“In time for what?”
“The first trial of—”
“Now, see here, Hawkins—” I began, preparing to flee, for I knew too well the meaning of that light in his eyes.
“The Hawkins Horse-brake!”, he finished, triumphantly.
“Hawkins,” I said, solemnly, “far be it from me to disparage your work; but I recall most distinctly the Hawkins Aero-motor, which moted you to the top of that maple tree and dropped you on my devoted head. I also have some recollection of your gasolene milker, the one that exploded and burned every hair off the starboard side of my best Alderney cow. If you are bent on trying something new, hold it off until I can get my poor wife out of harm's way.”
Hawkins favored me with a stare that would have withered a row of hardy sunflowers and turned his eyes to the stable.
Something was being led toward us from that direction.
The foundation of the something I recognized as Hawkins' aged work horse, facetiously christened Maud S. The superstructure was the most remarkable collection of mechanism I ever saw.
Four tall steel rods stuck into the air at the four corners of the animal. They seemed to be connected in some way to a machine strapped to the back of the saddle.
I presume the machine was logical enough if you understood it, but beyond noting that it bore striking resemblance to the vital organs of a clock, I cannot attempt a description.