Chapter 14 Chapter Fourteen

We shall believe that the wise and prudent men who say that the progress of the manners and customs are making the errands more and more extinct, are always right.However, in this age of frequent heresies, there is at least one nominal errand. The nominal errand was owned by Widow Tippo, a former butcher who now took care of the household of Mr. Zephyrán Sidal. Widow Tippo's job was simply to tidy up the insane scholar's bedroom, and the furniture in this bedroom was left in its simplest and most literal sense.The labor of tidying up such a room simply cannot be compared with the thirteenth miracle of Hercules Hercules.As for the rest of the house, it largely renders her hero useless.In the second room especially, she had already been taken care of, and she was absolutely forbidden under any pretext to touch the pile of papers piled up in a circle around the room.According to the old rules, her broom is limited to moving back and forth in a small square in the middle of the room.This small square floor is exposed to the public, without any cover.

Widow Tippo was very clean and tidy.This small square floor is surrounded by messy things, like an island in the middle of a vast ocean.She was heartbroken at the sight of this chaos, and she was always eager for it to be cleaned up.Once, when she was alone at home, she dared to do it.Unexpectedly, Zefeilan Siddhar came back unexpectedly.He flew into a fit of rage, and there was such a ferocity in his usually mild and generous face that Widow Tippo shivered nervously for a whole week.From then on, she never dared to take the risk of violating the territory that was no longer under her jurisdiction.

There were so many entanglements that the Widow Tippo was unable to make much use of her profession, to the point of being practically idle.Besides, this did not prevent her from spending two hours every day at that bourgeois's house.That's how she called Zephyrán Sidal, and she thought it was respectful and polite.Of these two hours, seven quarters of an hour were devoted to chatter, or rather to elegant monologues. Indeed, Mrs. Tipper possessed, in addition to her numerous virtues, an astonishing gift for eloquence and eloquence.Some thought she was surprisingly rapping.But this is pure slander.She just likes to talk, that's all.

Not because she let her imagination run wild.The noble family of the family (and she was counted among them) constituted her first subject, which was followed by the account of her own tragic past.She explained how a butcher woman was reduced to a servant girl through many misfortunes.It did not matter that the sad episode was known, but that Mrs. Tipper always had the same pleasure in recalling it.Once this topic is over, she will talk about the various people she is serving or has served, and she will compare the views, habits, and ways of life of Zephyrán Sidal with those people's views, habits, Make a comparison between different ways of life, and divide praise and criticism impartially and impartially.

Her master never spoke, but showed a constant patience.To tell the truth, he was so absorbed in his dreams that he didn't listen to her nonsense, which in any case greatly diminished the value of her nonsense.Anyway, things have been going well for years, she always talks her way and this one never listens to her.All in all they were very pleased with each other. On the thirtieth of May, as usual, Mrs. Tipper walked into Zephyrin's house at nine o'clock in the morning.The scholar had gone out with his friend Marcelle Leroux the previous day, and the house was empty. Mrs. Tipper was not particularly surprised. A series of previous trips made her think that this sudden disappearance was a normal phenomenon.She's just bored without an audience.She did the housework as usual, and when the bedroom was finished, she entered another room, which was ostentatiously called the studio.There, alas, she was so excited!

A monstrosity, a blackened box-like thing that had greatly reduced the legal area of ​​the square floor reserved for her broom.What does it mean?Mrs. Tipper was determined not to tolerate such an invasion of her rights.She moved the thing with one strong hand before calmly going about her routine.Her ears were a little hard of hearing the rumble coming from the box.Likewise, the bluish gleam of the metal reflector was so faint that it remained unnoticed by her distracted gaze.However, there was a strange phenomenon that inevitably caught her attention.As she walked in front of the metal reflector, an irresistible thrust caused her to fall onto the cube.In the evening, when she was taking off her clothes, she was shocked to find that there was a bruise on the waist. She thought it was weird because she fell on the left side.However, the opportunity never came again, and she had no chance to return to the axis of the reflector, and that phenomenon would never reappear.Therefore, she would not think about the relationship between her accident and the box that had been touched by her bold hand. She thought she had stumbled and fell, and thought of nothing else.

