The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 145: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Hawkins Anti-Fire-F ly. BY EDGAR FRANKLIN. An adventure with the amateur inventor’s latest appliance for ameliorating the condition of humanity. ERHAPS some of the blame should rest upon the barbaric habit of having Sunday dinner in the middle of the afternoon. Had it been evening when Hawkins and his better-half sat down to dinner with us, it would not, naturally, have been daylight; and much unpleasant- ness might have been avoided, for the gas had not yet been turned on in the remodeled Hawkins residence, and an inspection would have been impossible. Again, I may have started the trouble myself by bringing up the sub- ject of the renovations. “Yes, the work’s all done,” said Hawkins, with a more genial air than he usually exhibited when that topic was touched. “I tell you, it’s a model home now.” “ Particularly in containing no new inventions by its owner,” added Mrs. Hawkins. “Oh, those may come later,” said the gifted inventor, casting a complacent wink in my direction. “ Not if I have anything to say about it,” replied the lady rather tartly. “ We escaped with our lives when the house was wrecked, but next time ”? “Madam,” flared Hawkins, “if you knew what that house ”? Just here my wife broke in with a spasmodic remark anent the doings of the Russians in Manchuria, and a dis- cussion of the merits of Hawkins’ in- ventions was happilv averted. But the spunky light didn’t die out of Hawkins’ eye. He appeared to be nursing something beside wrath, and when we arose from the table he re- marked shortly: “Come up to the house, Griggs, and smoke a cigar while we look it over.” “ And note the charm of the inven- tionless home,” supplemented his wife. “ Inventionless fiddlestick! ” snapped Hawkins as he slammed the door be- hind us. “It’s a wonder to me that women weren’t created either with sense or without tongues.” I made no comment, and we walked in silence to the Hawkins house. It had been done over in a style which must have made Hawkins’ bank account look like an Arabian grain field after a particularly bad ‘locust year; but beyond noting the general beauty of the decorations, I found nothing remarkable until we reached the second floor. There, as we gazed from the back windows, it struck me that something familiar had departed, and I asked: “ What’s become of the fire-escape ? ” * Don’t see it, eh?” said the inven- tor, with a prodigiously mysterious smile. “ Hardly. Have you made it invis- ible? ”’ “No and yes,” chuckled Hawkins. “ What would you say, Griggs, to a fire- escape that you kept indoors until it. was needed ? ” | “T should say ‘ nay, nay,’ if any one wanted me to use it.” “No, I mean—oh, come up-stairs and I’ll show it to you at once.” ‘“* Show me what, Hawkins? ” I cried, detaining him with a firm hand. “ Is it another contrivance? Has it a motor? Does it use gasoline or gunpowder or dynamite ? ” ‘““ No, it does not! ” said the inventor gruffiy, trudging toward the top of the house. “There!” he exclaimed when we had reached the upper floor. “ That’s it. What do you think of it?” It was a device of strange appear- ance. It seemed to be a huge clothes- basket, such as is used for transporta- tion of the family “ wash,” and it was piled with what appeared to be the re- ElOOO (COL UN S COL