“There!” cried Hawkins. “All it needs is the buckets and the tank on top. That idea comes pretty near to actual execution, Griggs, doesn't it?” “Most of your ideas do come pretty near to actual execution, Hawkins,” I sighed. That passed over Hawkins' head. “Now, look down here,” he continued, leaning over the well with a calm disregard of the frailty of the human make-up, and grasping one of the rungs of the ladder. “Just look down here, Griggs. Sixty feet deep!” “I'll take your word for it,” I said. “I wouldn't hold on to that ladder, Hawkins; it might take a notion to go down with you.” “Nonsense!” smiled the inventor. “The gear's locked. It can't move. Why, look here!” The man actually swung himself out to the ladder and stood there. It made my blood run cold. I expected to see Hawkins, ladder, and all shoot down into the water, and I wondered whether Heaven would send wind enough to hoist him out before he drowned. But nothing happened. Hawkins himself stood there and surveyed me with sneering triumph. “You see, Griggs,” he observed caustically, “once in a while I do know something about my inventions. Now, if your faint heart will allow it, I should advise you to take a peep down here. So far as I know, it's the only well in the State built entirely of white tiles. Just steady yourself on the ladder and look.” Like a senseless boy taking a dare, I reached out, gripped the rung above Hawkins, and looked down. Certainly it was a fine well. I never paid much attention to wells, but I could see at a glance that this one was exceptional. “I had it tiled last week,” continued Hawkins. “A tiled well is absolutely safe, you see. Nothing can happen in a tiled well, no----” That was another of Hawkins' fallacies. Something happened right then and there. A gentle breeze started the windmill. Slowly, spectacularly, the ladder began to move--downwards! “Why, say!” cried the inventor, in amazement, as he made one futile effort to regain the ground. “Do you think----” I wasn't thinking for him, just then. All my wits were centered on one great, awful problem. Before I could realize it and release my hold, the ladder had dropped far enough to throw me off my balance. The problem was whether to let go and risk dashing down sixty feet, or to keep hold and run the very promising chance of a slow and chilly ducking. I took the latter alternative, threw myself upon the ladder, and clung there, gasping with astonishment at the suddenness of the thing. “Well, Hawkins?” I said, getting breath as my head sank below the level of the beautiful earth. “Well, Griggs,” said the inventor defiantly, from the second rung below, “the gear must have slipped--that's all.” “Isn't it lucky that this is a tiled well?” “What do you mean?” “Why,” I said, “a tiled well is absolutely safe, you see. Nothing can happen in a tiled well, Hawkins.”