“Not on your life, Hawkins!” I cried energetically. “If this railroad wishes to trust its passengers and rolling-stock and road-bed to your alcohol machine, that's their business. But they've got a hanged sight more confidence in you than I have.”
“Well, you'll have confidence enough before the day's over,” said the inventor, grabbing me with some determination. “For once, I'll get the best of your sneers. You come along!”
“Let go!” I shouted.
“Here,” said Hawkins to the mechanic who was warily eying the Alcomotive, “help Mr. Griggs up.”
Hawkins boosted and the man grabbed me. In a second or two I stood on the car, and Hawkins clambered up beside me.
Had I but regained my breath a second or two sooner—had I but collected my senses sufficiently to jump!
But I was a little too bewildered by the suddenness of my elevation to act for the moment. As I stood there, gasping, I heard Hawkins say:
“What's that conductor waving his hands for?”
“He—he wants you to start up,” tittered the engineer. “We are two minutes late as it is.”
“Oh, that's it?” said Hawkins gruffly. “He needn't get so excited about it. Why, positively, that man looks as if he was swearing! If I——”