“Oh, dry up!” exclaimed the inventor nervously. “Goodness! We're halfway down already!”
“Why not climb?” I suggested.
“Really, Griggs,” cried the inventor, “for such an unpractical man as yourself, that idea is remarkable! Climb, Griggs, climb. Get about it!”
I think myself that the notion was rather bright. If the ladder was climbing down into the well, we could climb up the ladder.
And we climbed! Good heavens, how we did climb! It was simply a perpendicular treadmill, and with the rungs a full yard apart, a mighty hard one to tread.
Every rung seemed to strain my muscles to the breaking point; but we kept on climbing, and we were gaining on the ladder. We were not ten feet from the top when Hawkins called out:
“Wait, Griggs! Hey! Wait a minute! Yes, by Jove, she's stopped!”
She had. I noted that, far above, the windmill had ceased to revolve. The ladder was motionless.
“Oh, I knew we'd get out all right,” remarked the inventor, dashing all perspiration from his brow. “I felt it.”
“Yes, I noticed that you were entirely confident a minute or two ago,” I observed.