But an explanation of this to Hawkins would merely have precipitated another conflict. I chose what seemed to be the lesser evil; I elected to examine the pumpless pump.
“All right,” said the inventor happily. “Come along, Griggs. You're the only one that knows anything about this. In a week or two, when somebody writes it up in the Scientific American, you'll feel mighty proud of having heard my first explanation of the thing.”
The pump was just as Hawkins had described—a thin steel ladder coming out of the well's black mouth, running up to and over the shaft, and descending into the blackness again. When we reached its side, it was stationary, for the air was still.
“There!” cried Hawkins. “All it needs is the buckets and the tank on top. That idea comes pretty near to actual execution, Griggs, doesn't it?”
“Most of your ideas do come pretty near to actual execution, Hawkins,” I sighed.
That passed over Hawkins' head.
“Now, look down here,” he continued, leaning over the well with a calm disregard of the frailty of the human make-up, and grasping one of the rungs of the ladder. “Just look down here, Griggs. Sixty feet deep!”
“I'll take your word for it,” I said. “I wouldn't hold on to that ladder, Hawkins; it might take a notion to go down with you.”
“Nonsense!” smiled the inventor. “The gear's locked. It can't move. Why, look here!”
The man actually swung himself out to the ladder and stood there. It made my blood run cold.