Mrs Tipper finished with a deep sense of duty and put the box back in its place.To be fair, she even did her best to place it exactly where she had found it.She'd be forgiven if she was only about the same, she hadn't deliberately turned that little dusty cylinder in a slightly different direction. Widow Tippo did the same in the next few days, because, as long as her habits were moral and admirable, why change them? It must be admitted, however, that as a matter of habit, the blackened box gradually lost its importance in her mind.And, it has to be admitted, she gradually becomes less careful every day when she puts the boxes back after cleaning.No doubt it was necessary for her to drag the trunk back to the window, where Mr. Siddall thought it best to leave it.But the metal reflector opened its aperture now here and there, and in more and more varied directions.One day it stretched out its dusty cylinder slightly to the left, another day slightly to the right.Widow Tipper did not think much of it, and much less expected the unbearable distress her whimsical partner had inflicted on J. B. K. Lovindsay.Even once, by inadvertence, she turned it on its pivot, and saw it open slightly to the ceiling straight up, she did not find it inconvenient.When Mr. Siddall returned home on the afternoon of July 10th, he found that his machine was facing the zenith in this way.

He spent some days at sea, very happy.If it wasn't for twelve days later, when he had a whim and wanted to change his underwear, he might have lingered a little longer.Driven by this thought, he had no choice but to look through his package.Now he was stunned, and found twenty-seven large mouth bottles in the package.So Zefelan Sidal was dumbfounded, wondering what these twenty-seven jars were doing here?Soon, however, the chains of memory were reconnected, and he remembered the battery project, a project so fascinating and so cleanly forgotten. He punished himself by punching himself several times with his fists.Then, hastily repacking the twenty-seven jars, and letting his friend Marcelle Leroux take root at sea, he jumped on the train and sent them straight to Paris.

It is not surprising that during the journey, Zephyrán Siddhar was likely to forget the reason for his urgent return.When he stepped onto the St. Lasalle Pier, a small incident brought him back to his memory. He had repacked the twenty-seven large-mouth bottles very carefully, but when he stepped onto the pier, the package suddenly burst, and all the contents of the bottles were dumped on the asphalt road, smashed to pieces, and at the same time, a deafening sound came out. sound.Two hundred people turned their heads, thinking it was an anarchist murder.But they saw Zephyrán Sidal staring dumbfounded at the disaster.

At least the misfortune had the advantage of reminding the owner of those suddenly broken jars the purpose of his trip to Paris.Before returning home, he stopped by the chemical shop, where he bought twenty-seven brand-new jars, and then at the carpenter's, where the shelves he had ordered had been waiting for him for ten years. God.He was carrying these large and small bags, and with a desire to try, he hurriedly opened the door of his room.However, as soon as he saw that the reflector on the machine was half-opened towards the sky, he nailed it to the door of the room. All of a sudden, the past was like a tide, rolling in.Zephyrán Siddhar was so confused that his hands were weak, and the big and small bags fell together.These bags immediately obeyed the law of gravity and fell straight towards the center of the earth without any hesitation.They would all reach the center of the earth, without a doubt, if the uninteresting little square floor was not in the way.When the twenty-seven jars shattered with a loud crackling noise, the bracket on the square floor snapped in two.In less than an hour, a total of fifty-four large-mouth bottles were made.If things go on like this, it won't be long before Zephyrán Siddall spends his huge deposit in the bank. This outstanding bottle smasher has not even noticed this Greek Sacrifice-like massacre. Massacre, he remained motionless on the steps of the doorway, looking at his machine with a dreamy expression.

