The Gasowashine and the cook were traveling across the kitchen together. The Frenchman, with remarkable presence of mind, was behind the machine and dragging back with all his might; but as well could he have hauled to a standstill the locomotive of the Empire State Express.
The Gasowashine, puffing heavily as any racing auto, had plans of its own and was executing them to the accompaniment of a simply appalling rattle of crockery.
“Don't let go! Don't let go!” cried Hawkins. “Keep hold, my man!”
“I do! I do! Mais, mon Dieu!” called the Frenchman jerkily.
“But, Mr. Hawkins,” gasped the manager as we hurried after, “what will become of our china?”
“The devil take your china!” snapped Hawkins, forgetful of his recent guarantee. “If they run into the wall, it'll break the motor!”
They were not going to run into the wall. The Gasowashine approached the side of the apartment, swerved easily to the left, and made for the incline which led to the hotel dining-room.
“Good gracious!” screamed the manager. “Not up there! Knock that thing over on its side, Henri!”
“Don't you do it, Henri,” cried Hawkins. “If you do it'll smash.”
“Let it smash!” roared the manager. “Throw it over, Henri!”