New York Times
We wish to announce an invention patented by French inventor Louis Jannin. It is known as Barbed Wire and indeed it is barbed as this reporter pricked a finger on one of the sharp barbs. We wish to know the purpose for this sharply pointed wire but alas Mr. Jannin had no real purpose in mind except to use it as a fencing material.
New Jersey Highlands News
It has been reported, but not verified, that an English doctor, Doctor Joseph Lister used an antiseptic medicine during surgery after being convinced by Mr. Louis Pasteur about the connection between microbes and infection. We shall follow up on this unique operation and report it to our readers as soon as the results have come in.
Philadelphia Ledger
A wonderful invention that greatly assists the making of the newspaper that you, the reader, are looking at while reading this article, has been invented. Mr. William Bullock built a printing press that could feed paper on a continuous roll and print on both sides at once! The press was first used by this newspaper and is considered a boon for the newspaper and book business.
Bill composed the copy and sent it to Matt who would proofread it and have the newspaper printed in time for the club’s dinner guests to read and talk about as they congregated before dinner.
Bill walked towards his bedroom to change when a knock at the time portal door caused him to alter his course and head towards the door as he said, “Edmund?” He opened the door to see a smiling Edmund Scott, his grandson, standing there. The dancing light from the gas lamps glinted in his blue eyes and both embraced.
“”Edmund! Hey, it’s great to see you again.”
“Same here, Bill. How are you doing?” he answered as he felt the thinness of his grandfather’s robe and went on, “Boy, I know what to get you for Christmas.”
“Awe,” murmured Bill with a shrug, I have another robe but this one is like an old shoe . . . hard to get rid of. Now, come on in and take a seat.”
Edmund stepped into the den and took the easy chair Bill offered as Bill took the easy chair facing him.
“Now,” said Bill, “are you here with a mission or are you going to join me for dinner.”
To Bill’s shock he answered with a big grin, “I am here to brief you on a mission, but I’d love to join you for dinner, grandpa-ah, I mean Bill.”
“But, what about the poor atmosphere? I mean in the past you’ve been good for maybe fifteen, twenty minutes tops, before you had to get back home and breathe normally.”
Edmund leaned closer and explained, “Because we had the 1800 Club to travel back on a mission, we never really had to think about the poor quality of the air at the mission date and, therefore, there was no need to worry about it. However, I mentioned it to Mary Tacker, one of the group’s scientists, and, without my knowing it, she developed small, disposable air filters that fit in the nostrils of the user. Not that we didn’t have anything like them before, but they were good for twenty minutes at the most before they became clogged up and they were very uncomfortable.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out six small, transparent filters.”
“They look like ear plugs,” said Bill.
“So, am I still invited to dinner?”
Bill stood and said as he headed towards the intercom, “You bet! I’ll have Matt outfit you for the time period and this evening you’ll see the club in action.” He pushed the intercom button near his laptop and Matt’s voice was heard,
“You called sir?”
“Yes, Matt. My grandson, Edmund, will be staying for dinner. Is it possible that with all else you have to do, you can suit him up?”
“Most certainly, sir. I shall be right up.”
Edmund turned to his grandfather and asked, “So, what year is it that we will be in this evening?”
“For this evening’s dinner I used copy from December 5, 1865. As you know, General Lee already surrendered his forces on April 9, 1865 and for the next club meeting I’ll provide copy for the newspaper before the war began. So at the next dinner the topic of conversation will probably be about if there will or will not be a war between the states.”
“So,” quipped Edmund, “for tonight the war has recently ended.”
“Yes and another topic they might speak about is the assassination of Lincoln.”
There was a tap on the door and Matt entered. “Good evening, Master Scott. Shall I take you to our fitting room?”
Edmund smiled and nodded as he answered, “And a good evening to you too, Matt. I’ll gladly go with you, but first,” he took a hologram carrier from his pocket and passed it to Bill.
“The mission, Bill.” He turned back to Matt and said, “Lead the way.” Both men left the room and Bill went and changed for dinner.
