“Hanging—to—the—scoop!” sang out the inventor.
And there, up near the roof, I located him, dangling from the Crano-Scale coal-scuttle!
“What are you going to do next?” I asked, with some interest.
“I—I—I can't—can't hang on long here!”
“I should say not.”
“Well, climb out and tell them to lower the crane!” screamed Hawkins.
I looked around. Right and left, before and behind, rose a mountain of loose coal. I essayed to climb nimbly toward the door which the Crano-Scale had used, and suddenly landed on my hands and knees.
“Are—you—out?” shrieked Hawkins. “I can't stick here!”
“And I can't get out!” I replied.
“Well, you—ouch!”