We were sitting on my porch, smoking placidly in the sunset glow, when
Hawkins aroused himself from a momentary reverie and remarked:
“Now, if the body were made of aluminum it would be far lighter and just
as strong, wouldn't it?”
“Probably, Hawkins,” I replied, “but it would also be decidedly stiff
and inconvenient. Just imagine how one's aluminium knees would crackle
and bend going up and down-stairs, and what an awful job one would have
conforming one's aluminum spinal column to the back of a chair.”
“No, no, no, no,” cried Hawkins, impatiently. “I don't mean the human
body, Griggs; I----”
“I'm glad to hear it,” I said. “Don't you go to inventing an aluminum
man, Hawkins. Good, old-fashioned flesh and bones have been giving
thorough satisfaction for the past few thousand years, and it would be
wiser for you to turn your peculiar talents toward----”
“There! there! That will do!” snapped the inventor, standing stiffly
erect and throwing away his cigar. “This is not the first time that that
mistaken humor of yours has prevented your absorbing new ideas, Griggs.
Incidentally, I may mention that I was referring to the body of an
automobile. Good-evening!”
Whereupon Hawkins stalked up the road in the direction of his summer
home, and I wondered for a minute if his words might not be prophetic of
future trouble.
Now, where any aspersion is cast upon his inventive genius, Hawkins is
quick to anger, but usually he is equally ready to forgive and
forget. Hence it astonished me that two whole weeks passed Without the
appearance of his genial countenance on my premises.
They were really two weeks of peace unbroken, but I had begun to think
that it might be better for me to stroll over and beg pardon for my
levity when one bright morning Hawkins came chug-chugging up the drive
in a huge, new, red automobile.
It was of the type so constructed that the two rear seats of the car may
be dropped off at will, converting it into a carriage for two, and the
only peculiar detail I noted was the odd-looking top or canopy.
“Well, what do you think of her?” demanded Hawkins with some pride.
“She's all right,” I said, admiringly.
“Body's built of aluminum,” continued the inventor. “Jump in and feel
the action of her.”
As I have said, barring the canopy, the thing appeared to be an
ordinary touring-car, and I was tired of lolling in the hammock. Without
misgiving, I climbed in beside Hawkins, and he turned back to the road.
The auto did run beautifully. I had never been in a machine that was so
totally indifferent to rough spots.
When we came to a hillock, we simply floated over it. If we reached an
uncomfortably sharp turn, the auto seemed to rise and cut it off with
hardly a swerve.
Once or twice I noticed that Hawkins deliberately steered out of the
road and into big rocks; but the auto, in the most peculiar manner, just
touched them and bounced over with never a jar.
In fact, after two miles of rather heavy going, I suddenly realized that
I hadn't experienced the slightest of jolts.
“Hawkins,” I observed, “the man that made the springs under this thing
must have been a magician.”
“Well, well!” said the inventor. “On to it at last that there is
something out of the ordinary about this auto, are you? But it's not the
springs, my dear boy, it's not the springs!”
“What is it?”
“Griggs,” said Hawkins, beaming upon me, “you are riding in the first
and only Hawkins' Auto-aero-mobile! That's what it is!”
“Another invention!” I gasped.
“Yes, another invention. What the deuce are you turning pale about?”
“Well, your inventions, Hawkins--”
“Don't be such a coward, Griggs. Except that I had the body built of
aluminum, this is just an ordinary automobile. The invention lies in the
canopy. It's a balloon!”
“Is it--is it?” I said weakly.
“Yes, sir. Just at present it's a balloon with not quite enough gas in
it to counterbalance the pull of gravitation on the car and ourselves.
I've got two cylinders of compressed gas still connected with it. When
I let them feed automatically into the balloon, and then automatically
drop the iron cylinders themselves in to the road, we shall fairly bound
over the ground, because the balloon will just a trifle more than carry
the whole outfit.”
“Well, don't waste all that good gas, Hawkins,” I said hastily. “I
can--I can understand perfectly just how we should bound without that.”
“Don't worry about the gas,” smiled Hawkins placidly. “It costs
practically nothing. There! One of the cylinders is discharging now.”
I glanced timidly above. Sure enough, the canopy was expanding slowly
and assuming a spherical shape.
Presently a thud announced that Hawkins had dropped the cylinder. Then
he pulled another lever, and the process was repeated.
As the second cylinder dropped, we rose nearly a foot into the air.
Still we maintained a forward motion, and that was puzzling.
