Hawkins strode to the rear of the yard without turning. About us on every side were high wooden walls, the storage bins of the company. Up the side of one wall ran a ladder, and Hawkins commenced the perpendicular ascent with the same matter-of-fact air that one would wear in walking up-stairs. “What are you doing that for? Exercise?” I called, when he paused some twenty-five feet in the air. “If you wish to see the Crano-Scale at work, follow me. If not, stay where you are,” replied Hawkins. Then he resumed his upward course; and having put something like thirty-five feet between his person and the solid earth, he vanished through a black doorway. Climbing a straight ladder usually sets my hair on end; but this one I tackled without hesitation, and in a very few seconds stood before the door. In the semi-darkness, I perceived that a wide ledge ran around the wall inside, and that Hawkins was standing upon it, gazing upon the hundreds of tons of coal below, and having something the effect of the Old Nick himself glaring down into the pit. “There she is!” said the inventor laconically, pointing across the gulf. I made my way to his side and stared through the gloom. Something seemed to loom up over there. Presently, as my eyes grew accustomed to the change, I perceived the arm of a huge crane, from which was suspended an enormous scoop. “You mean that mastodonic coal-scuttle?” I inquired. “Precisely. That's the Hawkins Crano-Scale.” “And what does she do when she--er--crano-scales things, as it were?” “You'll be able to understand in a moment. That coal-scuttle, as you call it, is large enough to hold four tons. See? Well, the people in the yard are going to want two tons of coal very shortly. What do they do?” “Take it out, weigh it, and send it,” I hazarded. “Not at all. They simply adjust the controlling apparatus to the two-ton point, and set the Crano-Scale going. The scoop dips down, picks up exactly two tons of coal, and rises automatically as soon as the two tons are in. After that the crane swings outward, dumps the coal in the wagon, and there you have it--weighed and all! It has been in operation here for one month,” Hawkins concluded complacently. “And no one killed or maimed? No Crano-Scale widows or orphans?” “Oh, Griggs, you are--Ha! She's starting!” The Crano-Scale emitted an ear-piercing shriek. The big steel crane was in motion. I watched the thing. Gracefully the coal-scuttle dipped into the pile of coal, dug for a minute, swung upward again. It turned, passed through a big doorway in the side, and we could hear the coal rattling into the wagon. The Crano-Scale returned and swung ponderously in the twilight. “There!” cried Hawkins triumphantly. “It works!” I gasped. “You bet it works!” “But it must cost something to run the thing,” I suggested. “Well--er--I'm paying for that part,” Hawkins acknowledged, “until I've finished perfecting a motor particularly adapted for the Crano-Scale, you see.”