The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 149: what you’re looking at

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

THE HAWKINS “Don’t joke, Griggs,” wailed Haw- kins. “I will say Pm sorry I got you into this.” “Thank you, Hawkins,” I said, nearly strangled by a cord which per- sisted in twisting itself about my neck. “So am I.” Conversation lagged after that. For my part, I was too dazed and too firmly enmeshed in the cords to say much. I fancy that the same applied to Hawkins, but he happened to be facing ahead, and now and then he called back bulletins of our progress. “ Getting nearer the island,” he an- nounced after some ten minutes of the agony. A little later: “Thank Heaven! We’re almost over land!” And still later, when I had been choked and twisted almost into insensi- bility by the eccentric dives of the affair and the consequent tightening of the cords, he revived me with: “By George, Griggs, we’re sinking toward land!” I managed to look downward. Haw- kins had told the truth. The wind was indeed going down, and with it the re- mains of the Anti-Fire-Fly. Beneath appeared a big factory, its chimney belching forth black smoke in disregard of the Sabbath, and we seemed likely to land within its pre- cincts. “IT knew it! I knew it!” Hawkins cried joyfully. ‘“ We’re safe, after all, just as I said. We'll drop just outside the fence.” “Thank the Lord! ” I murmured. “No! No! We’ll drop right on that heap of dirt!” predicted Hawkins ex- citedly. “ Yes, sir, that’s where we’ll drop. D’ye see that fellow wheeling a wheelbarrow toward the pile? Hey!” The man glanced up in amazement. “ Farther down every minute!” pur- sued Hawkins. “I knew we'd be all right! Maybe the Anti-Fire-Fly isn’t such a bad thing after all, eh? ” “Maybe not,” I sighed. “But I'll take the red-hot ladder.” “Go ahead and take it,” chattered the inventor. “ We’re not thirty feet from the ground and steering straight for that dirt-pile.v Yes, sir, the wind’s gone down completely. Hooray!” 10 a ANTI-FIRE-FLY. 145 “Hey, youse!” shouted the man with the wheelbarrow, somewhat ex- citedly. “Well?” bawled Hawkins. “Steer away from it!” continued the workman, waving his arms at the pile. “We can’t steer,” replied Hawkins cheerfully. “ But it’s all right.” “The poile! The poile! Sure, we’ve just drew the foire, an’ thim’s the hot coals! Be careful o’ the cinder poile! ” “What did he say?” asked Hawkins superciliously. “““ Be careful of the cinder pile,’ I think.” “Oh, we won’t hurt your old cinder pile!” called the inventor jocosely, as the wreck of the Anti-Fire-Fly swooped down with a rush. “But the cinders!” howled the man. “Bedad! Theyre into it! Mike! Mike! Bring the hose! The hose! ” And we were into it! | A final rush of air and we struck the pile with a thud. And for my part, I had no sooner landed than I bounced. to my feet with a shriek, for that cin- der pile was about the hottest proposi- tion it has ever been my misfortune to meet. The cords were all about me, and as I pulled wildly in one direction, I could feel Hawkins pulling as wildly in the opposite. “Let go! screamed. “ Come my way! Lord! I’m all afire! Come, quick! ” “Tm not going to climb back over that infernal heap!” I shouted. “ You come this way.! ” “But my feet! Theyre burning, and ”? | A mighty stream of water knocked me headlong to the ground. Sizzling, steaming on the red-hot cinders, it caught Hawkins and hurled his panting person to the other side, Anti-Fire-Fly and all. Mike had arrived with the hose. After a period of wallowing in water and mud I regained my feet. Hawkins was already standing a hittle distance away, torn, scorched, drenched, black with cinders and star- ing wild-eyed about him. “ Why—why—Griggs,” he mumbled, what—did—we——’ Let go, Griggs!” he (SO MICOOO (COL