“It is that I seek a place for ze hand,” murmured the cook apologetically.
“Well, find it and let her down. Got your grip?”
“Aha! I have eet!” announced the Frenchman, clutching one of the brass knobs.
“All right. Down!”
Down went the Gasowashine. And a very small fraction of one second later things began to happen.
Each of Hawkins' inventions possesses a latent devil. You have only to brush against the handle or the valve or the string, or whatever it may be that connects him with the outer world, and the demon awakes.
In this case, the cook must have pinched the tail of the devil of the Gasowashine, for he sprang into action with a rush.
“Is it to release the hold?” asked the Frenchman as the wheels touched the floor.
“No, not till I—hey!” cried Hawkins, starting back in amazement.
“Our—our dishes!” ejaculated the manager breathlessly.