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imagine-knowing-a-name · 1 year ago

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At Your Service

Summary: As a trainee mechanic, you apply for an apprenticeship at Stark Automotives on a whim. What you don't expect is for Tony Stark to reply personally with an offer to train you, and if that wasn't enough, a certain redhead also takes an interest in your sessions.

Word Count: 2303

Pairing: (Mentor/Mentee relationship for both) Natasha Romanoff & Reader; Tony Stark & Reader

Warning: None :)

A/N: Thanks for the response to my last fic, all the comments and reblogs kept me writing even with all my deadlines, and Mechanic!R was the clear winner of the last poll, so here you all go! Enjoy :)

»»————-　★　————-««

You rested centimetres from the cold floor with the sight of oil-covered gears, shafts, and pipes overtaking your vision as you rolled under the automotive.

"Does the axle cover come off?" you said after a short inspection.

"Yeah, those two hex screws, I'll get you the tool. You've worked out the issue?"

"It's meant to be 4-wheel drive and only the front wheels are moving; I'd guess a problem with the connector shaft meeting the rear axle."

"You'd guess or you'd know?"

"I can't know anything 'til the cover's off and I can see inside."

"Good answer," Tony replied. "Hand out."

As instructed, you stretched your arm until your fingers just about reached out from under the car chassis, where a tool handle was placed in your palm.

"One 5/8 hex screwdriver, that's the one you'll need."

"The screws are imperial?"

"'Course, kid, we're in America."

"Yeah, but you sell these cars globally; I just assumed-"

"Dear old dad set up factories all over the globe �� allows for some regional differences in the schematics, then each production line just does its own thing. It's easiest for everyone."

You hummed your acceptance of his method, then started to undo the screws, until a light rock to the car paused you. The movement stopped, so you assumed it was just Tony leaning on the car and you moved to continue your work, until the hum of a motorbike -- the sound of which you'd previously ignored -- grew even louder. You jolted when the bike pulled into the garage, causing you to smack your head against the car's underbody and let out a low groan.

"Watch yourself, kid; are you alright under there?" Tony said from above. At your murmur that you were fine, he continued, "roll yourself out, there's someone for you to meet."

"Why's there someone under your car, Tony?" came a woman's voice -- the person to meet, you assumed -- "can't get under the car like the old days, hm?"

When you emerged, the bright light of the outside world temporarily blinded you; you could make out Tony's figure, and as your vision returned, you saw the newcomer's back was turned to you, so only an orange plait could be seen from under her bike helmet.

"Very funny," Tony scoffed, continuing the conversation before he pointed at you. The woman turned and you only just managed to stifle a gasp when you recognised her face. "This is an apprentice, wrote to me a couple months back asking to learn about Stark Automotives, so I've been training them since. Y/N, this is Nat. Nat, Y/N."

From the moment Tony suggested training you here, in the garage of the Avengers Compound, you knew there would be a chance of running into the rest of the team you'd spent your childhood idolising. But truthfully, you were too starstruck that Tony Stark himself had offered to train you to truly believe that moment of meeting the other Avengers would ever come.

Now here you were, facing the Natasha Romanoff, looking effortlessly cool with her white vest, jeans, and leather biker jacket...while you laid on the floor in a Stark branded boiler suit and a definite grease mark where you’d hit your head. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment when you realised that the Black Widow's first perception of you was seeing you smack into an object directly in front of your face. You only hoped the blush didn't show when you finally met her eyes.

"Good to meet you," she said cooly, holding her hand out, but her eyes tracked up and down as if sizing you up.

You took her hand instantly, about to ramble through an introduction before a slight gasp from her shook you back to attention. Your eyes snapped down to where your hands met, and you realised then that you still wore your gloves, coated with oil from working on the vehicle, and now you've smeared it all over her uncovered hand. You instantly broke away -- apologising profusely -- and grabbed sheet after sheet of blue paper roll, offering it to her to help clean her hand.

"I'm so sorry," you repeated again, but she shook her head and smiled at you.

"I've had much worse meetings. I'll happily take a little bit of grease over being shot at."

"Woah-"

"Hey, kid," Tony began. Both your head and Natasha's snap in his direction; you'd honestly forgotten he was still there. "Not to interrupt, but have you ever worked on a motorbike? I made a few modifications to Nat's, and now that she's so kindly brought it to us I can show you how they work."

"Do not lay a finger on my bike, Stark," Natasha growled in a tone that reassured you that if she had actually been angry at the grease before, you would have known.

"I won't," Tony scoffed with a roll of his eyes, "...Y/N will."

You gulped, eyes darting between the two Avengers as you were drawn into the fold. "Me? Tony I'm not sure that's-"

"It's essential learning. We don't just make fancy cars so you have to learn it all. Nat, you wouldn't deprive Y/N of this learning, would you?"

Natasha groaned, but eventually relented, crossing her arms and perching on the counter by the wall. "Okay, but I'm not leaving you alone with it. And Y/N?"

You looked up, fear probably showing on your face. Natasha smiled in return, and allowed you to see a glint of mischief in her eye, "give me a running commentary of what you do. I trust your honesty more than Stark's." She smirked at the last part, rolling her eyes as she pointed to Tony behind his back, an action for you and you alone to see. Something about it put you at ease, so you nodded, smiled back, then got to work, spending the rest of the session under the assassin's watchful eye.

»»————-　★　————-««

You watched the phone in your hand, hoping and waiting for those three little dots. Tony Stark was not a man famously known for his punctuality, but he’d been early to every lesson so far and now, ten minutes after you were due to meet, you’re starting to worry.

The worry wasn’t the lesson being cancelled so much as the worry that one of the other Avengers would walk in and accuse you of trespassing – there were still so many residents you hadn’t met, and without Tony present, you were just a stranger loitering unaccompanied in the Avengers’ garage, surely that looked suspicious. No matter the fact that you were supposed to be there and had gained authorised access with your security card, your anxieties continued to grow and grow.

Your heart rate sped up proportionately to the increasing rumble of an approaching bike. The seconds seemed to elongate when you knew there was no escape to being caught there alone. In the remaining time you had, you pulled your phone back out and, with shaking fingers, messaged Tony one more time – at least then you had proof, you kept your eyes on the device even as you felt the newcomer pull in and dismount from their motorbike.

“Let me guess, Tony didn’t tell you he’s away?” Your head snapped up at the familiar voice, face breaking into a grin as red hair broke free from under the helmet. Natasha had been showing up more and more frequently to your sessions, so her arrival was no surprise, but you were glad to have a friendly figure to justify your presence, lest anyone else appear. Natasha set her headgear to the side and hopped up onto the counter, following her usual routine; you watched her intently until you realised she was watching you too, still waiting for an answer.

