“Oh, it won't act that way again. Watch! She's dumping into the wagon now! Hear it?”
“Yes, I hear it. I see just what a beautiful success it is, Hawkins—really. Let's go.”
“And now she's coming back!” cried the inventor, his eyes glued to the remarkable contrivance. “Observe the ease—the grace—the mechanical poise—the resistless quality of the Crano-Scale's motion! See, Griggs, how she swings!”
I did see how she was swinging. It was precisely that which sent me nearer to the ladder.
The Crano-Scale was returning to position, but with a series of erratic swoops that seemed to close my throat.
The coal-scuttle whirled joyously about in the air—it was receding—no, it was coming nearer! It paused for a second. Then, making a bee-line for our little ledge, it dived through the air toward us.
“Look out, there, Hawkins!” I cried, hastily.
“It's all right,” said the inventor.
“But the cursed thing will smash us flat against the wall!”
“Tush! The automatic reacting clutch will——”