“All right,” said Hawkins shortly. “Now, the dishes are all in, are they? Very well. I'll explain the thing to Mr. Griggs and then start it. You see, Griggs, the dishes are in here.” He tapped the side of the big box. “When I turn on the power, they are thoroughly rubbed and soused by my Automatic Scrubber--a separate patent, by the way--and then they reach this spot.” He rapped upon the box near the end. “Here they are forced against a continuous dish-towel, which runs across rollers all the time. Just think of it! Sixty yards of dish-towel, rolling over and over and over! After that--but you shall see how they look after that. I'll start her.” He twisted a valve of some sort. The chugg-chugging became more pronounced, and the fly-wheels revolved with very perceptibly increased rapidity. From somewhere inside the thing emanated a gentle rattle and swish of crockery and suds. Hawkins stood back and regarded it proudly. “There's another great point about the Gasowashine, too,” he said. “As you see, it's too heavy to shove from place to place. What do we do?” “Leave it where it is,” I hazarded. “Not at all. We simply invert it! The whole business is water-tight. Every door fits so closely that it's impossible for a drop to escape. Now, if I wished to move it to the other end of this room, I should simply turn the Gasowashine upside down, allow it to rest upon the fly-wheels, which keep on revolving of course, and steer it wherever I desired.” “And so you might go a little better and put on a saddle and a steering-wheel and take a ride around the Park while you were washing dishes?” I suggested, somewhat to the manager's amusement. “Possibly you think it's impracticable?” Hawkins rapped out. “Perhaps you don't realize that there's a five horsepower motor running that?” “There, there, Hawkins,” I said soothingly, “if you say that Washy-washine is good for a trans-kitchen on a transcontinental tour, I'll take your word for it.” “You don't have to!” cried the inventor wrathfully. “I'll demonstrate it. See here, you!” This to a corpulent French gentleman in white, who had just flipped an omelette to a platter and sent it upon its way. “Come and give me a hand here. Just help turn this thing over.” “_Comme cela?_” inquired the astonished cook, making pantomime with his hands. “Exactly. That's right. Catch hold of the other side and don't let go until I tell you.” The cook complied. Really, the Gasowashine seemed to turn more easily than might have been expected from its huge bulk. A strain or two, a puffed command from Hawkins, an ominous sliding about of hidden dishes, and the machine lurched forward, poised a moment on its edge and turned quite gently, so that the wheels approached the floor. “Now, easy! Easy!” cried Hawkins. “Don't let the wheels down until I tell you, and don't let go till I give the word. Now down! Down! Gently.” The cook seemed to be feeling for a new grip.