"Oh, uh, yeah, no, he didn't- he didn't tell me. He's not coming?"

“He got called on a mission last night. Should be back in a few days, if all goes to plan, but I’ll have a word with him about keeping you informed.”

Her undivided attention unnerved you – Tony had always acted as a buffer before – so you fidgeted, avoided eye contact, and wondered what your next move should be. Thankfully, Natasha answered that last question for you: “It wouldn’t be right to send you home so soon,” she said, “And I am officially a Stark Industries employee still, you know, if you wanted…”

“Yes!” you exclaimed instantly, speaking before you thought. “I mean, yeah, if it’s no trouble. That would be awesome.”

“We both know I’d sit here and watch anyway.” She spoke softly and with a smile that you found yourself drawn to replicate, feeling more at ease in the spy’s presence. “Now then, I know about a lot of things but mechanics is an area where you might already have me beat, so how about something else?”

“Like what?”

“What do you want to know?” she shrugged, “Russian? Latin? Artillery? Archery? Wrestling? Weightlifting?” At your dumbstruck expression, Natasha smiled and realised she would have to make the choice for you, “how about the gym? You can impress Tony with your strength next time he makes you use that scissor jack.”

Your cheeks burn at the memory – neither Natasha nor Tony had said anything at the time, but both of them had needed to jump in and assist when you’d been unable to turn the jack enough for it to actually lift the car and fulfil its purpose. From Natasha’s warm smile, you could tell she still wasn’t mocking you for the incident, but you still nodded quickly and murmured agreement with her plan, before following her through the Compound towards the gym.

“Can I ask why you’re a Stark Industries employee?” you asked on the elevator, as a way to fill the silence and out of curiosity from her earlier words.

She laughed, “It was back in ‘09, we had to get intel on the newly revealed Iron Man, and the man behind the suit-”

“Tony-”

“Exactly. So, S.H.I.E.L.D. made some edits to the employee list, added my cover there, and I successfully infiltrated the company for as long as I needed. I only officially revealed myself at the 2010 Stark Expo – do you remember that? – and in all the chaos afterwards, they never officially took me off it.”

“I think I remember seeing it on TV – you were there?”

“I left before the explosions started, but I was around, trying to make sure as few people were in harm’s way as possible-” Natasha cut herself off as the two of you entered a space larger than any lecture hall, fitted with all sorts of workout machines – the majority of which you’d never seen in your life. “Here we are.”

“You use…all of this?”

She nodded, then paused, before pointing to a section in the corner where the machine structures and weights seem almost treble that of the current area. “That section’s for Steve, or Thor if he ever bothered to train. Us regular humans wouldn't move it an inch if we tried to use those machines.”

Natasha smirked and shook her head again, guiding you towards one of the regular machines: a chest pad adjusted to press against your front as you sat on the stool, while Natasha adjusted the weight and pulled the two handles back for you to grab them. With the position set, you looked up to her for advice,

“Pull the handles towards your chest and push them back to neutral, it'll work out your upper arms. That's where a mechanic will need strength the most, so aim for 10 repeats.”

Natasha watched carefully, adjusting your posture where needed, until you completed the set. You broke into a grin at the realisation that you'd managed it, one which Natasha happily replicated as she held her hands up for a high fives. “You'll be a pro in no time,” she promised, “ready to increase the load?”

The rest of the session continued in much the same manner – Natasha introduced you to different bits of equipment and perfected your form until your phone buzzed with a routine alert to mark the end of a session.

Natasha accompanied you to the door, smiling, receiving, and occasionally rebuking the many thanks you bombarded her with for stepping up. “It was truly my pleasure,” she said at last, “I'll make sure Tony is back next week, but if you want to do this again, you have my number.”

She squeezed your shoulder, turned, and began to walk back inside – all before you came to the realisation: “I don't actually have your number!” you shouted after her. Natasha didn't respond, but when you checked your phone only seconds later, a message had appeared in your notifications.

‘Yes you do :)

-N’

She really was some spy.

»»————-　★　————-««

Everything changed from then on: you walked in to Tony and Natasha arguing a week later, their sudden pause at your presence a very good indicator that they were discussing you, something they confirmed only moments later.

Next thing you knew, both Tony and Natasha had taken you on as their mentee, a session with each of them once a week, and neither of them wanted you to leave. Your apprenticeship was extended into the next academic year, where you moved even closer to the Avengers Compound to visit them more often, the two Avengers – not to mention the others they'd introduced you to – always making sure you were well cared for whenever you visited. Eventually, Tony even offered you a full-time job post-graduation as the Avengers' official mechanic, and who were you to refuse? You loved the work just as you loved spending time with your mentors, so you could think of no better job in the world.

»»————-　★　————-««

taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff & reader #natasha romanoff & y/n #natasha romanoff & you #tony stark #tony stark & reader #tony stark & y/n #tony stark & you #ikan writes #self insert fanfiction #reader insert #marvel #fanfiction #natasha romanoff fluff

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1solone · 20 days ago

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Husband:

My wife is missing.

She went to rescue people from the flood yesterday and has not come home...

Sergeant at Police Station:

What is her height?

Husband:

Gee, I'm not sure. A little over five-feet tall.

Sergeant:

Weight?

Husband:

Don't know. Not slim, not really fat.

Sergeant:

Color of eyes?

Husband:

Sort of brown I think. Never really noticed.

Sergeant:

Color of hair?

Husband:

Changes a couple times a year.

Maybe dark brown now.

I can’t remember.

Sergeant:

What was she wearing?

Husband:

Could have been pants, or maybe a skirt or shorts. I don't know exactly.

Sergeant:

What kind of car did she go in?

Husband:

She went in my Jeep.

Sergeant:

What kind of Jeep was it?

Husband: (sobbing)

It's a 2019 Rubicon with Sprintex Supercharger with Intercooler, DiabloSport T-1000 Trinity Programmer, Teraflex Falcon 3.3 Shocks ,1350 RE Reel Drive Shafts, Method 105 Bead Locks, Toyo 37" X 13.5" Tires, Custom Olympic Off Road Front Bumper, Olympic Off Road Smuggler Rear Bumper with tire carrier, Seward Radius 4s LED Light, Seward 12" LED Light bar, 50" LED Light bar with, sPod LED switch pod with Boost gage,, Rigid LED Lights, 15# Power Tank, Rock Hard Cage, Rock Hard Under Armor, Posion Spyder Sliders, Posion Spyder Crusher Fenders, Posion Spyder Evap Armor, Posion Spyder Extreme Duty Trans-Mount Cross Member, Bushwacker rear armor, 5.13 Gears, Magnum 44 Front Axle, Off Road Evolution "C" Gussets, Cobra 75 CB Radio, Warn 10K on Front and 8K Winch on Rear, Bartact Seat Covers, Delta Quad Bar Xenon Headlamps,Tantrum LED Offroad Rock Lights, Teraflex HD Tie Rod, Teraflex Falcon Steering Stabilizer, Teraflex Alpine Long Control Arms Front & Rear, Teraflex 4" springs, Teraflex JK Performance Slotted Big Rotor Kit, TeraFlex Monster HD Forged Front Adjustable Trackbar, Teraflex Front & Rear Brake Line Kit, Teraflex Bump Stops Front & Rear, Surprise Straps, Hothead Headliner, Teraflex D-44 Diff Covers, Wild Boar Grille, Rigid Ridge Hood, Drake Hood Latch's & a Tuffy Security Drawer......

