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.