“Nor the next day, nor the one after that. Exactly. We shall have to wait until this wretched place is emptied, when they will find our bleaching skeletons--if skeletons can bleach in a coal bin.” Hawkins blinked his sable eyelids at me. “Or we might go to work and pile all the coal on one side of the bin,” I continued. “It wouldn't take more than a week or so, throwing it over by handfuls; and when at last they found that your crano-engine wouldn't bring up any more from this side----” “Aha!” cried the inventor, with sudden animation. “That's it! The Crano-Scale!” “Yes, that's it,” I assented. “Away up near the roof. What about it?” “Why, it solves the whole problem,” said Hawkins. “Don't you see, the next time they need nut-coal, they'll set the engine going and the scoop----” “Four--tons--nut, Bill!” said a faraway voice. “Yep! Four ton. Start up that blamed machine!” “What? What did he say?” cried the inventor. “Something about starting the engine.” “That's what I thought. They're going to use the Crano-Scale, Griggs! We're saved! We're saved!” “I fail to see it.” “Why, when the thing comes down, be ready. Ah--it's coming now! Get ready, Griggs! Get ready! Be prepared to make a dash for it!” “And then?” “And then climb in, of course. There won't be much room, for they're going to take on four tons, and the thing will be full; but we can manage it. We can do it, Griggs, and be home in time for dinner.” “And you're a fine looking object to go to dinner,” I added. Hawkins' countenance fell somewhat, but there was no time for a reply. The coal-scuttle of the Crano-Scale was hovering above us, evidently selecting a spot for its operations. “Here! We're right under it!” Hawkins shouted. “This way, Griggs! Quick! Lord! It's coming down--it'll hit you! Quick!” And I dived toward Hawkins as he was struggling for a foothold, and then---- * * * * * A line of asterisks is the only way of putting into print my state of mind--or absence of any state of mind--for the ensuing quarter of an hour. My first idea was that some absent-minded person had built a three-story house upon my unhappy body; but I was joggling and bouncing up and down, so that that hypothesis was manifestly untenable. The weight of the house was there, though, and all about was stifling blackness. I tried to turn. It was useless. I couldn't move. The house had me pinned down hard and fast. Then I wriggled frantically, and something near me wriggled frantically as well. Then one of my hands struck something that yielded, and there came a muffled voice from somewhere in the neighborhood. “Griggs!” it said. “Yes?” “W-w-w-where are we? This isn't the coal bin. Are you hurt?” “I give it up. Are you?” “I think not. Why, Griggs, this must be one of the big coal carts!” “I shouldn't wonder,” I assented vaguely. “But--how----”