CHAPTER III
Korf Hears the News
OUNCILLOR HEYSE, the director of the national airport at Friedrichshafen on Lake Constance, was sitting in his private office and turning the leaves of a heap of newspapers. One item in particular seemed to hold his attention. Hastily he threw away his cigar and pressed the button of an electric bell.
“Please send me Chief Engineer Korf at once!” he said to the clerk who answered the bell.
In a few moments appeared the man sent for, a broad-shouldered blond fellow, the technical brain of the Victoria airport.
“My dear Korf,” the director greeted him heartily, “I must unfortunately give you some bad news. Please sit down.
“You know,” he went on, “that we cannot carry out your project until we have the necessary money at our disposal. My visit to the government to establish a suitable credit has unluckily met with no success. Reconstruction, cutting down expenses, government economy, the burdens of the peace treaty—those were the ever recurring arguments on which the refusal was based. We may absolutely give up hope.”
“Then I must simply turn to the public, councillor!” said Korf calmly. “The masses will have more understanding than the narrow-minded parliament.”
“Do not hope for too much!” interjected the director thoughtfully.
“Let the director recall the Echterdlngen catastrophe, when Count Zeppelin’s dirigible came down in flames and was destroyed.
In spontaneous recognition of the greatness of Zeppelin’s work the German people opened heart and purse, and in a few weeks millions were at Zeppelin’s disposal.
And to-day it is a question, not of controlling the air but of conquering space, the universe.”
“You are an optimist, my dear Korf!” replied Heyse. “The public is as yet too little acquainted with you and your work. Your invention is not trusted, and—believe me—the Germans give no money without assurance of success, especially in this general shortage of money.
“Exhibit your space ship to the public, travel in it to the moon, with a safe return; then, indeed, you may have any sum to build further models.”
“This is just the tragedy of many great inventions! First success, then money! And if success is impossible without money, the finest thing sinks into oblivion.”
“You are looking at the dark side of things, councillor!”
“What do you estimate as the lowest possible cost of the first ship?”
“From eight to nine hundred thousand marks will suffice. A still smaller and cheaper model is unfortunately impractical. One would think that this sum could be collected. Just ten pfennig from every wage-earner of Germany would be enough. If the nation realizes what the question is, it will gladly sacrifice a few pfennig.”
“Yes, if the nation realizes. But it realizes only what it sees. And then, one more thing: you are too late. The Russian is already at the goal.”
“What Russian?” asked Korf absently.
“You surely remember the Suchinow publications of two years ago, in which exactly your idea of the space rocket was worked out...”
“Oh, yes! I know. He only lacked the principal feature, the dynamic cartridge!” said Korf with a laugh.
Director Heyse excitedly turned the pages of the newspaper.
“It is not so harmless as that! The man seems to have invented the dynamic cartridge or an equivalent substitute. Here, read this!”
Quickly Korf seized the paper. On the first page, in heavy type, running the entire width of the page, he read:
“The shot into infinity has become reality. The following startling radiogram has Just arrived:
‘”Bucharest, September 7, 11 P.M. To-day at 9.25 P.M. start of Suchinow space rocket from Callmanesti to moon. Further news follows.
“We give this report with reservation. A confirmation of the news is awaited. As we fully reported in No. 47 of last year, Dimitri Suchinow of Little Russia about two years ago conducted the first experiments...”
Korf read no further. His eyes flashed.
“Can the Russian,” he murmured, “also have discovered the dynamic cartridge? Strange!”
Shaking his head, he studied the article to the end.
“Well?” asked the councillor.
For a time Korf did not reply; then he said slowly: “I do not know what propelling force Suchinow is using for his rocket. One thing is absolutely sure: if it does not attain the necessary exhaust speed of at least 3000 meters a second, the Russian will not reach the goal. And I think I can correctly state that this performance can be surely attained only by my new machine with liquid fuel. If Suchinow, as is very probable, is operating with solid explosives of the type of the dynamic cartridge, he will not lift his machine above the field of attraction of the earth, or else...”