"Well, it's Widow Tippo's work, damn it!" he said, and he decided to step through the door, which at least proved his good discernment. He looked up and saw a small hole in the ceiling itself and in the roof above it, which was exactly on the axis of the metal reflector.In the center of the reflector, a light bulb continued to waltz wildly.The hole was as thick as a pencil and had sharp edges, as if punched out with a punch. Zephyrán Siddhar grinned, and he resolutely set out to have fun. "Ah! . . . ah!" he whispered. Better to intervene, though.He leaned over the machine and interrupted it, and the hum stopped instantly, the bluish twilight went out, the bulb froze. "Ah!...Ah!..." Zephyrán Sidal repeated: "It's time to see something!" Frantically, he broke the tape from the bundle of newspapers that was piled on the table, and read one by one of J. B. K. Lovinsey's chronicles.It was by these accounts that the latter informed the world of all the wild and whimsical stories about Weston's bolides.Zephyrán Sidal leaned forward laughing. He frowned when he read certain newspapers.After the preparatory meeting, the International Congress announced the first meeting of the day.What exactly is this international congress for?Why is it necessary to delegate ownership of Bolide?Doesn't it certainly belong to the one who directed it to Earth?Without this person, it would travel forever in space. However, Zephyrán Sidal considered that no one knew about his interference, and that it should be revealed, lest the International Congress waste time on work that was clearly ineffective. Pushing aside the fragments of twenty-seven jars with his foot, he went to the nearest post office and sent a telegram, which Mr. Harvey read from his lofty chair.In truth, it was no one's fault if he forgot to sign it, but an astonishing distraction in a man who was so attentive. After finishing this matter, Zephyran Siddhar returned to his house and read about the situation in a scientific magazine that talked about the return and return of meteors.Then, searching again in his telescope, he made a remarkable observation.This observation can be used as the basis for new calculations. In the middle of the night, when all was decided, he turned on his machine again, shooting radiant energy into space in a suitable direction.After half an hour, the machine stopped, and he went to bed peacefully and had a good night's sleep. Zephyran Sidal has been experimenting for two days.He had just interrupted the machine for the third time that afternoon when there was a knock at the door.He ran to open the door, and there was Robert Legere, the banker, standing opposite him! "Good! Here you are!" cried the banker across the threshold. "As you have seen it with your own eyes," said Zephyrán Sidar. "Good luck!" retorted Mr. Legere. "I don't even know how many times I've climbed your seven floors, where the hell have you been?..." "I've never been out." Siddhar replied, his face blushing slightly. "Get out! . . . " cried Mr. Legere again, in an angry voice. "Going out, damn it! . . . You can't make people so restless." Zephyran Sidal looked at his godfather in amazement.Of course, he could rely on the godfather's feelings for him to get out of the current predicament, but things have come to this point! ... "Ah! But, my uncle, what's your problem?" he asked. "What's against me?" repeated the banker. "You don't know, damn it, all my fortune is tied to your head." "I don't understand." Zephyran Siddhar said, sitting down on the table and dedicating his only seat to the guests. "When you came to tell me your fanciful plans," went on Mr. Legere, "I confess you convinced me at last." "My God!..." Siddhar exclaimed. "Therefore, I'll bet your luck flatly and insist on a drop in the exchange." "Price drop?" "Yes, I became a salesperson." "What are you selling?" "Gold mine. You know, if the bolide falls, the gold mine will fall, so..." "Going to fall?... I am getting more and more confused." Siddhar interrupted him, "I don't understand what my machine will do to a gold mine." "Of course there will be no impact on the gold mines," Legere admitted. "It's a different story to affect the volatility of gold mining stocks." "Okay!" Siddhar no longer insisted and gave in. "Then it's no big deal to say that you have sold the gold mine stocks. It just proves that you have stocks." "On the contrary, I only have one." "Oh!..." Siddhar was shocked, and said, "It's too bad to sell what you don't have. I, I don't approve of this move." "That's what you call a short sale, my dear Zephyrán," explained the banker. "When it comes time to pay for the securities, I buy them, that's all." "Then what's the good of it? . . . Selling to buy doesn't seem clever at first glance." "That's what got you hooked, because gold mining stocks aren't so expensive by then." "Why aren't they so expensive?" "Because the bolide will drop more gold than the earth currently has, the value of gold will be reduced by at least half, and gold mine stocks will be worthless, or nearly worthless, you know now Yet?" "Of course." Siddall said uncertainly. "In the first place," went on the banker, "I have had the honor of placing my trust in you. The disturbances in the course of the bolide discovered, and the predictions of its certain fall, have caused the first twenty-five per cent drop in gold prices. .I am overjoyed, convinced that the decline will be much greater, so I have strengthened my position in this great ups and downs..." "that is?