(At this point, the sobbing has turned into a full cry.)

Sergeant:

Don't worry buddy. We'll find your Jeep.

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f1mike28 · 2 months ago

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G63 AMG 6x6 „The Big Boy“.

The G63 AMG 6x6 is fitted with the Mercedes‘ 7G-tronic seven-speed automatic transmission; its transfer case can alter between a 0.87:1 high-range ratio for on-road driving and 2.16:1 low-range ratio for off-road conditions to all six wheels in a nominal 30:40:30 split.

An extra shaft delivers power to the rearmost axle. The vehicle has five electronic differential locks, which can deliver 100% lockup of all six wheels, operated by three switches on the dashboard.

The G63 AMG 6x6 is 5875 mm in length, 2110 mm in width and 2210 mm in height, having ground clearance of 460 mm and fording depth at 1000 mm. It has arch axles, almost similar to those fitted on Unimog vehicles. The vehicle was installed with 37-inch wheels featuring bead-plate design, 4196-mm wheelbase (front axle to rearmost axle) had 4105 kg of curb weight.

Mercedes-AMG M157 V8 biturbo engine 5.5L 544HP and 760Nm of Torque. Handcrafted by Michael Kübler @f1mike28 in Germany Affalterbach.

Driving Performance is our Passion! Mercedes-AMG the Performance and Sports Car Brand from Mercedes-Benz.

Mercedes-AMG the Home of Driving Performance in Germany Affalterbach. Mercedes-AMG Handcrafted by Racers.

Fuel consumption combined: 17 l/100 km CO2-Emissions combined: 397 g/km.

#amg #gclass #gwagon #g636x6amg #g636x6 #g63amg #g63 #mercedesamg #mercedes #mercedesbenz #mercedesgclass #affalterbach #onemanoneengine #pagani

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moneeb0930 · 5 months ago

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YES ~ A black man invented the first ever self-propelled street sweeper truck!

Charles B. Brooks (1865–1908) was an American inventor. Born in Virginia in 1865, by the 1890s he was a resident of Newark, New Jersey. Besides inventing, Brooks was a porter for the Pullman Palace Car Company. Unlike other sweepers at that time (1890s), Brooks' sweeper was the first self-propelled street sweeping truck.

Charles B. Brooks devised a machine that had a series of broom-like brushes that pushed trash and debris to the side of the road. His invention was met with resentment because his invention would put an end to jobs for those who cleared away trash for a living.

Charles B. Brooks was the extraordinaire inventor of the “street sweeper.” During Brooks time, it was common for the trash on the streets to be cleaned by walkers or those hired to keep the walkways and sidewalks clean with nothing more than a broom. For many, it was a good paying job. Brooks patent was approved on March 17th, 1896; his application for the patent was filed on April 20, 1895. The street sweeper was best described as “a truck frame mounted on the axles which are supported by front and rear wheels.

There are drive-wheels for the sweeping, elevator mechanisms, and an endless chain that travels around a sprocket-wheel and travels up to an additional sprocket-wheel. There is a squared shaft, which is mounted at opposite ends in bearings in the upper parts of a pair of vertical standards consisting of the back or rear parts of the truck-frame and then sustained by braces, which extend from the standards to the truck-frame.”

Over the years as cities grew larger, so did the need for the street sweeper. Workers admitted to the city’s need for such a machine and the Street Sweeper became indispensable.

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diabolus1exmachina · 2 years ago

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Aston Martin One-77 (property — before being seized by Swiss authorities — of the son of the leader of one of the most corrupt governments in Central Africa)

In keeping with its tradition of producing limited edition, hand crafted exotica for the wealthy aficionado, best exemplified by the DB4 GT Zagato of the 1960s, Aston Martin previewed its proposed One-77 'hypercar' at the 2008 Paris Motor Show. 'The finished One-77 made its official debut in April 2009 at the Concorso d'Eleganza Ville d'Este, held on the shores of Lake Como in Italy, winning the 'Award for Concept Cars and Prototypes'. Designed by Marek Reichman, it was the fastest and most powerful Aston Martin ever built, with a top speed of 220mph, and also the most expensive, carrying a price tag of £1,150,000. Hailed by its maker as "possibly the world's most desirable automotive art form", the One-77 with its long bonnet and short tail was every inch the classically proportioned Gran Turismo, combing muscular pugnacity and feline grace in equal measure. A two-seater closed coupé, the One-77 featured advanced technology in the form of an immensely rigid and lightweight carbon fibre monocoque chassis, which carried a seamless body traditionally handcrafted in aluminium. Made from a single sheet of aluminium, each front wing was said to take one craftsman three weeks to produce. Other state-of-the-art features included bi-xenon headlamps with integrated LED side lights and direction indicators, LED rear lamps (fog and reverse), carbon fibre front splitters, carbon fibre rear diffuser, and active aerodynamics with deployable spoiler. Providing the horsepower needed to breach the magic 200mph barrier was a stretched (to 7.3 litres) version of Aston Martin's existing 48-valve V12 engine. Extensively reworked by Cosworth Engineering, it produced 750bhp and 553lb/ft of torque, and was the world's most powerful normally aspirated road-car engine at the time of the One-77's introduction. Cosworth's extensive re-engineering included fitting dry-sump lubrication, which enabled the V12 to be carried 100mm lower in the One-77's chassis than in that of the DB9. Like the V8 in the One-77's Vantage sister car, the V12 engine was mounted towards the centre of the chassis, well aft of the front axle line in the interests of optimum weight distribution, to which end the six-speed automatic/manual transmission was located at the rear in the form of an integrated transaxle. Power was transmitted to the limited-slip differential by a carbon fibre prop shaft encased in a magnesium alloy torque tube, reaching the road surface via 20" forged alloy wheels - 7-spoke or 10-spoke - shod with Pirelli P Zero Corsa tyres.