“Or else?”
Stressing each word, Korf completed his statement: “Or else he will pass the limit of the earth’s attraction by using up the last supply of energy, but then he will never return.”
“A frightful thought!” groaned Heyse.
“Unfortunately a warning would already be too late.” Korf took up the newspaper again. “The rocket ascended last night.”
“Even if it were not too late, it would not help. Do you really believe that an inventor would seriously consider the warning of his rival? Fancy his letting himself be induced to abandon his enterprise with the goal in sight! Such a warning would also be thought by the public the manoeuver of a rival and would expose you to ridicule without helping anyone. No, it cannot be done at all.”
“There still remains the hope that Suchinow has simply released an experimental rocket without occupants. The report certainly does not mention any passengers. But what benefit will astro-physics derive, if a lifeless machine is sent up without an observer, or if the observer does not return alive? Either way, the shot into infinity is an interesting experiment but nothing more, and it will end in a fiasco.”
“So much the worse, if the Russian fails!” cried Dr. Heyse. “Then public opinion will be aroused and we shall have no success at all in collecting money for an apparently discredited affair, the hopelessness of which will appear established by this mishap.”
“My plan is not hopeless and cannot be discredited by Suchinow’s presumable mishap,” replied the inventor firmly. “I sincerely beg you, Councillor, to start a public drive for funds. I trust the judgment of the German nation. And now may I be excused? A visitor is waiting for me in the laboratory.”
“Incorrigible optimist!” grumbled the councillor, when Korf had gone. “He does not even wonder whether this drive for funds will be sanctioned’”
To Mother Barbara’s
APPARENTLY unconcerned, Korf hastened to his laboratory, where Uncle Finkle was already awaiting him impatiently. In one hand the newspaper, in the other his inevitable pipe, Sam ran to meet his brother-in-law, gesticulating and shouting from halfway across the room, so that his voice broke:
“Have you read it? There is a race for the moon! The Russian...” , “Apparently has money!” interrupted Korf.
“That is his only advantage. Yet he will get to the moon with money just as little as I shall without it.”
“Well, the question of money is not so difficult. Just sell some licenses.” With a roguish wink he nudged his friend.
“Licenses?”
“Of course! The simplest thing in the world! Mampe will pay you a pretty penny for the sole right to install saloons on the moon. Don’t you think so?”
“It is too bad that apparently there is neither tobacco nor wood on the moon, or I should gladly give you the tobacco pipe monopoly!”
“Thank you very much! Unfortunately I have no use for it. I intend to end my days here on earth. But, joking aside,” added Sam sorrowfully, “it is cursedly unpleasant about this rocket. Where did the fellow get it?”
“It is nothing remarkable,” answered Korf calmly, “that the very same discovery should be made at the same time by different persons who have no connection. The usual duplicity of events! Besides, this Suchinow came before the public with the project of spatial navigation somewhat ahead of me.”
Angrily Sam knocked the ash from his pipe.
“The devil take the entire rocket business, for all I care!” he grumbled. “But if people absolutely have to travel to the moon, then I think it need not be granted to a Russian to be the one who wins the laurels.”
“He is not there yet. Uncle!”
“I hope he breaks his neck! I must dissolve my anger, or I shall burst. Come, lad, let us go to Mother Barbara’s for a pint...”
“Don’t you want to see my experimental model?”
“That would be bad, Gus, very bad! With this wrath inside me? Impossible! The only help is a good drink. Trust old Sam; he knows the things of this earth. When I was just a lad, I often found consolation for my bad lessons by going to Mother Barbara’s.”
Firmly he took his resisting brother-in-law by the arm and led him away.
In the narrow drinking room of Mother Barbara’s inn guests were already sitting, in spite of the early afternoon hour. They were disputing loudly and eagerly about the great event of the trip to the moon.
