The Technologists: A Novel Page 20

  “Now what makes a stringy little thing like her believe she can solve such enigmas?” Bob demanded. “And a freshman!”

  “What makes you think you can accomplish the same, Mr. Richards? Because you are so overfilled with good looks and charm?”

  “Flattery!” Bob cried out. “Ha! I’m afraid that will not work so easily on me, young lady.”

  “I believe I am several years older than you, Mr. Richards. And I see no call to defend myself, particularly if you cannot turn and look at me squarely.”

  “There,” Bob said, locking on her face for a moment. “It isn’t easy, believe me!”

  She did not take the bait. “I know I am seen by some at the Institute, yourselves included, I am certain, as a dangerous person. I proceed with caution at all times. Rest assured, analytical chemistry is very delicate work fitted more for ladies’ nimble hands. When I was a child on my family’s farm, my mother would not permit me to milk our cows, saying it would make my hands too large and unsightly for a woman. Well, I believe you and Mother would appreciate each other, Mr. Richards. You with the spotted hair: Mr. Hoyt.”

  Edwin, who was studying the size of his hands, looked up. “Yes.”

  “If I am not mistaken—and I’m not—the composition you tested earlier needs more dilution if you wish to engineer the sort of compound used on State Street. When you do something like this, Mr. Hoyt, you might as well do it to a nicety. Let us look together inside your laboratory for a moment.”

  The party moved in one awkward, distrustful block to the Technologists’ laboratory next door, where Ellen stood on a stool to examine the window near the ceiling. The glass had turned brown with pink veining from exposure to the spilled gas solution, but it had not dissolved like the windows on State Street.

  “Have any of you gentlemen studied glassblowing?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Bob boasted. “I’ve done it a little myself, and not too poorly.”

  “In that case, you’ll know that oxide of manganese is used in most glass for windows to give it a white color, but that it absorbs chemicals when it is exposed. If the fluoride from sodium were not so hard to purify, Mr. Hoyt, it would be well suited for the purpose you intended here. If you mix a dilute acid with the double fluoride of barium, aluminum, or lead we should bring the compound closer to the gas that must have caused the dissolving of the silicates in the business quarter. The seemingly simple principle that energy is not destroyed leads to metamorphoses far more astonishing than any we read about in mythology as children.”

  “Of course,” Edwin agreed, nodding enthusiastically after a moment of stunned silence. “We must try it as she suggests, straightaway!”

  “Wait a moment, fellows,” Bob said. “Just wait a moment! Let us take the counsel of cooler heads—my cooler head, at least. Do you suggest our helping her?”

  “No. I suggest accepting her offer to help us,” Edwin said. “She is a true chemist, Bob.”

  “We are working toward the same end, Bob,” Marcus said gently. “It would not be efficient to continue separately—you must admit those grounds, at least.”

  “How can we trust her?”

  “Because she cannot reveal what we are doing without our revealing her,” Edwin pointed out.

  “I’d wager she just wishes to govern what we’re doing, to try to take charge of it all!” Bob declared.

  Ellen raised an eyebrow and, without making a denial, turned her back to them as she surveyed their headquarters.

  “Bob, please, be reasonable about this,” Edwin said.

  Bob looked from Marcus to Edwin and back again, expecting some sudden reversal.

  “I won’t allow it! Why, I would almost rather be a law student than to have a woman in our group!”

  “So mysteriously God leads us, doesn’t He, Mr. Richards? Worry not, I am not one of the feminist reformers. I believe men are here to stay, and we women might as well work with them, not against them.”

  “Shall we, then?” Edwin proposed, motioning Ellen toward the chemical supply shelf.

  “Professor Swallow, if I may,” Bob said, easing his charming smile into place for another tactic.

  “Oh, you are speaking to me now, Mr. Richards?”

  “You should know we men have been working until late at night at these tasks—without the least bit of rest to speak of.”