Bill had his walk-in closet filled with period clothing and selected a tan, single-breasted suit with a matching double-breasted vest, a set of suspenders, white shirt with a stiff collar and frilly front and dark brown, string tie. Finally, he decided on deep brown riding boots. Looking in his full-length mirror and satisfied, Bill took the hologram carrier and depressed the indent at the end of the small silver tube. His fingerprint activated it and as Bill placed it on his coffee table, a six-inch figure of John Hyder appeared.
“Greetings, Bill. We of the Time Watcher’s Group hope you are feeling well.” The figure walked in a small circle, then stopped and faced him. “As you know I’m John Hyder and during my watch I spotted something that really must be put right. During World War One, the Germans attacked the Italians at a place known as Caporetto. They used gas and a new type of warfare, which would later be known as Blitzkrieg. Now, in our history books the Germans ran out of supplies because they didn’t know their attack would be so successful. The Italians were rattled and the Italian Government even gave thought to making a separate peace with the Germans and their partners. Well, it never happened and as you know the Allies won the war.” He walked in a circle again, stopped and shrugged as he faced Bill again.
“But, one of our drones saw a different version and in this version the Italians marched alongside the Germans and their allies. We also noticed that the Palazzo del Quirinale, where the Italian Government resides, had bomb damage and in our history there was none. Now, because no enemy bombers had the range to make a bombing attack on the building we came to the conclusion that it was done with an Italian bomber. So we sent another drone back and it spotted an Italian Caproni Ca3 trimotor bomber, bombing the building. And to add insult to misery, the bomber came from an American air base in Foggia, Italy. So, Bill, we hope that you can send someone back to prevent that bomber from taking off and allowing the Italian Government to have some breathing room. As usual, Bill, anything you want, you shall have. Good luck.” The hologram went still as Bill sat back in his chair. Finally, he put it in his desk drawer and went to his full-length mirror. He was looking at himself when, following a tap at the door, his grandson Edmund entered his den.
Bill nodded his agreement at Edmund’s choice of clothes: His two hundred and ten pound, six-foot 2 inch frame nicely filled the dark blue three-piece suit with a white shirt, starched collar and a light blue, silk cravat, pinned with a pearl stickpin. His black shoes showed off the light blue spats with black buttons going up their side.
“Well, sir,” Bill said, “it seems that you are ready to meet the club members.”
With a slight bow his descendent answered, “That I am sir, that I am.”
Both men walked along the carpeted hallway then down the stairway as Bill said, “Tonight you will be my nephew, okay with you, Edmund?”
“Sure. Whatever you say, Bill. I’m just so thrilled about being back in time.”
Bill grinned as he slapped him on his back, “I know what you mean. It’s great.”
The familiar sounds of laughter and small talk came from the doorway leading to the great room. Stopping at a small table near the door, Bill took a newspaper and placed it under his arm. He then took a cigar and offered it to Edmund wh
o took it and allowed Bill to light them both up before entering the room.
The large fireplace roared accompanied by the sounds of crackling wood and the occasional spit of moisture being evaporated in the logs. The mantel seemed to be the preferred place to rest an elbow upon as the members talked amongst themselves. Matt appeared next to Bill and Edmund carrying a round silver tray with glasses and a bottle of red and a bottle of white wine on it.
“Sirs, glass of wine?”
“Thank you, Matt,” said Bill, “I’ll have a glass of red.”
“As will I,” added Edmund as Matt filled two glasses for them.”
“Matt, have you seen John Brand and Rocko Perna?” asked Bill.
“Yes, sir. I believe Misters Brand and Perna are standing on balcony number four.”
“Thank you, Matt.” He turned to his grandson and said, “Come on and meet a couple of the guys who traveled back to fix a hiccup in time.”
Both men walked the length of the floor and the many conversations seemed to stop as the club members spotted them. Men did a small bow from the waist, or raised their glass to President Scott as the women openly flirted with both of the six-foot plus men. Bill smiled back and grinned to himself as he noticed many of the younger women smiling broadly at Edmund. As for himself, Edmund smiled back broadly and his blue eyes flashed.