“The attempt ought to fail,” burst out a stout grain merchant, striking the table with his fat hand, so that the glasses clinked. “It’s a real shame that a fool of a Russian is getting to the moon ahead of us people of Friedrichshafen. Who built the first Zeppelin? Who flew over to America? We did! And who started this whole business of travelling to the moon? We people of Friedrichshafen. And now are we just going to look on? That is not right, no, it isn’t!” Hurriedly he emptied his glass.
“It is terrible, terrible as the devil r* affirmed his neighbor thoughtfully.
“Do you remember,” went on the merchant, “what a stir it made when the ZR 3 flew across the ocean, when the whole world looked at us here in Friedrichshafen? And now the moon and the stars would be looking at us, too, if Korf had hurried a little more. Isn’t that so?”
“Perhaps Korf sold his invention to the Russian,” whispered his neighbor behind his hand, moving a little closer. “We don’t know!”
“Don’t talk nonsense! Korf giving his business to a foreigner! You don’t know him! No, Korf wouldn’t do things like that, and now he has indented something quite new, very much better.”
“Then why doesn’t he build such a ship, eh? Why does he let the Russian fly off and just look on?”
“Well, he put in all his time and ran out of money.”
“But look here, this Russian has done it. I don’t know, but the whole thing doesn’t look good to me.”
“Look here,” interrupted a third. “This whole Suchinow business is just a swindle! Have you seen the rocket, or has anybody else seen it?”
“Not that I know of!”
“But we could see it flying to the moon. We see the moon all right!”
Busily Mother Barbara ambled around among the tables. She hardly had a chance to stop in her filling the glasses. It suited her nicely. She rejoiced at every event which could excite the people of Friedrichshafen, because excitement :causes thirst, and thirst must be quenched. She enjoyed nothing so much as seeing empty pint steins before her guests.
Suddenly the conversation at the head table ceased; two new guests had come in. Inquisitively the people looked at the couple, well known to all Friedrichshafen, persons especially noticeable on this day of days.
“Good day to all of you!” said Uncle Sam jovially. Korf merely nodded absently and took a seat at a table in the partitioned corner behind the buffet.
“Yes, old Sam is still alive, too!” was the greeting of the fat old landlady to the friend of her youth, and she fairly beamed with joy at seeing him again. Without waiting for the order she set two glasses of old Rhine wine on the table and then began a very lively and extensive conversation with Sam. The inquisitive guests at the head table, who were hoping to learn all sorts of things about the moon episode, soon turned away disappointed and bored, beginning again their interrupted dispute, first softly, then louder and louder, with an incessant flow like a mountain torrent. Only an unintelligible confusion of voices, occasionally interrupted by heavy pounding on the table, came through the thick clouds of tobacco smoke.
Korf sat silently in the corner. The newspaper announcement occupied his mind still more than he showed. What kind of energy accumulator did Suchinow possess, that he should venture to despatch the rocket? Would this event harm or help his own plan? Would the rocket really reach the moon? Above all, was there an observer in the machine, and was he still alive? The evening paper would surely bring more news. Besides that, Korf did not think it impossible that the rocket would be visible this evening. As to seeing it with the naked eye, that he certainly considered doubtful.
“A splendid woman, this Mother Barbara!” said Uncle Sam, when the landlady had again turned to the head table, rousing Korf from his revery by the words. “She outlives generations, and her wine is splendid. Here’s to your health, lad!”
The Disaster
SAM raised the glass to the level of his eyes, swung it a few times in a circle, sniffed the fragrant liquid, took a little sip, and smacked his lips. His lower jaw trembled like the throat of a tree-frog waiting for a fly. He sniffed again and took another drink. Thus it was a long time before the old connoisseur set down the glass again, wiping his mouth and uttering a deep sigh of content from his very soul.