  She accepted his challenge with a small lift of her shoulder. “I was up all last night at my telescope once I finally got home. I found what I suspect are seven new star clusters and three new nebulae, before being up with the lark. My body does not need pampering.”

  “You have your own telescope?” he asked with surprise.

  “I spent two years with the same clothes at Vassar in order to afford the best one, Mr. Richards. I knew it would make my spirits more contented than a dozen dresses would, and luckily I have enough in my head to balance what is wanting on my back.”

  Bob did not admit defeat, but the standstill quickly resolved itself into a routine of activity. Besides, now two laboratories were at their disposal, and Ellen’s was far better equipped. They were careful, however, not to enter her laboratory during school hours. Ellen’s progress, meanwhile, had been impressive. Through different calculations, she had come to the same preliminary conclusion as her new colleagues about the manipulation of the compasses, and her chemical work, combined with Edwin’s, led them to a rapid narrowing of possibilities on the State Street matter.

  Her laboratory was also filled with cabinets of mold and pieces of food, which explained some of the odd smells that emanated into the hallway, as well as vials of liquids, which Ellen said she was testing. She proudly showed them twenty-four samples of water she had collected from Mystic Pond. The food and water they consumed, she said, was a minefield of chemical problems and contamination, and yet was entirely overlooked by analysts. She pointed out a canister of cinnamon that she had analyzed under a microscope, only to find far more mahogany sawdust than cinnamon.

  “The world moves and science with it,” she said to Bob when he looked over the shelves of food supplies with a skeptical blankness. “Shall we not one day find a way to convert the millions of tons of carbon in our atmosphere to wholesome food? When I studied physiology as a girl of seven, there were two hundred and eight bones in the body. Now there are two hundred and thirty-eight.”

  “I’ve never counted myself, Professor Swallow,” Bob grunted. His new appellation for her, which he used liberally, seemed to satisfy his rebellion against the collaboration for the moment. “I should not argue the point with you. The idea of making science out of food might not be very scientific but it is, well, awfully womanly.”

  “Tomorrow, if not today, the woman who is to be master of her house must be an engineer also. Mr. Mansfield,” she added, snapping her head toward the other side of the room, “you do understand you have been permitted inside my laboratory only for the present and for this very particular purpose.”

  “Yes, Miss Swallow,” answered Marcus.

  “Good. Because you are not welcome here if you wish to examine my private belongings.”

  He had been looking over the wires of what appeared to be an alarm mechanism, presumably what had warned her of his presence outside her door the day he found the offensive caricature. “It is impressive. Is it of your own construction?”

  “It is,” Ellen said, allowing a little pride to enter her usually dispassionate tone. “Go ahead, then, you may look at it briefly.”

  “Two circuits operated by one galvanic battery,” Marcus described it as he inspected it. “Arranged with electromagnets, so that any breaking of the circuit by coming into contact with the wire causes that signal wheel over your supply cabinet to turn—the interruption causing the alarm to sound. Most ingenious of all, the mechanism is arranged so that the length of the alarm will inform you exactly where the location of the break occurred. Miss Swallow, have you been very harassed of late?”

  Ellen’s look of quiet pride v
anished at the question. “From the very instant I set foot on the grounds of the Institute.”

  “I mean whether there has been an escalation in the hazing recently.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why do you ask, Mr. Mansfield?”

  “Do you know who is responsible?”

  “Of course I do!”

  “Tell me, and I can see to it that the faculty put an end to it.”

  “Child.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “You really are a child.”

  Marcus frowned, puzzled and hurt.