Unusually for a road car, the One-77's all-independent suspension featured pushrod actuation of the adjustable mono-tube dampers, a system more commonly found in modern competition cars. There were double wishbones at all four corners: the front incorporating anti-dive geometry, and the rear anti-squat and anti-lift. The suspension was also electrically adjustable for both ride height and rate change.

The rack and pinion was power assisted, delivering 3.0 turns lock-to-lock, while the steering column was adjustable for both tilt and reach. Braking was supplied by carbon ceramic discs all round, gripped by six-piston callipers at the front, four-piston callipers at the rear. Dynamic Stability Control (DSC), Anti-lock Braking System (ABS), Electronic Brakeforce Distribution (EBD), Emergency Brake Assist (EBA), and traction control were all incorporated in the interests of controllability and safety. Releasing the driver's door, which swings out and arcs upwards, the One-77's fortunate owner would be confronted by a leather-trimmed sports steering wheel, electrically adjustable lightweight memory seats, and dual-stage driver/passenger front airbags. Other interior features included automatic temperature control, a trip computer, and touch-sensitive map-reading LED lights. Powerfold exterior memory mirrors came as standard, while front/rear parking cameras were an option. Number '35' of the 77 built, this EU model has a legend engraved on the door sill stating that it was 'Hand built in England for Theodore N'Guema Obiang Mangue'. Finished in red with red-piped cream interior, the car is offered with Equatorial Guinea registration papers.

#Aston Martin One-77 #DB4 GT Zagato #Paris Motor Show #Concorso d'Eleganza Ville d'Este #Marek Reichman #Theodore N'Guema Obiang Mangue

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feuerspirit · 1 year ago

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The development of safety in F1 through the years and numerous fatal accidents

So, here is a rather voluminous article that I once wrote, and, in fact, I still love it and maybe someone here will appreciate it too. TW! mention of injury, accident and death

Formula 1 went to the existing rules for a long time, through thorns, protests and accidents.

The races of the mid-20th century weren’t distinguished by safety in everything: from fragile cars suffering from constant breakdowns and design flaws, to the organization of races. In 1968, at the Hockenheimring, safety problems led to the death of one of the legendary racers: James Clark Jr. There is no single version about the causes of Jim Clark's death, since there are no thoroughly documented circumstances of his accident.

Old Hockenheimring didn’t “shine” with safety even by the standards of the 70s: ditches on the edges of the track, the forest adjacent to the track. The history of the route played a role: built back in 1932, it partially used forest roads, which had its consequences.

Jim himself said: "From time to time I think about the danger. Especially when there are a lot of trees around. If you fly out, then most likely you will have to hit them hard." The words turned out to be prophetic.

On a wet track after the rain, his car lost control (versions from a burst tire to a rear suspension malfunction common at that time and problems with fuel supply), hit trees standing next to the track and fell apart into several parts. Jim was taken to the hospital, but nothing could be done.

His death had a significant impact on safety, pointing out the weaknesses of the organization: ditches and trees were removed, fences appeared on all tracks, gravel traps and departure zones significantly increasing safety, two chicanes were added at the Hockenheimring,

However, barriers didn’t become a panacea, and in the following years many riders were injured and died when they collided with fences that had many shortcomings in their designs. Just 2 years after Jim's accident, died from a poorly installed fence the only driver who received the title posthumously: Jochen Rindt.

In September 1970, Jochen crashed on the Monza. The official cause of the accident was called a breakdown of the axle shaft, but neither this breakdown nor the accident itself could lead to a tragedy. Fatal were the shortcomings of the safety system: the joint of the bump, into which the car flew, wasn’t sufficiently secured, and the car hit the rack, which caused the entire front part of the car to be destroyed. The last factor was the seat belts. Jochen, who had already been in an accident, was terrified of burning alive in the car, not having time to unfasten in time, so instead of the five-point belts that already existed at that time, he used outdated three-point belts that simply couldn’t provide a suitable fixation. The lack of restraining straps from below led to the fact that after the impact, Jochen's body moved lower in the seat, and the upper belt damaged his neck and throat in a way that he had no chance of surviving.

Jochen wasn’t the only victim of the shortcomings of the barriers and the low level of car safety, but his accident clearly showed that collisions, with due care, leading to bruises and minor injuries, can lead to death.

Most of all could tell about the terrified attitude to safety at the races Ronnie Peterson. The accident in which he got in Monza in 1978 had every chance of becoming an ordinary, if not for the absolute negligence on the part of the organizers of the race. A retelling of the mistakes made this weekend can take several full pages, considering sequentially the entire chain of events that led to the tragedy.

In the accident in which Ronnie was injured, 10 cars collided simultaneously on a narrow section of the already extremely unsafe Monza: marshals didn’t wear fireproof uniforms, signal flags weren’t used, departure zones weren’t equipped, the track itself wasn’t modified in accordance with safety regulations. The fuel spilled over the track instantly burst into flames, engulfing the broken cars, the flames couldn’t be quickly brought down, and the racers, fearing the consequences of the fire, pulled Ronnie out themselves.

Ronnie wasn’t the only one who was injured in the accident, moreover, Ronnie received only fractures of both legs, while several other riders received serious head injuries due to blows from the tires that flew off the cars, which greatly influenced further events. Ronnie's assistance began to be provided only 15 minutes after he was removed from the car, the medical staff of the track walked to the scene of the accident on foot, making their way through the crowd and the police, who didn’t let them through for a long time, and Ronnie was initially carried on a stretcher to the medical center of the track, and only then taken to the hospital. The cause of death was an embolism – particles of tissues and bones got into the circulatory system and clogged the vessels in the lungs and heart.

Racing accidents are inevitable, especially on dangerous tracks, the reaction is important, and in Ronnie's case there was no justification for such negligence on the part of all those responsible. With the proper level of safety, such injuries would never have become fatal, which was confirmed a few years later when another rider received similar injuries.

The consequences of Ronnie's accident for the overall safety level were very significant, and these changes saved the lives of more than one rider. Safety standards were raised at the Monza, firefighters were taught to extinguish cars in 30-40 seconds on all tracks so that racers didn’t have to be pulled out of the fire, and medical care was transferred from the receiving tracks to the F1 Teams Association, which increased the level of medical care organization and ensured equal safety for pilots on all tracks.

Probably the most famous victim of Formula 1 accidents was Ayrton Senna, who crashed on the "black weekend" of Formula 1 – at the 1994 Imola.

After the 94th Imola, the tragedy of which was largely determined by the insufficient level of passive safety, the FIA gathered a group of experts who engaged in a scientific assessment of the situation and made a number of proposals to improve the safety of racing. Crash tests have been tightened, and speeds have been reduced. The standards according to which the helmets of racers are made have been revised, the fencing of the tracks has been improved, the approach to the construction of race tracks and to the development of chassis has been changed.