“Now I am more in the mood, Gus; just fire away, what do you think of this new thing? It’s probably a swindle, isn’t it?”
Korf shrugged his shoulders.
“Who could be interested in exciting the world with such false news? It is rather late in the year for an April fool joke of this kind!”
“Just tell me directly, Gus, why your work is progressing so slowly that someone else could get ahead of you?”
“There are various reasons, Uncle Sam. Two years ago I had already made considerable progress in preparing the rocket. I had put in all my available capital. And then came the catastrophe!”
“That is right. You wrote me once about a great fire. I was then in Bombay, having quite a time with the English. They absolutely wouldn’t believe that I had as little to do with the Indian disorders as Mother Barbara with the moon rocket. How about this catastrophe, anyway?”
“Somehow the small supply of my dynamic cartridges seems to have taken fire spontaneously. Maybe there was a short circuit. At any rate, they exploded in my laboratory, luckily when nobody was there. Not much remained of my work, you may well imagine. My assistant, a Hungarian student, came near losing her life in the flames. The reckless girl wanted to rescue the box of construction plans from the fire. It was crazy, with the incessant explosions. I tell you, Uncle, my heart stopped beating when I saw Natalka plunge into the flames. I thought she was lost; I raged at the firemen who refused to follow me into the fire to save Natalka.”
Korf remained silent for a while.
“Did you save her?” asked Uncle Sam, much interested.
“I did not find her. How I ever got out of that flaming inferno again is a mystery to me to-day. Later I was told that I was found unconscious close to the fire. For days I lay between life and death. All my life I shall bear the scars of my burns.”
“And Natalka?”
Fortunately she recognized in time the hopelessness of her mad attempt and plunged into the lake with her clothing all on fire. That saved her. She escaped with the loss of her splendid long hair. I shall never forget this courageous helper, although...”
Korf did not finish the sentence.
“Although? Why, what did she do to you, Gus?”
“Oh, nothing! She remained here a few weeks more and helped me very much in reconstructing the dynamic cartridge. The fire had destroyed all my supply.”
“And then?” asked Sam stubbornly.
“And then? Then she asked for her release. I could not keep her.”
“So that was the way,” said Sam, and he slowly repeated the words. “She asked for her release.” He seemed to be thinking of something other than what he said.
“Speak up, lad!” he remarked after a few minutes, while he refilled his pipe. “Isn’t it striking that this Natalka went away so suddenly and without cause, only a comparatively short time after the fire?”
“Without cause?” Korf laughed bitterly. “Without cause? Natalka is now living in Berlin as the wife of the apothecary Mertens; maybe right now she is a charming mother!”
“Oh, that’s how it is!” said Finkle, whistling through his teeth; he was reflecting. Poor Gus, he thought. Then he said aloud:
“I thought you were going to tell me more about your invention than about the fate of your assistant.”
“That can be told in a few words. I had to start again almost at the beginning^ and quite by chance I hit on the combination of gases for fuel on which my new model depends. If the airport had not occasionally given me a little help from the surplus funds, I might calmly have buried all my hopes after the fire. Now I have made so much progress that I can build the first practically serviceable space ship as soon as I can get the necessary capital. That is terribly hard in Germany at present.”
“And foreign capital?”
“That has been offered me several times.”
“Well?”
“Uncle Sam, I would rather destroy my whole invention than let this, too, go to some foreign country. Isn’t it enough, in case of a new world war, that the Americans threaten us with our own Zeppelins, that the Japanese rule the seas with our Krupp cannon, and that the French are making steel with our Saar coal? Truly, other countries are equipped with our own best weapons, so that they can attack us at will, if an occasion arises. No, Uncle, ‘my space ship must and will remain a German national affair.”
“The trick of this Suchinow is all the worse!”
A Strange Coincidence
SAM again carefully sipped his wine, looking intently at his brotherin-law over the edge of the glass. He remarked quite without any previous connection:
“Do you still correspond with Natalka, that is to say, Mrs. Mertens?”