Once at the balcony Bill opened the eight-foot high French doors and he and his grandson stepped out onto the balcony. John Brand and Rocko Perna were standing at the railing looking out at the city lights. Both puffed a cigar and turned at the sound of the opening doors.
“Gentlemen,” said Bill as he closed the doors behind them.
“President Scott,” answered John as he did a small bow.”
“Good evening, President Scott. Beautiful view is it not?” added Rocko.
Both Rocko and John couldn’t be any more different than they were: Brand cut a sharp figure with his six-foot, one-hundred-ninety-pound frame. His dirty blond hair was trimmed tight on the sides in a military fashion. He was dressed in the deep blue uniform of the Union Army and sported a balloon emblem on his lapel. On his shoulders he wore the rank of captain. Rocko Perna was dressed in three-piece suits in the 1865 style. Rocko filled out his dark blue suit well. He was five-foot-ten-inches tall and had shoulders like a football player. He had a shock of jet-black wavy hair and went hatless during a hat-wearing period. After checking to make sure the doors were closed, Bill said to both men, “Hey guys, it’s okay. This is my grandson, Edmund, whom I’ve told you about.” He turned to Edmund and said, “Edmund Scott, meet John Brand and Rocko Perna. Both of these guys have completed at least one mission for your group.” They all shook hands and John asked, “Edmund, I thought you had a hard time with our atmosphere?”
“New filters, John. I just got them today and thought perhaps I’d get to meet all of you.”
Rocko asked, “Are you going on a mission?”
Edmund quickly shook his head no, “No, not me. Maybe I can breathe with these but I wouldn’t know the first thing about traveling or living in the 1800s. No, that’s strictly for your club.”
Bill grinned at seeing how relieved his two friends were. He stepped in, “Guys I do have a mission that Edmund brought today and I’m pretty sure this one is for Rocko.”
“Yes!” said Rocko with glee.
“Can you get some time off, Rocko?”
“All you need, Bill. No problem. When can you brief me?”
“How about the four of us getting together in my den after the club empties out?”
John and Rocko agreed and Bill and Edmund went back inside. Bill closed the doors and almost bumped into Camile Sorice.
“Oh, please excuse me, President Scott.” The smile on her pretty face was clearly aimed at Edmund as she fluffed up her blond hair and went on, “You must be a new club member, sir. I insist that we sit together at dinner and chat about the railroad as a war winner. I do think that the north won because the Union Army had miles and miles of track to transport our boys and munitions from one place to another. Do you agree, sir?”
Edmund’s eyes were wide as he searched for the right words. He knew little about the club rule stating that nobody can speak of events that happen after the date set by the newspaper. “Uh, yes, yes, I do agree, I . . .”
Bill smiled to himself at his grandson’s situation and jumped in to save him. “Edmund this is Camile Sorice. Miss Sorice owns a section of railroad that transports men and material from New York to Chicago.”
Edmund bowed slightly and took her hand and said, “Ms. Sorice, I regret that I know so little about the railroad business and I am promised to sit next to President Scott this evening. However, I beg that you give me an open invitation so the next time I attend a meeting I may dine with you.”
She smiled and flashed her deep green eyes, “The invitation stands, Mister Scott.” She looked at Bill and asked, “Are you two related, President Scott?”
“Yes, Ms. Sorice, he is my nephew.”
Just then Matt stood by the door and rang a small dinner bell as he announced, “Dinner is served.”
Bill tapped on the balcony door and John and Rocko came in and the four men went to the dinner table.
