Mr. Hawkins' Humorous Adventures Part 17

"Don't you see, eh?" said the inventor, with a prodigiously mysterious smile.

"Hardly. Have you made it invisible?"

"No and yes," chuckled Hawkins. "What would you say, Griggs, to a fire-escape that you kept indoors until it was needed?"

"I 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 gasolene or gunpowder or dynamite?"

"No, it does not!" said the inventor gruffly, 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 appearance. It seemed to be a huge clothes-basket, such as is used for transportation of the family "wash,"

and it was piled with what appeared to be the remains of as many white sun-umbrellas as could have been collected at half a dozen seaside resorts.

"What is it?" I said with a blank smile. "Junk?"

"No, it's not junk. That ma.s.s of ribs and white silk which looks like junk to your unaccustomed eye const.i.tutes a set of aeroplanes or wings."

"But the other thing is merely the common or domestic variety of wash-basket, is it not?"

"Well--er--yes," admitted Hawkins with cold dignity. "That happened to be the most suitable thing for my purpose in this experimental model.

Now, you see, when the wings are spread the basket is suspended beneath just as the car of a balloon is suspended from a gas-bag, and----"

"Aha! I see it all now!" I cried. "You fill the basket, point it in the right direction, and it flaps its wings and flies away to the washlady!"

"That, Griggs," sneered Hawkins, "is about the view a poor little brain like yours, permeated with cheap humor, would take. Really, I don't suppose you could guess the purpose or the name of that thing if you tried a week."

"Candidly, I don't think I could. What is it?"

"It's the Hawkins Anti-Fire-Fly!" said the inventor.

"The Hawkins--what?" I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"The Anti-Fire-Fly!" repeated Hawkins enthusiastically. "Say, Griggs, how that will sound in an advertis.e.m.e.nt: 'Fly Away From Fire With The Anti-Fire-Fly!' Great, isn't it?"

"So it's a fire escape?"

"Certainly," chuckled Hawkins, digging around among the ribs and bringing into tangible shape what looked like several sets of huge bird-wings. "No more climbing down red-hot ladders through belching flames! No more children being thrown from fifth story windows! No, siree! All we have to do now is to place the Anti-Fire-Fly on the window-sill, spread the wings, jump into the basket, push her off, and----"

"And drop to instant death!"

"And float gently away from the fire and down to the earth!" concluded Hawkins, opening the window and shoving out the basket until it fairly hung over the back yard. "Just watch me."

"See here!" I cried. "You're not going to get into that thing?"

"I'm not, eh? You watch me!"

Hawkins had clambered into the basket before I could lay a hand on him.

"Now!" he cried, giving a push with his foot.

My breathing apparatus seemed to go on strike. Hawkins, basket, wings, and all dropped from the window.

For an instant they went straight toward the earth; then, like a parachute opening, the wings spread gracefully, the descent slackened, and Hawkins floated down, down, down--until he landed in the center of the yard without a jar.

Really, I was amazed. It seemed to be either a special dispensation of Providence or an invention of Hawkins' which really worked.

A minute or two later he had labored back to my side, up the stairs, with the aerial fire-escape on his back.

"There!" he exclaimed. "What do you think of that?"

"It certainly seems to be a success."

"Well, rather! Now come up to the roof and have a drop with me. We'll go into the street this time, and----"

"Thank you, Hawkins," I said, positively. "Don't count me in on that.

I'll wait for the fire before dabbling with your Anti-Fire-Fly."

"Oh, well, come with me, anyway. I'm going down once more. You've no idea of the sensation."

It was a considerable feat of engineering to persuade the Anti-Fire-Fly into pa.s.sing through the scuttle, but Hawkins finally accomplished it, and pushed the contrivance to the edge of the roof.

"Now that thing will carry a small family with ease and safety," he said proudly. "Just sit down in the basket and feel the roominess. Oh, don't be afraid. I'll come, too."

"Yes, it's very nice," I said somewhat nervously, after crouching beside him for a moment. "I think I'll get out now."

"All ri--oh! Here! Wait!" cried Hawkins, grabbing my coat and pulling me back. "Sit down!"

"What for?"

"The--the--the wings!" stuttered the inventor. "The--the wind!"

"Great Scott!" I shouted as a sudden breeze caught the wings and tilted the basket far to one side. "Let me out!"

"No, no!" shrieked Hawkins wildly. "You'll break your neck, man! We're right on the edge of the roof now, and----"

And we were over the edge!

There was the street--miles below! Sickening dread choked me. I closed my eyes and gripped the basket as the accursed thing swayed from side to side and threatened every instant to precipitate us on the hard stones.

But it grew steadier presently. I looked about.

There was Hawkins hanging on for dear life, and white as death, but still serene. There, also, were numerous graveled roofs--some twenty feet below.