“It's a weak, powerless little thing, your windmill, isn't it?” “Well, when I built it I calculated it to hoist two tons.” “Instead of which it has hoisted two--or rather, one misguided man, who allowed himself to be enticed within its reach.” “See here,” cried Hawkins wrathfully, “I suppose you blame me for getting you into a hole?” “Not at all,” I replied. “I blame you for getting me altogether too far out of the hole.” “Well, you needn't. If it hadn't been for your stupidity, we shouldn't be here now.” “What!” “Certainly. Why didn't you jump off as we passed the mouth of the well?” “My dear Hawkins,” I said mildly, “do you realize that we flitted past that particular point at a speed of about seventy feet per second? Why didn't you jump?” “I--I--I didn't want to desert you, Griggs,” rejoined Hawkins weakly, looking away. “That was truly noble of you,” I observed. “It reveals a beautiful side of your character which I had never suspected, Hawkins.” “That'll do,” said the inventor shortly. “Are you going down first or shall I?” “Do you propose to trust all that is mortal of yourself to that capricious little ladder again?” “Certainly. What else?” “I was thinking that it might be safer, if slightly less comfortable, to wait here until Patrick gets back. He could put up a ladder--a real, old-fashioned, wooden ladder--for us.” “Yes, and when Patrick gets back those women will get back with him,” replied Hawkins heatedly. “Your wife's coming over here to tea.” “Well?” “Well, do you suppose I'm going to be found stuck up here like a confounded rooster on a weather vane?” shouted the inventor. “No, sir! You can stay and look all the fool you like. I won't. I'm going down now!” Hawkins reached gingerly with one foot for a place on the ladder. I looked at him, wondered whether it would be really wicked to hurl him into space, and looked away again, in the direction of the woods. My gaze traveled about a mile; and my nerves received another shock. “See here, Hawkins!” I cried. “Well, what do you want?” demanded the inventor gruffly, still striving for a footing. “What will happen if a breeze hits this infernal machine now?” “You'll be knocked into Kingdom Come, for one thing,” snapped Hawkins with apparent satisfaction. “That arm of the windmill right behind you will rap your head with force enough to put some sense in it.” I glanced backward. He was right--about the fact of the rapping, at any rate. The huge wing was precisely in line to deal my unoffending cranium a terrific whack, which would probably stun me, and certainly brush me from my perch. “There's a big wind coming!” I cried. “Look at those trees.” “By Jimminy! You're right!” gasped the inventor, recklessly hurling himself upon the ladder. “Quick, Griggs. Come down after me. Quick!”