“Four—tons—nut, Bill!” said a faraway voice. “Yep! Four ton. Start up that blamed machine!”
“What? What did he say?” cried the inventor.
“Something about starting the engine.”
“That's what I thought. They're going to use the Crano-Scale, Griggs! We're saved! We're saved!”
“I fail to see it.”
“Why, when the thing comes down, be ready. Ah—it's coming now! Get ready, Griggs! Get ready! Be prepared to make a dash for it!”
“And then?”
“And then climb in, of course. There won't be much room, for they're going to take on four tons, and the thing will be full; but we can manage it. We can do it, Griggs, and be home in time for dinner.”
“And you're a fine looking object to go to dinner,” I added.
Hawkins' countenance fell somewhat, but there was no time for a reply. The coal-scuttle of the Crano-Scale was hovering above us, evidently selecting a spot for its operations.