In addition, Ayrton's death served as a catalyst for the adoption of special rules outside of motorsport. Euro NCAP was formed - the European committee for conducting independent crash tests of cars with an assessment of active and passive safety, which has the support of seven governments in the EU, as well as automotive and consumer organizations in all EU countries.

The latest, at the moment, the most obvious innovation in the field of safety was the Halo – introduced in F-1, 2, 3 and FE element of the safety frame made of aviation titanium (in F3 of steel) and located around the driver's head. The introduction of Halo was a response to many accidents during which riders received head and neck injuries due to blows, but probably the most obvious indicator of the need for urgent changes was the accident of Jules Bianchi, who died from the consequences of a severe head injury on the Suzuka in 2014.

Various head and cervical spine injuries have remained a significant problem for all racing series for many years, since none of them had a sufficient level of passive safety. This tragic trend continued until the introduction of a complete head protection system in the series (and F1 as well), consisting of: a neck and head protection system (HANS), a side head support system, a helmet, a safety arc and the Halo itself.

Halo, as introduced by one of the last and significantly changed the appearance of the car, clearly showed that any innovation in F1, even repeatedly justified from the point of view of safety, meets resistance from conservative-minded participants of the "grand circus of Formula 1", and many changes are postponed for a long time, while there are debates between supporters and opponents of innovations. Some of the changes are postponed until it becomes impossible not to accept them.

F1, like many other structures, is very reluctant to reform, remaining faithful to traditions, even if some of these traditions are frankly dangerous. There were other accidents, fatal and not, which gave rise to many changes to the regulations of racing safety, and many of them were met with distrust, and sometimes outright hostility. However, time proves that these changes were inevitable and necessary to save human lives.

#f1 #formula 1 #Jim Clark #Jochen Rindt #Ronnie Peterson #Ayrton Senna #Jules Bianchi #Hockenheimring #Monza #Imola #Suzuka

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thepotentialof2007 · 1 year ago

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Iota Magazine: Mis Arnott, your association with motor racing is unique. This season Arnott cars have raced frequently, and your activities have extended beyond manufacture to servicing and to team management. Did you intend to go into production when you built your first 500, or was that just an expression of your inherent interest in racing? Daphne Arnott: George Thornton and I made the prototype for fun. One day at Brands Hatch Bob Brown of Bromley saw the car and fell in love with it. He drove the car to win its first race, and then, encouraged by his enthusiasm we decided to manufacture some more. Bob Brown has been our main supporter through many trials, for which we are very grateful. Iota: We referred to your inherent interest in motor racing. Did your early association with racing through your father's activities first arouse your enthusiasm? Arnott: Yes. I come from a long line of engineers dating back to my great grandfather, who was Captain and Secretary of the Bath Road Club. He was also in control of Werner Motor Cycles, who were the originators of the vertical twin. My father is designer of the Arnott supercharger and markets them through his company, Carburettors, Ltd. Iota: But when did you become interested enough in racing to want to take some active part in it? Arnott: In my early days at Brooklands and then as a spectator at Brands Hatch during 1951, when two makes of cars predominated, and it seemed to me there was room for another. Iota: Did you do all the design work on the Arnott yourself? Arnott: No. It was the combined effort of George Thornton and myself. Iota: What have you learned from this season's racing? Arnott: Enough to write a book, but primarily to stick to one's own decisions and not be sidetracked by well-meaning helpers.

Iota: Why did you choose torsion bar suspension for the Arnott 500? Arnott: For Formula III cars I believe it is the suspension of the future. Iota: We hear you are going to use Albion gearboxes in the 1953 cars. Why is this? Arnott: Because the Albion has proved to be the most reliable in every way and it has the best selection of ration to offer. In our prototype car the Albion completed 2,000 hard racing miles without trouble. Iota: What other new features are to be incorporated in next season's car? Arnott: Recent trials have proved to us that the design we have settled on is fast, devoid of roll and virtually unspinnable. There will only be minor modifications - including considerably lighter road wheels. Iota: Do you make these wheels yourself? Arnott: Yes. We machine the entire wheel at our Edgware works and the weight of our newest front wheel is only 10 lb., including hub and races. Iota: In view of your father's long experience, have you any special carburation modifications in view? Arnott: Next season we shall be using a special Arnott carburretor, but I cannot give you any details of that just yet. Iota: What are your views on swing-axle rear suspension? Arnott: Although I think the swing axle system has much to recommend it - it is light and simple - I believe that durability is the important factor in the long run. The main criticism I have against swing axles is the extreme stresses thrown on the driving shafts which tend to fracture at the hub ends. I base my opinion on this season's record, when wheels have been lost on swing-axle cars on numerous occasions, luckily with no fatality to drivers, but there have been very awkward moments for spectators and for other competitors. Iota: Did you find that the long-chassis car was superior to the short-chassis prototype? Arnott: It all depends on the driver's preference. The short chassis prototype does not drift. The longer chassis does. Iota: How many cars have you produced? Arnott: Six cars last season. Our intended production rate was hampered by various modifications incorporated during the year - inevitable with a new design. Iota: What are your future production plans? Arnott: During this winter we intend to build twenty new cars for delivery early in February. Iota: Have you done any competition driving? Arnott: No. To date I have had little time for competition driving. Iota: Do you intend to drive an Arnott in competition? Arnott: Yes but I am one of the few females who agree with men about "Women drivers." A great deal of unwarranted publicity surrounds a woman racing driver, and whether or not she can drive seems unimportant. When I feel I am competent enough to enter a race I will, but I shall be heavily disguised as a man. Iota: Are you running a "works" team next year? Arnott: Yes, but we have not decided how it will be done. Iota: Do you intend to continue indefinitely with a "works" team or will you confine your racing to one "works" entry when your cars have stronger numerical representation? Arnott: We have never run a "works" team, I should like to make that clear. One of the cars in the team has always belonged to me and I will continue to race one car next year. If a team proves to be a commercial proposition for all participants, then I shall certainly continue with it. Iota: It is apparent from your answers that you are a business woman, an engineer and a 500 c.c. motor racing enthusiast. You combine these activities very successfully, but do you find it an advantage or otherwise in being a woman in such [a] competitive sphere? Arnott: It took some time to convince people that a woman could take motor racing seriously.