“How is it, Hawkins,” I quavered, “that we're still going ahead when we
don't touch the ground more than once in a hundred feet?”
“That's the propeller,” chuckled the inventor. “I put a propeller at
the back, so that the auto is almost a dirigible balloon. Oh, there's
nothing lacking about the Hawkins Auto-aero-mobile, Griggs, I can tell
you.”
When I had recovered from the first nervous shock, the contrivance
really did not seem so dangerous.
We traveled in long, low leaps, the machine rarely rising more than a
foot from the ground, and the motion was certainly unique and rather
pleasant.
Nevertheless, I have a haunting fear of anything invented by Hawkins,
and my mind would insist upon wandering to thoughts of home.
“Not going down-town, are you, Hawkins?” I asked with what carelessness
I could assume.
“Just for a minute. I want some cigars.”
“Hawkins,” I murmured, “you are a pretty heavy man. When you get out of
this budding airship, it won't soar into the heavens with me, will it?”
“It would if I got out,” said the inventor, with pleasant assurance.
“But I'm not going to get out. We'll let the cigar man bring the stuff
to us.”
So it would rise if any weight left the car! That was food for thought.
Suppose Hawkins, who operated the auto according to the magazine
pictures of racing chauffeurs, leaning far forward, should topple into
the road? Suppose a stray breeze should tilt the machine and throw out
some part?
Up without doubt, we should go, and there seemed to be quite an open
space up above, through which we might travel indefinitely without
hitting anything that would stay our celestial journey.
“How do you let the gas out of the balloon, Hawkins?” I ventured
presently.
“Oh, the cock's down underneath the machine,” said that gentleman
briefly. “Don't worry, Griggs. I'm here.”
That, in a nutshell, was just what was worrying me, but there seemed to
be nothing more to say. I relapsed into silence.
We rolled or floated or bounced, or whatever you may choose to call it,
into town without accident or incident. People stared considerably at
the kangaroo antics of our car, and one or two horses, after their first
glance, developed _furor transitorius_ on the spot; but Hawkins managed
to pull up before his cigar store, which was in the outskirts of the
town, without kicking up any very serious disturbance.
The cigars aboard, I had hoped to turn my face homeward. Not so Hawkins.
“Now, down we go to the square,” he cried buoyantly, “do a turn before
the court house, float straight over the common, and then bounce away
home. I guess it'll make the natives talk, eh, Griggs?”
“Your things usually do, Hawkins,” I sighed. “But why perform to-day?
This is only the first trial trip. Something might go wrong.”
“My dear boy,” laughed the inventor, “this is one of those trial trips
that simply can't go wrong, because every detail is perfected to the
uttermost limit.”
That settled it; we made for the square.
The square, be it remarked, is in the center of the town. The court
house stands on one side, the post office on the other, and the square
itself is a beautifully kept lawn.
We were just in sight of the grass when I fancied that I detected a
rattle.
“What's that noise, Hawkins?” I said.
“Give it up. Something in the machinery. It's nothing.”
“But I seem to feel a peculiar shaking in the machine,” I persisted.
“You seem to feel a great many things that don't exist, Griggs,”
remarked Hawkins, with a touch of contempt.
“But----”
“Hey, mister!” yelled a small boy. “Hey! Yer back seat's fallin' off!”
“What did he say?” muttered Hawkins, too full of importance to turn his
head.
“Hey! Hey!” cried the youngster, pursuing us. “Dat back seat's most fell
off!”
“What!” shrieked Hawkins, whirling about. “Good Lord! So it is! Catch
it, Griggs, catch it quick!”
I turned. The boy was right. The rear seats of the automobile had
managed to detach themselves.
In fact, even as we stared, they were hanging by a single bolt, and the
head of that was missing.
“Griggs! Griggs!” shouted Hawkins, wildly endeavoring to stop the
engine. “Grab those seats before they fall! I didn't screw 'em on with
a wrench--only used my hands--but I supposed they were fast. Heavens! If
they drop, we shall go----”
Just at that moment a sudden jolt sent the seats into the road.
Two hundred pounds of solid material had left the Hawkins
Auto-aero-mobile!
Hawkins didn't have to finish the sentence.
It became painfully evident where we should go.
We went up!
Up, up, up! In the suddenness of it, it seemed to me that we were
shooting straight for the midday sun, that another thirty seconds would
see us frying in the solar flames.
As I gripped the cushions, I believe that I shrieked with terror.
