"What date was that?"
"Back in 1860. Even I remember what a sensation this masterpiece created. It was designed by E. B. Dennison, afterward Lord Grimthorpe, and was placed one hundred and eighty feet above the ground--some halfway up the tower of one of the buildings. Now that fact in itself made the undertaking difficult, for the weather always has its effect on a clock, and to put one in such an exposed position created a problem at the outset. Moreover, perched up there in the sight of all London to serve as the chief timekeeper of the city, it could not be allowed to indulge in whims and caprices lest the populace be led astray by its inaccuracies and turn to cursing it. No, if it was to be there at all it must furnish correct information. Londoners could not afford to lose their trains, be late to their appointments, or miss their tea." The Scotchman uttered a soft laugh.
"Yes," continued he, as if the fancy pleased him, "when you are posted up in such a conspicuous spot as that, every one of your backslidings will be common property. And for that reason not only the reputation of the clock itself but that of its maker was at stake. Moreover, since the height at which the dial was to be set was so great, every part of the timepiece had to be of mammoth size."
"Of course it had," agreed Christopher. "I had almost forgotten that."
"A pretty gigantic project it was for a clockmaker, I can tell you,"
went on McPhearson. "Well, at last the clock was made and the scale of its dimensions sounded like a page from Gulliver's Travels. Each of the dials was of opalescent glass set in a framework of iron and was twenty-two feet or more in diameter. The figures that indicated the hours were two feet long and the minute spaces a foot square. Three sets of works were required to drive the various divisions of the mechanism: one moved the hands; another struck the hours; and still another rang the chimes. As for the pendulum--ah, here was a pendulum indeed! It was thirteen feet long and weighed seven hundred pounds."
"Jove!" murmured Christopher.
"Some pendulum, eh? What wouldn't the old clockmakers--Tompion, Quare, Fromanteel, Graham and the rest have given to see it! They probably never even imagined a clock of such proportions."
"Neither did I!" his companion announced. "How often did this giant have to be wound up?"
"The clock part was wound once a week; the striking part twice. And speaking of the striking part, you may like to know that the hour bell weighed thirteen tons and the four quarter-hour bells eight tons."
"Isn't it the biggest clock ever made?"
"It is probably one of the most powerful and most accurate of the large ones," nodded McPhearson, "although others are to be found with bigger dials. But it is no longer the largest clock in the world because since it was constructed several American rivals for that honor have arisen.
One of them is right here in your own little old city of New York and the other is located on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River."
But Christopher's mind was still intent on the London masterpiece.
"How much do you suppose the English clock cost?" speculated he. "A fortune, I'll bet."
"I can tell you, for I happen to recall the figures," replied McPhearson. "Its price was $110,000."
"And cheap at that," grinned Christopher. "At least, I wouldn't undertake to produce it for that money."
"Nor I," echoed the Scotchman, returning the lad's smile. "I suppose when it was made nobody ever expected to see it equaled. And yet such strides are we making in science that here we are with a clock that is in many ways even more miraculous."
"You mean the one on the Metropolitan Life Insurance building?"
"The same," was the quick answer. "Surely you must grant that to be ahead of the one in London. It is interesting also to note how these two mammoth timepieces differ. The dial of our New York clock, instead of being of glass, is, as you know, of concrete faced with blue and white mosaic tiling. The figures indicating the hours are four feet high and the minute marks ten inches in diameter. The minute hands are twelve feet from center to tip and together weigh a thousand pounds; while the hour hands measure eight feet four inches from center to tip and weigh seven hundred pounds apiece."
"Mercy on us! I didn't realize it was such a whale of a thing!"
"_A prophet is not without honour save in his own country_," laughed the old clockmaker. "Here you sit almost under the shadow of one of the largest timepieces in the universe and fail to appreciate the wonder that towers above your head. Well, well! Perhaps you will treat your native land with more respect after this. Certainly you will regard this Metropolitan Life clock with greater awe and bless your stars that one of its hands hasn't blown down on top of you. Think of those gigantic pointing fingers being built on iron frames sheathed with copper and made to revolve on roller bearings!"
"I give you my word I _shall_ think of it the next time I look up at them," responded Christopher. "How on earth can they make such a tremendous machine go?"
"It is controlled automatically from the director's room, where a master clock also controls a hundred others scattered throughout the building.
This same mechanism controls in addition various electrical devices, such as signal bells, etc. It is all very wonderful. And the half is not told yet, for the tricks it performs at night are almost more amazing than are those it performs by day."
"I seldom see it in the evening," Christopher explained. "We are always starting out into the suburbs just when New York is beginning to wake up."
"New York can hardly be called asleep at any time," McPhearson chuckled, "so I must take your lamentation with a grain of salt. But it is rather of a pity you shouldn't have had the chance to see that clock after dark. Not that it isn't beautiful in the daylight. Its chimes certainly ring just as sweetly one time as another. Nevertheless I enjoy them best after the city gets a little bit quiet (which it seldom does until well toward morning). Those chimes, remember, are a replica of the set at Cambridge, England, and play a theme composed by Handel, the old composer."
"Why on earth didn't some one tell me all this before?"
"I'm sure I don't know, unless your dad was too busy or assumed you had read of the clock in the newspapers."
"It is never safe to assume I know anything," retorted Christopher navely. "I know such a queer collection of stuff, you see. It's odd, isn't it, the truck that sticks in your memory? If I could only remember things that are worth while as easily as I often do things that aren't I should know quite a lot."
"That is the way with all of us, laddie," the old man on the work bench confessed. "I myself would gladly part with a vast deal I have acquired and never yet found a use for."
"We ought to have mental rummage sales and bundle out the rubbish we don't need," Christopher remarked.
The Scotchman hailed the suggestion with delight.
"That would be a capital scheme," acclaimed he. "The only trouble would be to find purchasers for our outgrown ideas."
"Oh, somebody would like them," put in Christopher cheerfully. "Mother says there are always people who will buy anything that is cheap no matter what it is."
"But my old ideas are not cheap ones," objected the clockmaker. "On the contrary, some of them cost me a great deal in the day of them; they are simply worn out and old-fashioned."
"They'd sell--never fear. Mother declares people buy the most impossible truck. A thing is seldom so bad that nobody wants it."
"Then that is certainly what we must do with our intellectual junk," was McPhearson's instant answer. "Suppose we advertise a sale of it? I will cheerfully part with 'The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck' which I committed to memory when I was eight years old. I'd sell it outright or would exchange it for one of Shakespeare's sonnets."
Christopher greeted the whimsey with a laugh.
"Now I," began he, "would sell or swap the water routes from most of our inland cities. We had to learn them when I studied geography and as I have never wanted to ship goods from St. Paul to Philadelphia, for example, I have found no use for them."
"You may some day."
"I'll risk it. If I did want them I could, perhaps, buy them back,"
flashed Christopher.
"What price would you set upon such possessions?"
"You mean the water routes? Well, it cost me a good deal of trouble to memorize them; still, I'd be glad to let them go cheap and be rid of them. I'd trade them for--let me see--an equal number of facts about wireless. With them I'd throw in all my--" he stopped suddenly.
"All your what?"
"I was going to say all my Latin but changed my mind," the boy replied.
"I guess, everything considered, I'd better keep that. It might come in handy sometime. It did the other day."
"Oh, I'd keep your Latin, by all means," the Scotchman agreed.
A pause, weighted with humorous imaginings, fell between them until Christopher broke out:
"Mr. McPhearson!"
"Well?"
"How would you like to swap some more information about that clock on the Metropolitan Life building for my water routes?"