We took seats in one of the cars.
“Well, why doesn't he start?” muttered the inventor.
“Maybe the fright has killed him,” I suggested. “It's enough——”
Bang!
The Alcomotive had sprung into action once more. People slid out of their seats with the shock, others toppled head over heels into the aisle, the porter went down unceremoniously upon his sable countenance and crushed into pulp the plate of tongue sandwich he had been carrying.
But the Alcomotive was going—that was enough for Hawkins. He sat back and watched the scenery slide by kinetoscope fashion.
“Lord, Lord, where's the old locomotive now?” he laughed pityingly.
“Don't shout till you're out of the wood, Hawkins,” I cautioned him. “We haven't reached Philadelphia yet.”
“But can't you see that we're going to? Won't that poor little mind of yours grapple with the fact that the Hawkins Alcomotive is a success—a success? Can't you feel the train shooting along——”
“I can feel that well enough,” I said dubiously; “but suppose——”