“She writes to me off and on, telling about her household affairs. The former student seems to have become a model housewife!” replied Korf drily, drawing spiral figures in the ash tray with a match. “Of course I send her a few lines off and on, too; but she never speaks of my cares and plans. Naturally! She has quite different interests now!”
It did not escape Uncle Sam, with what warmth Korf spoke of Natalka and how indifferently of Mrs. Mertens.
Gus, Gus, he thought, you seem to have scorched something besides your skin in that fire! But another idea passed involuntarily through his mind
“Gus,” he began, “do Natalka’s letters actually come from Berlin?”
Korf looked up in surprise. “What a strange question!”
“I only thought it somewhat unusual that a Hungarian student should marry a German druggist.”
“Well, chemical knowledge may be useful to a druggist’s wife,” said Korf bitterly, pulling a battered envelope from his pocket. “There, see for yourself! You may perfectly well read the letter, which I got only a few days ago. It is no love letter, such as is kept from profane eyes.”
Sam took the letter. “Too bad it isn’t, Gus; isn’t that so?”
Korf paid no attention to this remark. “Besides, I have met Mertens myself. The young couple visited me once after the wedding.”
“He didn’t impress you much, this Mertens?”
“Good Lord, he isn’t a hunchback!”
Sam carefully read the letter. In firm and almost masculine characters it stated that the writer was very well, that Mr. Mertens was a model husband, that the “Angel” drugstore did a fine business, that this settled existence showed that though their work together in Friedrichshafen was a pleasant memory, woman’s place was not in scientific work but in the home, and so forth.
“The only thing missing is some recipes!” mocked Sam.
“Uncle Sam!” cried Korf, reproachful and injured.
“Lad!” said Finkle, rising gravely. “I know and understand; this Natalka has made a fool of you. Everybody has his youthful fancies, and no one can say anything against them. But Gus, a woman who writes such silly meaningless letters—why, Gus, such a woman is not worth one hour’s thoughts from a man like August Korf. I must say so, Gus! And if to rescue the honor of your adored one you think you have to take a pistol shot at old Sam, well, please go ahead!”
With a mighty swing of his arm he threw the letters on the table, striking the paper with the fist which firmly held his pipe, so that a rain of ashes and burning tobacco poured over the table. He must have been greatly excited to subject one of his beloved pipes to such an unaffectionate treatment.
Korf shuddered; then he said in an aggrieved tone: “I cannot contradict you. Uncle. If I did not know Natalka’s handwriting so well, I could not possibly believe, good heavens, that Mrs. Mertens and my—my assistant were one and the same person.”
Dissatisfied, Sam cleaned up the table, testing the mishandled pipe and knocking the ashes from the letter. The postage stamp had fallen from the envelope, and he tried to stick it on again— mechanically, as though trying to remove all signs of his outburst of anger.
Suddenly he stopped, held the envelope under the light, examined it with first one eye and then the other, and shook his head thoughtfully. On the place where the stamp had been stuck was written in pencil “30/8".
“Strange,” murmured Sam, “to write the date of the letter under the stamp!” Then he took up the letter again. It was dated August 30, which agreed with the pencilled date. The Berlin postmark had the same date.
Then his wrinkled face lighted up; a sudden idea seemed to brighten him, and contentedly he again surveyed his wine glass.
Well—the letter was written by Natalka and posted by Mrs. Mertens in Berlin on August thirtieth. But...
He put the envelope into his pocket, on the reverse of which was the sender’s address, returned the letter, and said, ignoring what had just occurred:
“Then money is what you lack! I shall just see about that a little. Old Sam knows many people. Who knows, perhaps I can be helpful to you in this respect. Tomorrow I must be off to the Turkish Consulate in Berlin, and I shall keep the matter in mind.—Mother Barbara, bring me another of the same!”
