“But, Herbert,” cried his wife, somewhat horrified, “is there anything humorous in the dismemberment of three poor workmen?”
“Oh, it isn't that—it isn't that, my dear,” smiled the inventor. “It merely struck me as funny—this old notion of explosives.”
“What old notion?” I inquired.
“Why, the fallacy of the present methods of manipulating nitro-glycerine.”
“I presume you have a better scheme?” I advanced.
“Mr. Griggs,” cried Hawkins' wife, in terror that was not all feigned, “don't suggest it!”
“Now, my dear——” began Hawkins, stiffening at once.
“Hush, Herbert, hush! You've made mischief enough with your inventions, but you have never, thank goodness, dabbled in explosives.”
“If I wanted to tell you what I know about explosives, and what I could do——” declaimed Hawkins.
“Don't tell us, Mr. Hawkins,” laughed my wife. “A sort of superstitious dread comes over me at the notion.”