(Copyright.) Complete Short Story “The Sceptre of the Gods”

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XVI, Issue 86, 27 March 1926, Page 9

(Copyright.) Complete Short Story “The Sceptre of the Gods”

(By 1

H. BRERETON.)

fTTHE SCIENTIST sat back with a gesture of conscious power. The slight flush on his sallow cheeks might have been caused by his extreme interest in the subject which he had been expounding, but was possibly aided by th« contents of the glass which he now again raised to his lips. His companion, a big. bronzed, keen-eyed man, promptly leaned forward, bottle in hand, to replenish the potent fluid which had so effectively loosened the long-pent-up flow of speech? “Just one more. Thompson my boy -—only ono. You must join me in a doch and doris.” “Really I—l couldn’t—simply couldn’t. Do you know, it is years since I tasted whisky. Glorious stuff. Do you know I have never talked like this before. Must be the effect of this splendid spirit and your delightful company. I’ve been afraid to talk, you know, but now that it is done, that my machine is perfect, it does not really matter, for soon—next week possibly—the whole world will know, and I will lie acknowledged as the scientist of to-day: The man who has succeeded in conquering and controlling the element of the origin of all life, water- ’♦ Without further protest his host surreptitiously renewed the supply in the glass. “But, my dear chap,’’ he said, “do ? you seriouslv affirm that you are now able to control the rainfall by mechanical means. You’re joking surely?” “Have I not said, Maitland, that before we scientists speak we must know. Further I have invented and tested the machine; I—have—maderain!” and the little man dramatically threw back his head and thumped his puny chest with semi-drunken grandiloquence. “Ha! Ha!” he continued, “you jeered in the old college days at what you called my ‘nutty notions,’ now the laugh is mine. Into that little machine I have put the study of years—the knowledge I have gained—all my reasoning powers—my very brain. At will 1 can speed the magnetic charge across the heavens, alter the polarity of those minute invisible globules of moisture with which it is charged, and behold they rush together and we have what the ignorant call a thunderstorm. A thunderstorm—what do you know of it?” he continued. “Do you realise that continuously from pole to pole there flows a constant stream of magnetism ; that this magnetism induces an electrical current flowing in an oj>posite direction—parallel with - the earth’s equator. That when this induced electricity, conveyed through that unseen moisture, reacnes a sufli- . ciently powerful pitch in any locality where its flow is retarded, it reverses the polarity of the atoms of moisture, and then you have what is known as a thunderstorm: A discharge of the supercharge of electricity? “The technical side, probably, would be beyond you, so why waste my breath, but you must know that the e hotter the sun the greater the evapora- \ tion, and hence the greater moisture ■' content of the air. Thus in the driest summers, in the most, arid wastes, given the required electrical power, 1 can induce unlimited raiti.” “Yet m spite of your years of work.' the level, passionless voice of Maitland insisted; “in spite of the sieepiesa nights, the continuous stinting, the lost youth, you are the poor man financially, and you propose now to give this discovery of yours, the result of half a lifetime, to an ungrateful world, for what? For a eulogistic paragraph in the newspapers—tor at most an emptv title.” “But, Sir.” insisted the befuddled scientist with drunken dignity, “1 will have the honour—hie—the glorish. Ynsh, glorish’ the thing.” “Honour—glory! Who counts those as worth mor© than a meal these days? Wait—share your knowledge—your invention, with me. 1 will find the necessary capital to commercialise it, and '' you will have all the honour and glory * you want, with wealth, my boy—golden sovereigns—the love of women and the admiration and envy of thousands. Listen to reason—grasp the opportunity I offer you. and together we can make millions.” “Moneysh all right—’m not abusing moneysh. Womensh all right—shplendid creatures womensh, but I must have fame, glor-ish, honour. Promise me these and I’m yours.” “Done!” snapped Maitland. “Just put your signature to this little agreement 1 have here and you’ll be a rich man—rich beyond the dreams of avarice, Thompson, and all the glov and honour you want, in years to come.” The sudden descent to the realities of a business transaction and the unexpected production of a prepared >, agreement somewhat sobered Thompson but carried away bv the friendly enthusiasm of Maitland, the little scientist’s fears were successfully lulled, and having followed with pursed lips and nodding, drunken gravity the reading of the terms of the agreement, h o finally affixed to the document an illegible scrawl which, however, was sufficiently like his usual signature to have passed muster with his banker had his account been in a state of replenishment. At a call from Maitland the necessary witnesses, with suspicious promptitude, appeared on the scene to complete the document, ana soon, to the accompaniment of vigorous handshakings and back-slappings, the tottering Thompson was safely deposited in his bed. With a sigh of relief Maitland, patting the precious document now safely lodged m an inner pocket, returned for a final spot with his accomplices. With a grunt of disgust he threw himself into an easy chair, to be immediately bombarded with questions by his recent witnesses. “You’ve got it. Maitland? You’re satisfied it’s genuine?” “Yes. curse you. and now I feel unclean; like a filthy pickpocket. Were it not that with this drought our posi- ! tion is desperate, and the consolation 1 have that all is fair in love and war. L would yet tear this cursed paper to fragments.” “Yes,” he confessed to himself an hour later as he turned into I >ed, “only the love of a woman like Marjory Norton could be sufficient reward to warrant a man doing what I have done.” Dav by day through the burning I months winch followed, the wondering countryside watched huge throbbing motor trucks conveying shrouded loads of machinery to the vast estate which, in common with the surrounding district, shrivelled and cracked in the throes of a protracted drought. Farmers, broken and embittered bv continuous losses, turned from the tending of their stricken animals to watch the slow growth of the massive ; concrete tower on the dominant hill, i high above the rushing river which i alone served to remind them that there yet remained some moisture in this parched world, and they wondered, dully, what mad sprite prompted the owning syndicate to squander their wealth on a pumping station, as they were led to believe it would ultimatel'* be. Some silly woman’s notion of course—that Miss Norton said to own more than haff the shares in the estate, was no doubt at the bottom of it.— and the*little-less-mad manner*. M'itland. who. they said, waited on her every word.