[x]

Arnott’s 1955 Le Mans’ entry [x]

Other cars built by Arnott in its seven years as a constructor included a supercharged Austin A30-powered sportscar, a streamliner for record-breaking attempts, and a GT car, although a variety of other cars were also made. While Arnott did not blow away the field in races, they did manage to break nine International Class I records at Montlhery in October 1953. John Brise, father of Formula 1 driver Tony Brise, piloted the 500cc streamliner – based on the standard 500cc chassis but with beautifully sculpted bodywork – to a fastest lap of 122mph, and set new records for 50km, 50 miles, 100km, 100 miles, 200km, 200 miles, 500km, 1 hour, and 3 hours. In 1955, Daphne Arnott took an eight-person team to the ill-fated 24 Hours of Le Mans endurance race. Their 1,100cc Coventry-Climax powered car suffered an accident in practice, and so the team did not start the race. Only two of the eight drivers had completed any running at the time of the accident, and Arnott was not one of them.

Arnott was more slightly successful at the 1957 Le Mans event, when the team ran a Cooper-Climax powered version of their GT car – the team did not finish the race, thanks to a dropped valve, but they were able to start it. It would be Arnott’s last attempt at the legendary endurance event, and the failure led to the end of the marque.

- Kate Walker [x]

#daphne arnott #race car engineer #1950s #f3 #women in motorsport #women in auto mechanics and engineering #le mans #gt #brands hatch #silverstone #british motor racing #brooklands #iota magazine #transcription #from a scan of a print clipping

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emmbros · 5 months ago

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The Unsung Hero of Your Car's Drivetrain: The Front Axle Shaft

When we think about the performance and safety of our vehicles, the front axle shaft might not be the first component that comes to mind. Nonetheless, it is essential to maintaining efficient and successful operation. By connecting the front wheels to the differential while supplying engine power to the wheels, this crucial component of an automobile's drivetrain helps the vehicle move ahead. Understanding the Front Axle Shaft

Fundamentally, the front axle shaft is a strong technical component that is intended to withstand large loads and strains. Because it's made from components with high strength, such steel, it has to be able to handle the tension and strain that comes with driving. This durability is vital because the axle shaft bears the dynamic loads from turning, braking, and accelerating in addition to the vehicle's weight. The front axle shaft's primary function is to transfer the engine's rotational power to the wheels. This is necessary for motion because it enables the wheels to spin and propel the car forward. Without a functioning front axle shaft, the vehicle would be unable to move, underscoring its importance in the drivetrain.

The Importance of Maintenance

Given its critical role, maintaining the front axle shaft is paramount for vehicle performance and safety. Regular inspections can help identify early signs of wear and tear, such as unusual noises, vibrations, or grease leaks. These symptoms might indicate issues like worn-out bearings or damaged CV joints, which can compromise the axle shaft's integrity and, by extension, the vehicle's drivability. Timely replacement of a damaged or worn front axle shaft is essential. Failure to do this service could have serious repercussions, such as losing control of the vehicle. Furthermore, a malfunctioning axle shaft may put extra strain on other drivetrain parts, necessitating more involved and expensive repairs.

Selecting Excellence: Emmbros Autocomp LTD

Choosing top-notch components is crucial when repairing the front axle shaft. Here's where Emmbros Autocomp LTD. distinguishes themselves. Emmbros Autocomp LTD. is dedicated to providing front axle shafts that are both very durable and perform to the most demanding standards.

Our front axle shafts are crafted from premium materials, ensuring they can handle the rigors of daily driving and harsh conditions. By choosing Emmbros Autocomp LTD., you are investing in the reliability and longevity of your vehicle.

Why Quality Matters

Employing front axle shafts of superior quality provides many advantages. First off, by guaranteeing efficient power transfer from the engine to the wheels, it improves vehicle performance. Better acceleration, handling, and a more enjoyable driving experience are the outcomes of this. Second, it improves safety by preserving the drivetrain's structural integrity and lowering the possibility of malfunctions that can cause accidents. In the long term, premium front axle shafts might also save you money. Because of their endurance, they may initially cost more than less expensive but will probably last longer and need fewer replacements. Over time, this results in better value and cheaper maintenance expenses.

#agricultural spare parts in baddi #automotive products in baddi #front axle shaft #Front Axle shafts Manufacturer #Front axle shafts in Baddi

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lesmislettersdaily · 2 years ago

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One Mother Meets Another Mother

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 4: To Confide Is Sometimes To Deliver Into A Person's Power; Chapter 1: One Mother Meets Another Mother

There was, at Montfermeil, near Paris, during the first quarter of this century, a sort of cook-shop which no longer exists. This cook-shop was kept by some people named Thénardier, husband and wife. It was situated in Boulanger Lane. Over the door there was a board nailed flat against the wall. Upon this board was painted something which resembled a man carrying another man on his back, the latter wearing the big gilt epaulettes of a general, with large silver stars; red spots represented blood; the rest of the picture consisted of smoke, and probably represented a battle. Below ran this inscription: AT THE SIGN OF SERGEANT OF WATERLOO (Au Sargent de Waterloo).

Nothing is more common than a cart or a truck at the door of a hostelry. Nevertheless, the vehicle, or, to speak more accurately, the fragment of a vehicle, which encumbered the street in front of the cook-shop of the Sergeant of Waterloo, one evening in the spring of 1818, would certainly have attracted, by its mass, the attention of any painter who had passed that way.

It was the fore-carriage of one of those trucks which are used in wooded tracts of country, and which serve to transport thick planks and the trunks of trees. This fore-carriage was composed of a massive iron axle-tree with a pivot, into which was fitted a heavy shaft, and which was supported by two huge wheels. The whole thing was compact, overwhelming, and misshapen. It seemed like the gun-carriage of an enormous cannon. The ruts of the road had bestowed on the wheels, the fellies, the hub, the axle, and the shaft, a layer of mud, a hideous yellowish daubing hue, tolerably like that with which people are fond of ornamenting cathedrals. The wood was disappearing under mud, and the iron beneath rust. Under the axle-tree hung, like drapery, a huge chain, worthy of some Goliath of a convict. This chain suggested, not the beams, which it was its office to transport, but the mastodons and mammoths which it might have served to harness; it had the air of the galleys, but of cyclopean and superhuman galleys, and it seemed to have been detached from some monster. Homer would have bound Polyphemus with it, and Shakespeare, Caliban.

Why was that fore-carriage of a truck in that place in the street? In the first place, to encumber the street; next, in order that it might finish the process of rusting. There is a throng of institutions in the old social order, which one comes across in this fashion as one walks about outdoors, and which have no other reasons for existence than the above.

The centre of the chain swung very near the ground in the middle, and in the loop, as in the rope of a swing, there were seated and grouped, on that particular evening, in exquisite interlacement, two little girls; one about two years and a half old, the other, eighteen months; the younger in the arms of the other. A handkerchief, cleverly knotted about them, prevented their falling out. A mother had caught sight of that frightful chain, and had said, “Come! there’s a plaything for my children.”

