“Yes, yes, of course,” said the inventor, nervously regarding the thirty or forty wires strung directly across our path. “Queer this thing doesn't respond more readily!”
“Well, make her respond!” I cried, excitedly, for the wires were dangerously near.
“I'm doing my best, Griggs,” grunted the inventor, twisting this wheel and pulling that lever. “Don't worry, we'll sail over them all right. We'll just—pshaw!”
With a gentle, swaying kind of bump, the auto stopped. We had grounded, so to speak, on the telegraph wires.
“That's the end of this trial trip!” I remarked, caustically. “The epilogue will consist of the scene we create in distributing our brains over that green grass below.”
“Oh, tut, tut!” said Hawkins. “This is nothing serious. I'll just start the propeller on the reverse and we'll float off backward.”
“Well, wait a minute before you start it,” I said. “They're shouting something.”
“Don't jump! Don't jump!” cried the crowd.
“Who the dickens is going to jump?” replied Hawkins, angrily, leaning over the side. “Fools!” he observed to me.
“The hook and ladder's coming!” continued a stentorian voice.