Meanwhile the “Mad Sprite,” oblivious of everything save his countless dynamos and cells and projectors, lived among the darlings ot his brain on that high hill till one day, when there remained only the finishing touches, the turning on of that great pow<A generated at the river far below, and he could at will drench the parched land with life-giving ram—when SHll* appeared. Surely the gods are long suffering with puny man who in his arrogance reaches up to snatch their sceptres and wield their powers, yet the gods smi:e and use—a woman. The scientist, robed in a long white coat (reaching to his heels, and looking, as he crouched over his laboratory, work-bench, like some priest of a mystic order, grunted some unintelligible greeting as John Maitland and Marjory Norton advanced to his side. A moment’s tense silence as he perfected some minute adjustment, then John Maitland spoke. “Mr. Thompson,” he said, “let me introduce you to our principal: Mr. Thompson—Miss Norton.” I'he little man formally extended his hand, meantime mumbling a greeting, and then, as the firm, strong fingers of the young woman closed round his, he looked up quickly into her face. The radiant vision which met and held his fascinated gaze might well have taken the breath of any man of flesh and blood, for from head to toe Marjory Norton was a picture. A mass of dark, waving hair crowned a face of classic features, olive-tinted, yet radiant with a soft flush induced by the stiff climb to his eyrie. Though the whole expression was one of sweetness and softness, the light which shone in the deep brown eyes, and the set of the firm chin belied any suggestion of weakness. The perfect head, borne on a no less perfect neck, was typical of the whole womaiL and what further beauty could b elent by art the custumiere had not overlooked in the graceful lines and perfect fit of a close-fitting walking costume. Instantly the little man was all flattering attention, and like a czar in his own domain, proudly escorted his visitor on a tour of inspection. No minutest detail was overlooked, and in everything the woman showed that quick intelligence so flattering to her instructor. Maitland, somewhat at a loss in this atmosphere of technicalities, mutely followed the two, and to his disgust felt wellin-r un within him, an unreasoning jealousy of the poor enaemic little scientist. Never had he, with all his days and years of toil in the interests of this woman, succeeded in claiming one-tenth of the interest which she displayed in this, to him, unintelligible jargon, yet in his heart through these years of service the high | hope had burned that be might one day claim this woman as his own. To his disgust, a warm invitation from Miss Norton to join them that night at the homestead and take up his residence there until the completion of the installation, was eagerly accepted by Thompson, and in the days which followed, as, busied about his many duties he watched his mistress ride each day to spend long hours in Thompson’s company, a black hatred of the little man filled his whole body and mind. So the days wbnt by, each man striving with varying success for those favours that are as milestones on the road of courtship, till one dav, chancing to be occupied in the neighbourhood of the stabies, John Maitland was surprised to see Marjory come spurring from the direction of the tower. Some sixth sense warned him that all was not weir with the woman who had come to mean so much in his life. Advancing quickly he assisted his employer to dismount, a courtesy which she usually allowed him to extend to her. and the danger signal in her cheek, the flash cf her eye should have further warned him that the present was no time for pleasantries. “The mare, Miss Norton,” he said, “will you require her again to-day?” “No; neither to-day nor to-morrow nor any other day, unless it be to leave this accursed spot—Oh! why did I ever set eyes on tins sun-baked, hopeless wilderness?” “But the Rain-maker—what of him? Surely you have not so soon forsaken your high hopes?” retorted her manager. “The Rain-maker—that—cad! Don’t ever let me hear you mention his name in th© same breath with mine again. Remember, in future he is merely an employee—a—a—Oh, Jack!” she half sobbed, using his familiar name for th© first time, “he is a beast. I told him—told him J had staked everything on his discovery and invention—that if he failed 1 was ruined, and he asked —no he threatened that unless 1 became his, he would smash the machinery—throw to tlie winds the thousands i have spent oirhis plant, and—and—see me starve.” “The beast!” gritted Maitland, “the unutterable crawling beast. Please Miss Norton will you go up to the house and leave me to blot out this poisonous viper.” "No! No! You must not, Jack. I forbid you! You don’t realise his hideous knowledge—his power to harm. Why. he is mad. I think. He threatened that if you approached the tower he would kill you—electrocute you as he did a poor harmless cattle beast to prove to me that he was not boasting. He has those dreadful dynamos working—listen—you can hear the whine of them from here, and he is mad with the sense of his power. Why he allowed me to escape unscathed 1 cannot guess, but you—you must never go near him —promise me?” In the revolving turret surmounting the huge tower, high on the crest of the highest hill, the small man who strove to grasp the Sceptre of the Gods moved swiftly from apparatus to apparatus, and as he worked the glare of madness shone m his eyes and l e muttered to himself. "They want rain—Ha! Ha! they shall have it, for I am the rain-maker. The Elements learn to ol>ey me. and a woman—a mere woman—defies me. 1 will prove my power—prove it to the hilt. Aye, soon she will come bogging—cringing—praying me to take her!” and far below the huge dynamos droned and whined, and the solid tower trembled as though struggling to retain a vast force which, unleashed, might wreck the universe. 1 here for a women t ho stood, bis work finished, his hand on one of the huge electro-magnets which at the movement ot a switch by him would throb with power, ready at his command to project its force into space, there to battle with and gain the mastery over the powers of Nature. And there, away out on the plain, the man she had called "Jack" snook bis impotent fist at the tower wherein th© man who had incurred his hatred moved the little lever. High overhead a little lonely (loud appeared— a mere gauzy filament. Then as Maitland looked it grow denser, blacker, and from its tieart flashed little stabs of light. Then the first big warm drops of ram pattered to the drv. thirstv earth, and a muttering as of distant battle smote his par. “Thunder-by Heaven—the Rain(Continued on foot next column.)