As usual the guests had nothing but overwhelming comments about the dinner and were wowed by the after dinner coffee. Even when begged for the brand, Matt had to turn them down as the coffee existed only in one small shop in downtown Brooklyn and that shop went out of business in 1894. Bill grinned at the club’s secret shopping habits: Coffee came from downtown New York, 1894; bread from Queens, 1867; pies and cakes from the Bronx in the year 1953 and meat from Semkies Butcher Shop on 11th Street and Seventh Avenue, Brooklyn of 1957. Most of the Italian food came from Union Street, Brooklyn in the 1930s and Chinese food from China Town, New York of 1948. It was an unwritten rule that when Bill or Matt found themselves in the right area and time frame, they pick up the food specialty of that time and place.
After dinner cigars and brandy were had, once again, in the great room. The fire was roaring with new logs as the guests mingled. A circle of listeners surrounded Patrick Corbett who, dressed as a typical taxi driver of the mid-eighteen hundreds, had them in stitches. Bill knew that he was telling them stories that came from his great grandfather who was a cabby back then. Patrick’s long brown handlebar mustache followed his lip line, frowning for a second before going up in a smile as he told his story: “So there I was minding my own business when a police wagon speeds up Broadway towards me. I swear to you that never were all four wheels touching the cobblestone at the same time. I pulled over to let the coppers do their job when a tremendous crack was heard and suddenly one of their wheels just rolls away all on its own! I swear to you that, for one second, the paddy wagon rolled along on three wheels before tipping over and making splinters of the frame. Now comes the good part. The door facing up, opens and the Chief of Police himself climbs up looks around and seeing me and my rig just standing there, he blows his whistle and runs over to me.
“Sir,’ he says as he fixes his belt around his rather wide waist, ‘I must commandeer your carriage. Police business!’”
“Sir,’ I say, ‘Are you going to drive my rig?’ Rather indignantly he shakes his head and says, ‘No! Of course not. You drive.’”
“Sir,’ I ask, ‘Will there be shooting involved?”
“His eyes opened wide as he answered, ‘Shooting? No! We’re going to Jimmy O’Leary’s’ Bar & Grill. Do you know where that is?’”
“Most certainly sir, climb in. He does and so it’s off to O’Leary’s bar we go. He made me come in with him so he has a ride home later on and we both stay there until the sun starts to rise the next morning.” The cab driver looked at his audience and added, “It was a tough story to tell the missus, but as I explained, I’m a law-abiding citizen and when duty called, Patrick Corbett heard it and did his share.” The laughter almost drowned out the sound of the grandfather clock striking midnight.
It was 12:35 when the last of the guests changed and left the club. Bill, John, Rocko and Edmund sat in Bill’s den and Matt served them brandy and cigars. Bill lowered the oil lamps, which allowed the fire from the fireplace to create shadows that danced against the high walls causing a sleepy Samson to growl a few times at the elusive figures.
“Are you okay with the cigar smoke?” Bill asked Edmund.
“So far, so good.” He sat forward, “It’s so great to see the club in action. We all read the mission results after the mission is completed, but this is different: This is where it all happens.”
“Well,” answered Bill as he blew a smoke ring, “actually this is where it begins. This is where the club member is selected and asked if they want to go, followed by a plan of attack, then outfitted and sent back to perform the mission.”
“And,” interjected Rocko with a big smile, “this time I’m the club member selected.” He ran his fingers through his thick, wavy black hair as he addressed Bill, “Can we see the hologram tonight, Bill?”
“Sure, no problem,” he took out the hologram and activated it on top of his coffee table. As the figure of John Hyder appeared, Samson leaped up onto Bill’s lap and growled lightly at it.
After the four men had seen the hologram three times, Rocko sat back and closed his eyes. “So, I take it that I’ve been selected because I speak Italian. Right?”
‘Right,” answered Bill. “I went through all of the club members and kept coming back to the fact that speaking Italian fluently gives you the edge we need.”
Rocko stood and they watched as he walked around the room, one hand in his pocket and the other scratching his chin. “So during World War One there were no aircraft that flew across the Atlantic so I guess it’s a steamship trip followed by a train and then some sort of transportation from the train to the airfield in time to prevent a rebel Italian pilot from bombing the offices of the Italian government. Right?”
Book X Page 12