  She showed her irritation at having to explain with a loud sigh. “Mr. Mansfield, if I were to point out the perpetrator you refer to, and he is punished or shipped off, do you think I will then be more readily accepted by the others? No, indeed. I will stir up more hornets from the original nest. It is not a fear of me individually that prompts hazing as much as what my being here will mean in the future, for rapid change is always fungoid to those who do not wish it. People are curious to know what monstrosity is to arise from my ashes, aren’t they? Tell all such interested individuals that my aim is only to make myself a true woman, one worthy of the name, and one who will unshrinkingly follow the path that God marks out—wherever it takes me. I should thank you to remember you have no call to intrude upon my life—we are not friends, and shall not be. When this is finished, you shall return to your separate existences, as far from me as possible.”

  “On that point,” Bob interjected, “I am with the good professor wholeheartedly.”

  During the next afternoon study period, when Bob and Ellen were in her laboratory finishing disassembling equipment for transport, to be reassembled at the harbor, there was that sound again—like a crying baby.

  “There it is! That noise! What else do you do here in your secret little laboratory, Professor Swallow?”

  “What sound do you mean, Mr. Richards?” she asked Bob innocently.

  The sound repeated itself, this time as a wild shriek.

  “That’s what!” Bob said, satisfied now that he was closer to exposing her true wickedness.

  “You mean my baby.”

  Before Bob could question this, a slender black cat leaped from behind a cabinet onto the table directly in front of Bob, who shouted and jumped back.

  “A cat? You keep a cat in here?”

  “He is my baby,” she replied forthrightly. “And the handsomest creature ever made by God. He has a voice like an angel.”

  “He is a common black cat. His cry is loud and disruptive. Why don’t you leave him home?”

  “Usually I would. There is a building being erected outside my boardinghouse window, and I do not like him to be near the dust particles during the day. Neither human nor animal should breathe in such foreign particles. Here, at least, I know exactly how each compound is made, and have the use of a ventilating fan. You may wish to know he enjoys to be scratched on the chin.”

  “Do you not realize that with a black cat you are liable to provoke those less mature boys who think you’re a witch?”

  “You mean boys such as yourself?”

  “Less mature even!”

  “Did you know, and it is a fact, that sailors’ wives kept black cats to guarantee their husbands’ safe return from sea? In fact, due to this superstition, they were constantly stolen.”

  “A common animal does not belong in a laboratory.”

  “In fact, the laboratory may be the greatest friend to dumb animals. As science advances, the lives of animals will improve as we depend less and less on their labor and no longer ignore their conditions in order to improve ours. You know, there is much to learn from animals if we are ever to be truly industrial creatures. The beaver is the finest builder of bridges and the silkworm a better weaver than any man or woman. God gave industry perfectly to the caterpillar while we must learn our arts. That is technology—our way to become closer to being like the animals. I worry the pioneer cankerworms are having a cold time of it this spring, by and by.”

  “Cankerworms? Thunder and lightning, woman! See to it that animal is not here long, or I shall throw him out on the street myself and let a sailor’s wife find him.”

  “I suppose you have seen the latest news,” she said, changing the subject, and gestured to the day’s newspaper on the table.

  “We have been somewhat occupied!”

  “Do not get too lost in your experiments alone. You know the story of the fate of the great Archimedes, I assume.”

  “Obviously!” Bob said, but his hesitation gave away his ignorance on the subject.

  “I shall tell it anyway,” she said with a knowing look. “When the Romans took Syracuse, Marcellus ordered that the enemy’s renowned engineer, inventor of the dreaded Archimedes’ mirror, be spared. But when the soldiers found him, Archimedes was too busy writing geometrical formulas in the sand with a stick to answer to his name, and was run through by a sword.”

  “Well?” Bob asked impatiently.

  “Well, Mr. Richards, the latest news is that Louis Agassiz at Harvard is organizing expeditions at several points around Boston to examine the sediment formations.”

  “Heavens! The sediment?”

  “Excuse me. I have matters to attend to in the other room.”

  “She ought to look into Archimedes’ mirror now and again,” he grumbled as he picked up the newspaper and found the column. “Well. Fossilized Agassiz, just our luck to contend with you.”

