘we can talk better here than in the cafe.’
“Before Jim could make any resistance he was pulled into a dark hallway. Two men had hold of him and something wet was dashed across his face and over his hands, then he felt some liquid poured over his clothes and some object thrust into his pocket.
“Then the door opened again and he was flung out into the street. Jim was unharmed, but amazed at such treatment. He had not been hurt and was at a loss to understand what it all meant.
“The incident had taken but a few moments in its course. At first, a thought of foul play had flashed across Jim. Then it occurred to him to look at his hands which were wet with some substance.
“He gave a great cry of horror as he did so. There was blood upon them.
“In fact, his hands and face and clothes were almost soaked in red blood. For an instant, he was horrified.
“What mystery was this? But he quickly changed his opinion and actually laughed.
“It occurred to him as a practical joke upon the part of his club friends. Satisfied of this he resolved to get even with them.
“He tried to open the door, through which he had been pulled. It was locked and would not yield.
“Then he decided to go back to his room and wash off the blood. But he had not gone ten steps before he was met in the glare of the lamplight by one of the clubmen.
“‘Thunder! What’s the matter with you, Travers?’ asked his friend.
“‘Oh, nothing, only a little practical joke the boys have been playing on me,’ replied Jim with a grin. Two or three others come along and Jim explains in like manner. Then he goes to his apartments.
“When he arrives there he is amazed to find the door open and a fearful scene within. The furniture, the light carpet, and the walls in places are smeared with blood. Jim now got angry.
“‘This is carrying a joke a little too far!’ he cried, testily. ‘This spoiling the furniture is too much.’
“But he went to wash the blood from his hands. This was a hard job and took time. Suddenly half a dozen officers came into the room and seized him.
“‘What do you want?’ cried poor Jim in surprise.
“‘We want you,’ they replied.
“‘What for?’
“‘For murder!’
“Instead of being horrified, Jim was mad, madder than a March hare. He just got up and swore at the officers.
‘I don’t like this sort of thing,’ he declared. ‘It’s carrying a joke too far.’
“The officers only laughed and slipped manacles upon his wrists. Then they led him away to prison. Not until brought into court did poor Jim know that he had been made the victim of a hellish scheme.
“Murder had really been committed in that house into which he had been dragged, and where he was smeared with blood. A man unknown was there found literally carved to pieces with a knife.
“Blood had been found upon Jim in his room. A trail led from the house to his room. A knife was found in his coat pocket. The evidence was all against him and his trial had just come off and he had just been sentenced to death by hanging with only three months of grace.”
Frank Reade, Jr. listened to this thrilling tale with sensations that the pen cannot depict. It was so horrible, so strange, so ghastly that he could hardly believe it was true.
He arose and walked once across the floor.
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