A Sleepless Night
The streets and alleys of the usually very quiet little city on Lake Constance it was lively the next night. When darkness set in, the people poured out to the lake in crowds. The entire city, to the last man, seemed to come out. They crowded about the boats which were for hire, the owners of which were doing splendid business. Recognizing the demand, they made a special increase beyond the ordinary rental fee. As far as one could see in the darkness, there were canoes, rowboats, and any kind of thing that would float on the water. With telescopes and opera glasses the people unceasingly scanned the sky with an attention such as had hardly likely ever been given the old moon in this district before.
The evening papers had confirmed the sending of the rocket, and no dweller in Friedrichshafen was willing to let this event escape him, though opinions regarding visibility and invisibility were very divided. On this evening many saw perhaps for the first time that most of the stars, like the sun, rise in the east, climbing higher and higher in the firmament, to sink again to the western horizon. Many noticed or learned, to their astonishment, that the pole star, on the contrary, seems to stand still, while the entire starry heaven revolves around it.
But when the hours passed and nothing at all sensational occurred, no arc of fire in the sky, no glowing, speeding shot, no explosion on the moon, then gradually the older persons began to go home disappointed, others followed, and all at once commenced the general migration back to the city, though morning was still far off. Only the more stubborn ones held out until the grey of morning, until the rising sun colored the eastern sky and extinguished all the splendor of the stars.
On the next morning the papers brought reports columns in length. All the reports, including those from other countries, showed a certain disappointment that nothing could be observed; yet there was scarcely any doubt that the shot had actually taken place. A leading Berlin paper printed the description by its Roumanian correspondent. To be sure, no one had actually seen the shot, but in the night in question, soon after nine o’clock, the dwellers in the vicinity of Calimanesti had waked in fright at a loud thundering crackling sound like machine gun firing. In great excitement the Roumanian mountaineers, who could not understand the frightful noise, had fled down the valley. The cattle had become unmanageable, horses and oxen had broken loose, increasing the general confusion, added to which was the incessant howling of the dogs, while the mountain beasts, heedless of men and dogs, had fled through the villages in wild terror.
The thundering had also been heard in the great hotels of Ramnicul Valcea, and some of the guests claimed that they had seen a dazzling light over the mountains to the northeast.
Most of the observatories which had been asked for information about their observations and opinions assumed a very cautious and reticent position.
The Babelsberg Observatory, Berlin, wrote as follows:
“Until we are informed regarding the dimensions, velocity, and direction of flight, we can form no opinion regarding the possible visibility of the rocket. It is, however, certainly striking that up to now the rocket has not been perceived by any observatory in the world.”
The Greenwich Observatory, reporting to the Daily News, offered rather more hope:
“...Still it is possible that the rocket is illuminated insufficiently or not at all, for which reason it can only be seen when it emerges from the shadow of the earth. We can make no prediction when that will occur, since we have no basis for calculation.”
Even the following night brought no certainty, since a thick covering of clouds had formed over the entire Western Europe, and the commencing autumn mist alone was enough to make observations extremely difficult.
Soon such strong doubts had public expression that no one dared to look up at the sky any more, for fear of being mocked as a “rocket-gazer”.
This development of the matter was not at all pleasant for Korf. Even if he himself, on a logical basis, believed that the shot had succeeded, it was fatal for the public to think itself made fun of. What effect would this have on his collection of funds, now just ready to start? The public might after all pass over a failure, but it would never pardon having been fooled. Doubtless the inevitable inclination to generalization would produce at least a very reserved frame of mind as regards the question of spatial navigation.
A bad omen for the fate of the national collection!
Korf grew very angry.
“This botcher!” he growled. “Apparently the machine was badly made and has come to grief. It would have been better if he had kept quiet about his shot into infinity. Public opinion is quickly destroyed !”
It did not occur to Korf that he was really heartily wishing success to his dangerous rival. He honestly hoped that the rocket would still be discovered in its path to the moon.