■ (Continued from previous column.) maker’s thunder,’’ he yelled, and driving the spurs into iiis horse’s flanks raced for the homestead. * * * For mo-re than a week it had rained. No, that fails to express it—the water had tumbled from the sky, and day and night the rumble and growl and crash of thunder close overhead had racked ears and nerves. Already the land, so lately baked hard almost as rock, was soggy and spongy. Slips—huge slides of senu-hquid earth had rent the hills with great gashes, but Maitland’s heart fed; as though it would burst lor joy within him, tor Marjory, the idol whom he adored, the prize which for long years had been his goal, had promised to be his wife. That night, an hour ago, she had promised, and the man now' stood on the wide verandah peering into the blackness of the night. H only he could do something to prove his worth —to stop this awlui incessant din—to break this deluge. Surely he could pit his strength and wit with the maniac in yonder tower who thus wreaked his vengeance on his rival and the lover who had scorned him. Why not now? Majory was safe in her room for the night. His horse stood in the stable. Yes; to-night he would prove his manhood—evade the groping .searchlight—brave the death-dealing ray. Ten minutes’ work would do it. Ten minutes down there in the valley by the fluming through winch the water surged and raced to spin the whirring turbines. Out in the drenching downpour tithorse slipped anil stumbled through the quagmire ,picking its way with uncanny sense through the inky blackness, but as the searching beam from the great tower swept its band of light back and forth, man and beast halted like a black statue against a blacxer background. Then at last they reached the cover where the horse was left, and the hist half-mile. crawling, stumbling through the black void, burdened with his deadly load of gelignite. Fear! the fear of death from the rax should he be discovered, or from the no less terrible annihilation should a stumble explode the detonators or gelignite which he carried, tortured him. At last he was there. His hand rested on the huge pipes which carried half a river in their bowels, and the man’s groping fingers scratched and clawed the hollow nest which was to hold the charge, when a queer quiver seemed to pass through the very ground on which he stood. Again it came, then a low hissing sound seemed to till the night with new horror, and m the blue light of flickering lightning Maitland looked up to see the whole hillside above him moving, sloxvß- at first, then faster and faster, and with it came the great tower in which the mad Rain-maker shrieked defiance of the gods. With a scream Maitland turned v? Ily from the impending doom, but the gods had spoken, and the puny men—the man who had claimed the sceptre of the gods and Ins tempter, lav buried beneath a million tons of earth, with round them strewn the secrets of the scientist who fell from the path of glory and honour, and sought thb fleshpots ot mammon.