“It's a weak, powerless little thing, your windmill, isn't it?”
“Well, when I built it I calculated it to hoist two tons.”
“Instead of which it has hoisted two—or rather, one misguided man, who allowed himself to be enticed within its reach.”
“See here,” cried Hawkins wrathfully, “I suppose you blame me for getting you into a hole?”
“Not at all,” I replied. “I blame you for getting me altogether too far out of the hole.”
“Well, you needn't. If it hadn't been for your stupidity, we shouldn't be here now.”
“What!”
“Certainly. Why didn't you jump off as we passed the mouth of the well?”
“My dear Hawkins,” I said mildly, “do you realize that we flitted past that particular point at a speed of about seventy feet per second? Why didn't you jump?”
“I—I—I didn't want to desert you, Griggs,” rejoined Hawkins weakly, looking away.