The two children, who were dressed prettily and with some elegance, were radiant with pleasure; one would have said that they were two roses amid old iron; their eyes were a triumph; their fresh cheeks were full of laughter. One had chestnut hair; the other, brown. Their innocent faces were two delighted surprises; a blossoming shrub which grew near wafted to the passers-by perfumes which seemed to emanate from them; the child of eighteen months displayed her pretty little bare stomach with the chaste indecency of childhood. Above and around these two delicate heads, all made of happiness and steeped in light, the gigantic fore-carriage, black with rust, almost terrible, all entangled in curves and wild angles, rose in a vault, like the entrance of a cavern. A few paces apart, crouching down upon the threshold of the hostelry, the mother, not a very prepossessing woman, by the way, though touching at that moment, was swinging the two children by means of a long cord, watching them carefully, for fear of accidents, with that animal and celestial expression which is peculiar to maternity. At every backward and forward swing the hideous links emitted a strident sound, which resembled a cry of rage; the little girls were in ecstasies; the setting sun mingled in this joy, and nothing could be more charming than this caprice of chance which had made of a chain of Titans the swing of cherubim.

As she rocked her little ones, the mother hummed in a discordant voice a romance then celebrated:—

“It must be, said a warrior.”

Her song, and the contemplation of her daughters, prevented her hearing and seeing what was going on in the street.

In the meantime, some one had approached her, as she was beginning the first couplet of the romance, and suddenly she heard a voice saying very near her ear:—

“You have two beautiful children there, Madame.”

“To the fair and tender Imogene—”

replied the mother, continuing her romance; then she turned her head.

A woman stood before her, a few paces distant. This woman also had a child, which she carried in her arms.

She was carrying, in addition, a large carpet-bag, which seemed very heavy.

This woman’s child was one of the most divine creatures that it is possible to behold. It was a girl, two or three years of age. She could have entered into competition with the two other little ones, so far as the coquetry of her dress was concerned; she wore a cap of fine linen, ribbons on her bodice, and Valenciennes lace on her cap. The folds of her skirt were raised so as to permit a view of her white, firm, and dimpled leg. She was admirably rosy and healthy. The little beauty inspired a desire to take a bite from the apples of her cheeks. Of her eyes nothing could be known, except that they must be very large, and that they had magnificent lashes. She was asleep.

She slept with that slumber of absolute confidence peculiar to her age. The arms of mothers are made of tenderness; in them children sleep profoundly.

As for the mother, her appearance was sad and poverty-stricken. She was dressed like a working-woman who is inclined to turn into a peasant again. She was young. Was she handsome? Perhaps; but in that attire it was not apparent. Her hair, a golden lock of which had escaped, seemed very thick, but was severely concealed beneath an ugly, tight, close, nun-like cap, tied under the chin. A smile displays beautiful teeth when one has them; but she did not smile. Her eyes did not seem to have been dry for a very long time. She was pale; she had a very weary and rather sickly appearance. She gazed upon her daughter asleep in her arms with the air peculiar to a mother who has nursed her own child. A large blue handkerchief, such as the Invalides use, was folded into a fichu, and concealed her figure clumsily. Her hands were sunburnt and all dotted with freckles, her forefinger was hardened and lacerated with the needle; she wore a cloak of coarse brown woollen stuff, a linen gown, and coarse shoes. It was Fantine.

It was Fantine, but difficult to recognize. Nevertheless, on scrutinizing her attentively, it was evident that she still retained her beauty. A melancholy fold, which resembled the beginning of irony, wrinkled her right cheek. As for her toilette, that aerial toilette of muslin and ribbons, which seemed made of mirth, of folly, and of music, full of bells, and perfumed with lilacs had vanished like that beautiful and dazzling hoar-frost which is mistaken for diamonds in the sunlight; it melts and leaves the branch quite black.

Ten months had elapsed since the “pretty farce.”

What had taken place during those ten months? It can be divined.

After abandonment, straightened circumstances. Fantine had immediately lost sight of Favourite, Zéphine and Dahlia; the bond once broken on the side of the men, it was loosed between the women; they would have been greatly astonished had any one told them a fortnight later, that they had been friends; there no longer existed any reason for such a thing. Fantine had remained alone. The father of her child gone,—alas! such ruptures are irrevocable,—she found herself absolutely isolated, minus the habit of work and plus the taste for pleasure. Drawn away by her liaison with Tholomyès to disdain the pretty trade which she knew, she had neglected to keep her market open; it was now closed to her. She had no resource. Fantine barely knew how to read, and did not know how to write; in her childhood she had only been taught to sign her name; she had a public letter-writer indite an epistle to Tholomyès, then a second, then a third. Tholomyès replied to none of them. Fantine heard the gossips say, as they looked at her child: “Who takes those children seriously! One only shrugs one’s shoulders over such children!” Then she thought of Tholomyès, who had shrugged his shoulders over his child, and who did not take that innocent being seriously; and her heart grew gloomy toward that man. But what was she to do?

She no longer knew to whom to apply. She had committed a fault, but the foundation of her nature, as will be remembered, was modesty and virtue. She was vaguely conscious that she was on the verge of falling into distress, and of gliding into a worse state. Courage was necessary; she possessed it, and held herself firm. The idea of returning to her native town of M. sur M. occurred to her. There, some one might possibly know her and give her work; yes, but it would be necessary to conceal her fault. In a confused way she perceived the necessity of a separation which would be more painful than the first one. Her heart contracted, but she took her resolution. Fantine, as we shall see, had the fierce bravery of life. She had already valiantly renounced finery, had dressed herself in linen, and had put all her silks, all her ornaments, all her ribbons, and all her laces on her daughter, the only vanity which was left to her, and a holy one it was. She sold all that she had, which produced for her two hundred francs; her little debts paid, she had only about eighty francs left. At the age of twenty-two, on a beautiful spring morning, she quitted Paris, bearing her child on her back. Any one who had seen these two pass would have had pity on them. This woman had, in all the world, nothing but her child, and the child had, in all the world, no one but this woman. Fantine had nursed her child, and this had tired her chest, and she coughed a little.

We shall have no further occasion to speak of M. Félix Tholomyès. Let us confine ourselves to saying, that, twenty years later, under King Louis Philippe, he was a great provincial lawyer, wealthy and influential, a wise elector, and a very severe juryman; he was still a man of pleasure.

Towards the middle of the day, after having, from time to time, for the sake of resting herself, travelled, for three or four sous a league, in what was then known as the Petites Voitures des Environs de Paris, the “little suburban coach service,” Fantine found herself at Montfermeil, in the alley Boulanger.