……" "That is to say, I sold a lot more gold mines." "All that you don't have?..." "Of course... as long as you figure out these things, you should think of how anxious I am. You ran away without a trace, the bolide stopped falling, and you wandered around in the sky, and it turned out to be a gold mine. If it goes back up, I lose a lot of money. How do you feel about that?" Zephyrán Siddhar looked almost curiously at his godfather.He had never seen this calm, self-possessed man so agitated. "I haven't quite got your whole thing," he said at last. "I can't help but sigh at these troubles. But I think I've got a point. It will be a great joy for you to see the bolide hit the ground. Well! Don't worry, it will fall down." "Can you vouch for me?" "I promise you." "It counts?" "It counts... But you, on your side, did you buy the land for me?" "Of course," replied Mr. Legere. "We behave ourselves and do things according to the rules. The real estate securities are in my pocket." "Then everything will be fine." Zephyrin Sidal agreed, "I can even announce to you that my experiment will end on July 5th. On that day, I will leave Paris to meet the Bolide .” "Falling bolide?" "Falling fireball." "I'm going with you!" exclaimed Mr. Legere, ecstatic. "If it pleases you! . . . " said Zephyrán Sidal. Whether out of a sense of duty to Mr. Legere, or out of a fascination with science, there was something salutary about him that kept him from doing stupid things.The experiments which had begun were continuing in an orderly manner, and the mysterious machine hummed a little more than fourteen times in every twenty-four hours until the fifth of July. Zephyran Siddhar occasionally makes astronomical observations of meteors.This way he can make sure that everything goes well and according to his vision. On the morning of July 5, he pointed his camera at the sky for the last time. "Okay," he said, leaving the device. "Now it's time to let it go." He immediately packed up his big and small bags.First there was his machine, and a few spare bulbs and binoculars, which he packed up with great skill and padded with little boxes in case of accidents during the journey.Then, it was his turn to carry his personal luggage. As soon as I started walking, a major difficulty almost blocked the way.How on earth do you pack these things that should be taken away?Use a suitcase?Zephyran Siddhar never had such a thing.So the suitcase? ... After some deliberation, he remembered that he probably had a suitcase.He did indeed own a suitcase, and this was confirmed by the fact that he rummaged through it, searched for it, and found it at the end of a dark room.The closet was a mess of junk—the excrement of his domestic life.Amid all this chaos, even the most knowledgeable antiques dealers will inevitably find themselves disoriented. Zephyrán Sidal brought the suitcase into the light of day.It had been entirely cloth-covered, there was no denying that, for a few rags still stuck to its cardboard frame.As for the thongs on the box, they may have existed back then, but it is not certain, because there are no traces of them to be found.Zephyrán Sidal opened the box in the middle of the bedroom, facing its two empty, wide-open wings, what was he going to put in it? "Put only what is necessary," he said emphatically to himself, "so it is best to do it in order and to make a sensible selection." Taking this policy, he put away three shoes first.He will surely feel great regret later, that among the three shoes, one happened to be a high-top leather shoe with buttons, the other was a leather shoe with laces, and the third was a slipper.But, so far at least, the incident has not caused any trouble, except that the corner of the box is full.It's always like this! The three shoes were boxed, Zephyrán Siddhar was exhausted and wiped the sweat on his brow, and then he started thinking again. After thinking about it, he dimly realized that from the specific point of view of box packing technology, he was not very smart. Therefore, he was disappointed, and since the traditional old method could not work, he decided to do whatever he wanted.Therefore, he emptied the drawers with a handful of hands, and moved a large pile of clothes—this pile of clothes was equivalent to his wardrobe—to empty them, and in a blink of an eye, he threw them into the box. There was a heap of miscellaneous and patchwork things in the room, and when they were all full, it was likely that the other box was still empty, but Zephyrán Sidal didn't know anything about it.He is therefore obliged to push his whole heap into the case with one heel irresistibly, until there is perfect harmony between the container and its contents. He then bound the box up with a strong rope full of knots, knots so intricately tied that the knotter might not be able to untie them hereafter.Then he gazed at his masterpiece with self-satisfaction. Now it's just a matter of going to the train station.However brave Zephyrán Siddall walked, it was impossible to carry his machine, telescope, and box to the railway station on foot.This can be troublesome! It was conceivable that he would at last discover that there were cabs for hire in Paris.However, he was spared this mental labor because Mr. Robert Legere appeared at the door. "What?" he asked. "Are you ready, Zephyrin?" "Look, I'm waiting for you." Siddhar replied naively, but he had already completely forgotten that his godfather asked him to go with him. "Go, then," said Mr. Legere. "How many bags are there?" "Three. My machine, my telescope, and my case." "Give me one, and you take the other two. My car is down there." "Great idea!" Zephyrán Siddhar admired, and closed the door casually.