water and turned the crank without saying anything that would bear
repetition.

While touring, look out for glass, nails, and the country
mechanic,--of the three, the mechanic can do the largest amount of
damage in a given time. His well-meant efforts may wreck you; his
mistakes are sure to. The average mechanic along the route is a
veritable bull in a china shop,--once inside your machine, and you
are done for. He knows it all, and more too. He once lived next to
a man who owned a naphtha launch; hence his expert knowledge; or
he knew some one who was blown up by gasoline, therefore he is
qualified. Look out for him; his look of intelligence is deception
itself. His readiness with hammer and file means destruction; if
he once gets at the machine, give it to him as a reward and a
revenge for his misdirected energy, and save time by walking.

Even the men from the factory make sad mistakes; they may locate
troubles, but in repairing they will forget, and leave off more
things than the floor will hold.

At Batavia we put in new batteries, repacked the pump, covered the
coil with patent leather, so that neither oil nor water could
affect it, and put on a new chain. Without saying a word, the
bright and too willing mechanic who was assisting, mainly by
looking on, took the new chain into his shop and cut off a link. A
wanton act done because he "thought the chain a little too long,"
and not discovered until the machine had been cramped together,
every strut and reach shortened to get the chain in place;
meanwhile the factory was being vigorously blamed for sending out
chains too short. During it all the mechanic was discreetly