  The cat, thinking he was addressed, curled on his side in front of Bob. When he was certain Ellen had gone back to the laboratory next door, Bob scratched the chin of the animal, who purred throatily.

  * * *

  MARCUS COULDN’T CONFESS to Bob how tickled he was to be collaborating with Ellen Swallow. He had heard all of the stories about her eccentric personality but also about the rare genius of her microscopic eye in chemical analysis. If he did not have to hide what they were doing from the rest of the world, Agnes Turner would be enthralled to hear all about Miss Swallow. If he was tempted to tell her, the threats from the unionist worker had knocked sense into him. It would not be safe to involve her more than she was.

  Over the next three days he made sketches refining a few of the mechanisms for the rest of the equipment they would need to search for evidence at the harbor. Needing to make some tests in water, he announced he was going to walk to the river, but Bob stopped him and said he had a better idea. They exited the laboratory and crossed the hall to the other side of the basement, directly under the entrance hall, where they passed through the engines for the ventilating fans and the rows of excess charcoal and other supplies.

  They reached two water tanks, fashioned with pipes and steam pumps, that supplied special faucets inside the building with salt water for use in experiments. Bob pointed out a third saltwater tank.

  “Where does this one connect?” Marcus asked.

  “Nowhere,” Bob said, unscrewing the top. “I have been using it to experiment with an injector device for aerating water.”

  “You have? Does the faculty know?”

  “Indeed. They approved it.”

  He waited to see if Bob was going to make a joke, but he was busy adeptly preparing the tank. “You never mentioned your aerating device before, Bob.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t want you fellows to have the wrong idea that I am a dig or a toady like you or Edwin. Come, are you ready to start?”

  “Much appreciated,” Marcus said, laughing.

  They lowered into the water a lantern slightly larger than the usual kerosene lamp held by hand, with a tube extended upward from the cage. After testing the lamp at different depths in the tank to determine how long the flame would remain, and getting mostly satisfactory results, they paused to make modifications.

  “Do not permit her to distract you, Mansfield, old boy.”

  Marcus looked up at him from the floor, where he was fastening a gauge, wondering how he knew Agnes was on his mind. Bob had pulled an un
usually serious face. “Who?” he replied.

  “Who do you think, Mansfield? Ellepedia. She seems to have a Napoleonic faith in her own star, which cannot fail to annoy.”

  “Yes, you’re right. There is too much important work to do to invite distraction. Enough people have been hurt already by someone out there.”

  “When do you think we will be ready with the rest of the machinery?” Bob asked.

  “A little more testing. Day after tomorrow, maybe. How well it will work, Bob, I cannot say.”

  “Did you notice that sometimes her eyes appear gray, and other times, blue, the color appearing and vanishing like a meteor in the sky? There is some trickery in it.”

  “You mean Miss Swallow?”

  “Who else?”

  “Intrigued?” Marcus ventured.

  Bob balked. “Terrified. She is, doubtless, the very first girl I cannot understand.”

  “Fellows, there you are, come on!” Edwin had barely burst upon them and caught his breath before turning and dashing off again, his laboratory coat fluttering behind him. Marcus and Bob put aside what they were doing and followed him back to their laboratory and took places near the table, where Ellen stood in her apron.

  “I won’t break. You can come closer, gentlemen,” Ellen said. “That’s better. Ready? Class begins.”

  “You see, fellows, Miss Swallow and I have changed the compound using the formulas she had been preparing,” Edwin said without taking a breath, “along with the rate of distribution shown by the Old State House clock and the watches you two found, and Bob’s supposition about the fireplugs, which appears absolutely correct.”

  “Eddy,” Bob urged, though Edwin couldn’t possibly talk any faster.

  “You see, by working backward using those formulas, and adjusting the dilution of the acid that is combined with a fluoride to the right level …”

  Ellen released a small amount of their compound onto the corner of a pane of glass at the table. That part of the glass fizzled and dripped down as a liquid.