But Hawkins, scared though he was, didn't lose his head entirely. The
machine hadn't turned turtle. It was ascending slowly in its normal
attitude, and as a matter of cold fact we hadn't risen more than thirty
feet when Hawkins remarked, shakily:
“There, there, Griggs! Sit still! It's all right. We're safe!”
“Safe!” I gasped, when sufficient breath had returned. “It looks as if
we were safe, doesn't it?”
“N-n-never mind how it looks, Griggs. We are. The propeller's working
now.”
“What good does that do us?” I demanded.
“Good!” cried the inventor, pulling himself together. “Why, we shall
simply steer for the roof of a house and alight.”
“Always provided that this cursed contrivance doesn't heave us out
first!”
“Oh, it won't,” smiled Hawkins, settling down to his machinery once
more. “Dear me, Griggs, do look at the crowd!”
There was indeed a crowd. They had sprung up on the instant, and they
were racing along beneath us across the common, quite regardless of the
“Keep Off the Grass” signs.
“How they will stare when we step out on the roof, won't they?” observed
Hawkins.
“If we don't step out on their heads!” I snapped. “Steer away from those
telegraph wires, Hawkins.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said the inventor, nervously regarding the
thirty or forty wires strung directly across our path. “Queer this thing
doesn't respond more readily!”
“Well, make her respond!” I cried, excitedly, for the wires were
dangerously near.
“I'm doing my best, Griggs,” grunted the inventor, twisting this wheel
and pulling that lever. “Don't worry, we'll sail over them all right.
We'll just--pshaw!”
With a gentle, swaying kind of bump, the auto stopped. We had grounded,
so to speak, on the telegraph wires.
“That's the end of this trial trip!” I remarked, caustically. “The
epilogue will consist of the scene we create in distributing our brains
over that green grass below.”
“Oh, tut, tut!” said Hawkins. “This is nothing serious. I'll just start
the propeller on the reverse and we'll float off backward.”
“Well, wait a minute before you start it,” I said. “They're shouting
something.”
“Don't jump! Don't jump!” cried the crowd.
“Who the dickens is going to jump?” replied Hawkins, angrily, leaning
over the side. “Fools!” he observed to me.
“The hook and ladder's coming!” continued a stentorian voice.
[Illustration: “Don't jump! Don't jump!” cried the crowd.]
“Well, they'll have their trouble for their pains,” snapped Hawkins. “We
shall be on the ground before they get here.”
“Why not wait?” I said. “We'll be sure to get down safely that way, and
you don't know what you may do by starting the machinery. The wires are
all mixed up in it, and they may smash and drag us down, or upset us,
Hawkins.”
“Croak! Croak! Croak!” replied Hawkins, sourly. “Go on and croak till
your dying day, Griggs. If any one ever offers a prize for a pessimistic
alarmist, you take my advice and compete. You'll win. _I'm_ going to
start the engine and get out of this.”
He pulled the reverse lever, and the engine buzzed merrily. The auto
indulged in a series of unwholesome convulsive shivers, but it didn't
budge.
“Hey! Hey!” floated up from the crowd.
“Oh, look and see what they're howling about now,” growled Hawkins.
The cause of their vociferations was only too apparent.
Ping! Ping! Ping! One by one, sawed in two by the machine, the telegraph
wires were snapping!
“Stop it! Stop it, Hawkins!” I cried. “You're smashing the wires!”
“Well, suppose I am? That'll let us out, won't it?”
“See here,” I said, sternly, “if an all wise Providence should happen to
spare us from being dragged down and dashed to pieces, consider the bill
for repairs which you'll have to foot. You stop that engine, Hawkins, or
I'll do it myself.”
“Well----” said the inventor, doubtfully. “There! Now be satisfied. I've
stopped it, and we'll wait and be taken down the ladder like a couple of
confounded Italian women in a tenement house fire.”
Hawkins sat back with a sullen scowl. I drew a long breath of relief,
and began to scan the landscape for signs of the hook and ladder
company.
They were a long time in coming. Meanwhile, we were hanging in space, a
frisky balloon overhead, and below, Hawkins' engine having considerately
left a little of the telegraph company's property uninjured, six
telegraph wires and a gaping crowd.
But the ladders couldn't be very far off now, and we seemed safe enough,
until--
“What's that sizzling, Hawkins?” I inquired.
“I don't know,” he replied, gruffly.
