1923 Yearbook
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Title
1923 Yearbook
Description
collector. Besides, this procedure worked about as smoothly as two cog wheels keyed
to different shafts, turning in the same direction—it was a case of turn the other way
or strip cogs (or rather togs).
Then I tried turning up hill so as to be in mesh with the mud chains. This worked
better—after I got over the bump—as my clothes were smooth thread and allowed me
to revolve fairly easily in the soft mud. By working corkscrew fashion I managed to
work back from under the car until the wheel was pressing against my chest. Then I
stopped, for it was borne in upon me that a couple more turns would bring the pressure
of the wheel against my neck. The idea did not appeal to me!
As I lay on my back debating which would be the most painless end: to lie there and
freeze to the ground or let the wheel crush my windpipe, I was startled to hear a voice,
close by, timidly say, "My friend, are you pressed for time ?"
When I recovered from my surprise at hearing this unexpected voice and at seeing
the peculiar appearance of my interrogator as he peered under the car, I informed him
that it was not definitely settled whether I was pressed for time or eternity.
The professor—for such he proved to be—was small of stature, and had a disconcerting way of looking nervously over his horn-rimmed glasses. He proceeded to
explain that he was a professor at Cornell to which place he was now enroute in a car,
lately purchased, and which manifested serious tendencies to act in an erratic manner.
Seeing me in the professional attitude, which is fully described in lesson one, Weeney's
or Sweeney's—suit yourself—manual on how to fix anything in six weeks (and sometimes they do), he came to the conclusion that he was indeed in luck to find an expert
mechanic at a most opportune time.
Words to this effect I must listen to before I could interrupt him to say that his
credentials were O. K. but if he would back up the Ford a foot or two I would be able
to recite my little piece standing. Until now he had not realized the predicament I
was in, but when he did he was all solicitude.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, "forgive me for not comprehending your perilous position.
The gravitational force of this declivity without any properly applied resistance has
resulted in a most complex situation."
"Quite so! Sure, professor!" I ejaculated. "But if you will merely get in this car
and step on the reverse, we will proceed with the next lesson."
"Ah! pardon my obtuseness," he apologized. "That is a simple solution to a problem heavily laden with recondite and esoteric potentialities. I shall proceed. I am
green about a motor vehicle and consequently slow to grasp the possibilities for maneuvering its mechanism, but I am thankful that the elementary knowledge which I possess is adequate and sufficient to stand me in good stead for this occasion."
I heard him jump into the car and bear down on the gas lever. Even now after
weeks—ave> months—to study over the matter and to cultivate—rather, plow under—
a forgiving spirit, I am uncertain what or whom to blame for what happened. His
Page 176
to different shafts, turning in the same direction—it was a case of turn the other way
or strip cogs (or rather togs).
Then I tried turning up hill so as to be in mesh with the mud chains. This worked
better—after I got over the bump—as my clothes were smooth thread and allowed me
to revolve fairly easily in the soft mud. By working corkscrew fashion I managed to
work back from under the car until the wheel was pressing against my chest. Then I
stopped, for it was borne in upon me that a couple more turns would bring the pressure
of the wheel against my neck. The idea did not appeal to me!
As I lay on my back debating which would be the most painless end: to lie there and
freeze to the ground or let the wheel crush my windpipe, I was startled to hear a voice,
close by, timidly say, "My friend, are you pressed for time ?"
When I recovered from my surprise at hearing this unexpected voice and at seeing
the peculiar appearance of my interrogator as he peered under the car, I informed him
that it was not definitely settled whether I was pressed for time or eternity.
The professor—for such he proved to be—was small of stature, and had a disconcerting way of looking nervously over his horn-rimmed glasses. He proceeded to
explain that he was a professor at Cornell to which place he was now enroute in a car,
lately purchased, and which manifested serious tendencies to act in an erratic manner.
Seeing me in the professional attitude, which is fully described in lesson one, Weeney's
or Sweeney's—suit yourself—manual on how to fix anything in six weeks (and sometimes they do), he came to the conclusion that he was indeed in luck to find an expert
mechanic at a most opportune time.
Words to this effect I must listen to before I could interrupt him to say that his
credentials were O. K. but if he would back up the Ford a foot or two I would be able
to recite my little piece standing. Until now he had not realized the predicament I
was in, but when he did he was all solicitude.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, "forgive me for not comprehending your perilous position.
The gravitational force of this declivity without any properly applied resistance has
resulted in a most complex situation."
"Quite so! Sure, professor!" I ejaculated. "But if you will merely get in this car
and step on the reverse, we will proceed with the next lesson."
"Ah! pardon my obtuseness," he apologized. "That is a simple solution to a problem heavily laden with recondite and esoteric potentialities. I shall proceed. I am
green about a motor vehicle and consequently slow to grasp the possibilities for maneuvering its mechanism, but I am thankful that the elementary knowledge which I possess is adequate and sufficient to stand me in good stead for this occasion."
I heard him jump into the car and bear down on the gas lever. Even now after
weeks—ave> months—to study over the matter and to cultivate—rather, plow under—
a forgiving spirit, I am uncertain what or whom to blame for what happened. His
Page 176
Date
1923
Rights
St. Ambrose University, 518 W. Locust St., Davenport, IA 52803
Identifier
http://cdm16810.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/p16810coll2/id/7787