“Well, suppose I am? That'll let us out, won't it?”
“See here,” I said, sternly, “if an all wise Providence should happen to spare us from being dragged down and dashed to pieces, consider the bill for repairs which you'll have to foot. You stop that engine, Hawkins, or I'll do it myself.”
“Well——” said the inventor, doubtfully. “There! Now be satisfied. I've stopped it, and we'll wait and be taken down the ladder like a couple of confounded Italian women in a tenement house fire.”
Hawkins sat back with a sullen scowl. I drew a long breath of relief, and began to scan the landscape for signs of the hook and ladder company.
They were a long time in coming. Meanwhile, we were hanging in space, a frisky balloon overhead, and below, Hawkins' engine having considerately left a little of the telegraph company's property uninjured, six telegraph wires and a gaping crowd.
But the ladders couldn't be very far off now, and we seemed safe enough, until—
“What's that sizzling, Hawkins?” I inquired.
“I don't know,” he replied, gruffly.
“Well, why don't you try to find out?” I said, sharply. “It seems to me that we're resting pretty heavily on those wires.”
“Indeed?”