“Well, why don't you try to find out?” I said, sharply. “It seems to me
that we're resting pretty heavily on those wires.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes.” I glanced out at the balloon canopy. “Great Scott, Hawkins, the
balloon's leaking!”
“Eh? What?” he cried, suddenly galvanized into action. “Where, Griggs,
where?”
“I don't know. But that's what is happening. See how the wires are
sagging--more and more every second.”
“Great Cesar's ghost! Listen. Yes, the wires must have hit the escape
valve. Why, the gas is simply pouring out of the balloon. And the
machine's getting heavier and heavier. And we're just resting on those
six wires, Griggs! Oh, Lord!”
“And presently, Hawkins, we shall break the wires and drop?” I
suggested, with forced calm.
“Yes, yes!” cried the inventor. “What'll we do, Griggs, what'll we do?”
Frightened as I was, I couldn't see what was to be gained by hysterics.
“I presume,” I said, “that the best thing is to sit still and wait for
the end.”
“Yes, but think, man, think of that awful drop! Forty feet, if it's an
inch!”
“Fully.”
“Why, we'll simply be knocked to flinders!”
“Probably.”
“Oh, the idiots! The idiots!” raged Hawkins, shaking his fists at the
crowd. “Why didn't they bring a fire net? Why hasn't one of them sense
enough to get one? We could jump then.”
Ping! The first of the six wires had snapped.
Ping! The second had followed suit.
The Hawkins Auto-aero-mobile was very delicately balanced now on four
slim wires, and the balloon was collapsing with heart-rending rapidity.
From below sounds of excitement were audible, here and there a groan and
now a scream of horror, as some new-comer realized our position.
“Hawkins,” I said, solemnly, “why don't you make a vow right now that if
we ever get out of this alive----”
Ping! went the third wire. The auto swayed gently for a moment.
“You'll never invent another thing as long as you live?”
“Griggs,” said Hawkins, in trembling tones, “I almost believe that you
are right. Where on earth can that hook and ladder be? Yes, you are
right. I'll do--I'll--can you see them yet, Griggs? I'll do it! I
swear----”
Ping! Ping! Ping!
Still sitting upon the cushions, I felt my heart literally leap into my
throat. My eyes closed before a sudden rush of wind. My hands gripped
out wildly.
For one infinitesimal second, I was astonished at the deathly stillness
of everything. Then the roar of a thousand voices nearly deafened me,
the seat seemed to hurl me violently into the air, for another brief
instant I shot through space. Then my hands clutched some one's hair,
and I crashed to the ground, with an obliging stout man underneath.
And I knew that I still lived!
Well, the auto had dropped--that was all. Ready hands placed me upon my
feet. Vaguely I realized that Dr. Brotherton, our physician, was running
his fingers rapidly over my anatomy.
Later he addressed me through a dreamland haze and said that not a
bone was broken. I recall giving him a foolish smile and thanking him
politely.
Some twenty feet away I was conscious that Hawkins was chattering
volubly to a crowd of eager faces. His own features were bruised almost
beyond recognition, but he, too, was evidently on this side of the River
Jordan, and I felt a faint sense of irritation that the Auto-aero-mobile
hadn't made an end of him.
My wits must have remained some time aloft for a last inspection of the
spot where ended our aerial flight. Certainly they did not wholly return
until I found myself sitting beside Hawkins in Brotherton's carriage.
We were just driving past a pile of red scrap-metal that had once been
the auto, and the wondering crowd was parting to let us through.
“Well, that's the end of your aerothingamajig, Hawkins,” I observed,
with deep satisfaction.
“Oh, yes, experience is expensive, but a great teacher,” replied the
inventor, thickly, removing a wet cloth from his much lacerated upper
lip to permit speech. “When I build the next one----”
“You'll have to get a divorce before you build the next one,” I added,
with still deeper satisfaction, as I pictured in imagination the lively
little domestic fracas that awaited Hawkins.
If his excellent lady gets wind of the doings in his “workshop,” Hawkins
rarely invents the same thing twice.
“Well, then, if I build another,” corrected Hawkins, sobering suddenly,
“I shall be careful not to use that rear arrangement at all. I shall
place the valve of the balloon where I can get at it more easily. I
shall----”
“Mr. Hawkins,” said Brotherton, abruptly, “I thought I asked you to keep
that cloth over your mouth until I get you where I can sew up that lip.”
Apart from any medical bearing, it struck me that that remark indicated
good, sound sense on Brotherton's part.