As she passed the Thénardier hostelry, the two little girls, blissful in the monster swing, had dazzled her in a manner, and she had halted in front of that vision of joy.

Charms exist. These two little girls were a charm to this mother.

She gazed at them in much emotion. The presence of angels is an announcement of Paradise. She thought that, above this inn, she beheld the mysterious HERE of Providence. These two little creatures were evidently happy. She gazed at them, she admired them, in such emotion that at the moment when their mother was recovering her breath between two couplets of her song, she could not refrain from addressing to her the remark which we have just read:—

“You have two pretty children, Madame.”

The most ferocious creatures are disarmed by caresses bestowed on their young.

The mother raised her head and thanked her, and bade the wayfarer sit down on the bench at the door, she herself being seated on the threshold. The two women began to chat.

“My name is Madame Thénardier,” said the mother of the two little girls. “We keep this inn.”

Then, her mind still running on her romance, she resumed humming between her teeth:—

“It must be so; I am a knight,

And I am off to Palestine.”

This Madame Thénardier was a sandy-complexioned woman, thin and angular—the type of the soldier’s wife in all its unpleasantness; and what was odd, with a languishing air, which she owed to her perusal of romances. She was a simpering, but masculine creature. Old romances produce that effect when rubbed against the imagination of cook-shop woman. She was still young; she was barely thirty. If this crouching woman had stood upright, her lofty stature and her frame of a perambulating colossus suitable for fairs, might have frightened the traveller at the outset, troubled her confidence, and disturbed what caused what we have to relate to vanish. A person who is seated instead of standing erect—destinies hang upon such a thing as that.

The traveller told her story, with slight modifications.

That she was a working-woman; that her husband was dead; that her work in Paris had failed her, and that she was on her way to seek it elsewhere, in her own native parts; that she had left Paris that morning on foot; that, as she was carrying her child, and felt fatigued, she had got into the Villemomble coach when she met it; that from Villemomble she had come to Montfermeil on foot; that the little one had walked a little, but not much, because she was so young, and that she had been obliged to take her up, and the jewel had fallen asleep.

At this word she bestowed on her daughter a passionate kiss, which woke her. The child opened her eyes, great blue eyes like her mother’s, and looked at—what? Nothing; with that serious and sometimes severe air of little children, which is a mystery of their luminous innocence in the presence of our twilight of virtue. One would say that they feel themselves to be angels, and that they know us to be men. Then the child began to laugh; and although the mother held fast to her, she slipped to the ground with the unconquerable energy of a little being which wished to run. All at once she caught sight of the two others in the swing, stopped short, and put out her tongue, in sign of admiration.

Mother Thénardier released her daughters, made them descend from the swing, and said:—

“Now amuse yourselves, all three of you.”

Children become acquainted quickly at that age, and at the expiration of a minute the little Thénardiers were playing with the newcomer at making holes in the ground, which was an immense pleasure.

The newcomer was very gay; the goodness of the mother is written in the gayety of the child; she had seized a scrap of wood which served her for a shovel, and energetically dug a cavity big enough for a fly. The grave-digger’s business becomes a subject for laughter when performed by a child.

The two women pursued their chat.

“What is your little one’s name?”

“Cosette.”

For Cosette, read Euphrasie. The child’s name was Euphrasie. But out of Euphrasie the mother had made Cosette by that sweet and graceful instinct of mothers and of the populace which changes Josepha into Pepita, and Françoise into Sillette. It is a sort of derivative which disarranges and disconcerts the whole science of etymologists. We have known a grandmother who succeeded in turning Theodore into Gnon.

“How old is she?”

“She is going on three.”

“That is the age of my eldest.”

In the meantime, the three little girls were grouped in an attitude of profound anxiety and blissfulness; an event had happened; a big worm had emerged from the ground, and they were afraid; and they were in ecstasies over it.

Their radiant brows touched each other; one would have said that there were three heads in one aureole.

“How easily children get acquainted at once!” exclaimed Mother Thénardier; “one would swear that they were three sisters!”

This remark was probably the spark which the other mother had been waiting for. She seized the Thénardier’s hand, looked at her fixedly, and said:—

“Will you keep my child for me?”

The Thénardier made one of those movements of surprise which signify neither assent nor refusal.

Cosette’s mother continued:—

“You see, I cannot take my daughter to the country. My work will not permit it. With a child one can find no situation. People are ridiculous in the country. It was the good God who caused me to pass your inn. When I caught sight of your little ones, so pretty, so clean, and so happy, it overwhelmed me. I said: ‘Here is a good mother. That is just the thing; that will make three sisters.’ And then, it will not be long before I return. Will you keep my child for me?”

“I must see about it,” replied the Thénardier.

“I will give you six francs a month.”

Here a man’s voice called from the depths of the cook-shop:—

“Not for less than seven francs. And six months paid in advance.”

“Six times seven makes forty-two,” said the Thénardier.

“I will give it,” said the mother.

“And fifteen francs in addition for preliminary expenses,” added the man’s voice.

“Total, fifty-seven francs,” said Madame Thénardier. And she hummed vaguely, with these figures:—

“It must be, said a warrior.”

“I will pay it,” said the mother. “I have eighty francs. I shall have enough left to reach the country, by travelling on foot. I shall earn money there, and as soon as I have a little I will return for my darling.”

The man’s voice resumed:—

“The little one has an outfit?”

“That is my husband,” said the Thénardier.

“Of course she has an outfit, the poor treasure.—I understood perfectly that it was your husband.—And a beautiful outfit, too! a senseless outfit, everything by the dozen, and silk gowns like a lady. It is here, in my carpet-bag.”

“You must hand it over,” struck in the man’s voice again.

“Of course I shall give it to you,” said the mother. “It would be very queer if I were to leave my daughter quite naked!”

The master’s face appeared.

“That’s good,” said he.

The bargain was concluded. The mother passed the night at the inn, gave up her money and left her child, fastened her carpet-bag once more, now reduced in volume by the removal of the outfit, and light henceforth and set out on the following morning, intending to return soon. People arrange such departures tranquilly; but they are despairs!

A neighbor of the Thénardiers met this mother as she was setting out, and came back with the remark:—

“I have just seen a woman crying in the street so that it was enough to rend your heart.”

When Cosette’s mother had taken her departure, the man said to the woman:—

“That will serve to pay my note for one hundred and ten francs which falls due to-morrow; I lacked fifty francs. Do you know that I should have had a bailiff and a protest after me? You played the mouse-trap nicely with your young ones.”

“Without suspecting it,” said the woman.

#les mis #les mis letters #volume 1: fantine #book 4: to confide is sometimes to deliver into a person's power #chapter 1

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