“Isn't it growing warm?” “I don't feel it.” “Well, it is! Ah! The heat is coming from that plate!” I exclaimed, as it dawned upon me that the big iron thing was radiating warm waves through the stuffy little car. “Your Hydro-Vapor Lift will be pleasant to ride in when the thermometer runs up in August, won't it?” Hawkins did not deign to reply, and I fell to examining the plate. “Look,” I said, “isn't that steam?” “Isn't what steam?” “Down there,” I replied, pointing to the plate. A fine jet of vapor was curling from one point at its edge--a thin spout of hot steam! “That's nothing,” said Hawkins. “Little leak--nothing more.” “But there's another now!” “Positively, Griggs, I think you have the most active imagination I ever knew in an otherwise----” “Use your eyes,” I said uneasily. “There's another--and still another!” Hawkins bent over the plate--as much to hide the concern which appeared upon his face as for any other reason, I think. He arose rather suddenly, for a cloud of steam saluted him from a new spot. “Well,” he said, “she's leaking a trifle.” “But why?” “The plate isn't steam-tight, of course; and the engineer's sending us more pressure.” His composure had returned by this time, and he regarded me with such contemptuous eyes that I could find no answer. But Hawkins' contempt couldn't shut off the steam. It blew out harder and harder from the leaky spots. The little car began to fill, and the temperature rose steadily. From a comfortable warmth it increased to an uncomfortable warmth; then to a positively intolerable, reeking wet heat. I removed my coat, and a little later my vest. Hawkins did likewise. We both found some difficulty in breathing. The steam grew thicker, the car hotter and hotter. Perspiration was oozing from every pore in my body. Sparkling little rivulets coursed down Hawkins' countenance. “Hawkins,” I said, “if you'd called this thing the Hydro-Vapor Bath instead of Lift----” “Don't be witty,” Hawkins said coldly. “Never mind. It may be a bit unreliable as an elevator, but you can let it out for steam-baths--fifty cents a ticket, you know, until you've made up whatever the thing cost.” Bzzzzzzzzzz! said the steam. “I'm going to shout for that ax again,” I said determinedly. “Ten minutes more of this and we'll be cooked alive!” “Now----” began the inventor. “Hawkins, I decline to be converted into stew simply to save your vanity. He----” “Hey!” shouted Hawkins, dancing away from his lever into a corner of the car and regarding the iron plate with round eyes. “What is it, now?” I asked breathlessly. A queer, roaring noise was coming from somewhere. The Hydro-Vapor affair executed a series of blood-curdling shakes. From the edges of the plate the steam hissed spitefully and with new vigor. “That--that jackass of an engineer!” Hawkins sputtered. “He's sending too much steam!” For a moment I didn't quite catch the significance; then I faltered with sudden weakness: