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.