“Then,” I said, “I'm afraid we're slated to spend the night here.”
“Good Lord! We can't do that!”
“I have a notion, Hawkins,” I went on, “that we not only can, but shall. You say we can't attract any one's attention, and I guess you're right. Hence, as there is no one to pull us out, and we can't pull ourselves out, we shall remain here. That's logic, isn't it?”
“It's awful!” exclaimed the inventor. “Why, we may not get out to-morrow——”
“Nor the next day, nor the one after that. Exactly. We shall have to wait until this wretched place is emptied, when they will find our bleaching skeletons—if skeletons can bleach in a coal bin.”
Hawkins blinked his sable eyelids at me.
“Or we might go to work and pile all the coal on one side of the bin,” I continued. “It wouldn't take more than a week or so, throwing it over by handfuls; and when at last they found that your crano-engine wouldn't bring up any more from this side——”
“Aha!” cried the inventor, with sudden animation. “That's it! The Crano-Scale!”
“Yes, that's it,” I assented. “Away up near the roof. What about it?”
“Why, it solves the whole problem,” said Hawkins. “Don't you see, the next time they need nut-coal, they'll set the engine going and the scoop——”