“See here, Hawkins!” I cried.
“Well, what do you want?” demanded the inventor gruffly, still striving for a footing.
“What will happen if a breeze hits this infernal machine now?”
“You'll be knocked into Kingdom Come, for one thing,” snapped Hawkins with apparent satisfaction. “That arm of the windmill right behind you will rap your head with force enough to put some sense in it.”
I glanced backward. He was right—about the fact of the rapping, at any rate.
The huge wing was precisely in line to deal my unoffending cranium a terrific whack, which would probably stun me, and certainly brush me from my perch.
“There's a big wind coming!” I cried. “Look at those trees.”
“By Jimminy! You're right!” gasped the inventor, recklessly hurling himself upon the ladder. “Quick, Griggs. Come down after me. Quick!”
When one of Hawkins' inventions gets you in its toils, you have to make rapid decisions as to the manner of death you would prefer. In the twinkling of an eye, I decided to cast my fate with Hawkins on the ladder.
Nerving myself for the task, I swung to the quivering steel cable, kicked wildly for a moment, and then found a footing.