"You see, Griggs," began Hawkins, uncertainly--"you see, the--the ratchet
on the big wheel--stuck. I'll put a new--a new ratchet there, and oil--
lots of oil--on the--the----"
"That's enough, Hawkins," I said.
"Come home."
"Yes, but don't you see," he groaned, holding fast to his battered skull
as I helped him back to the road, "if I get that one little point
perfected--it--it will revol----"
"Let it!" I snapped. "Sit here until I see what's left of my automobile."
Ten minutes later, Patrick having appeared to take charge of Maud S.,
Hawkins and I were making our homeward way in the runabout, which had
mercifully been spared.
Something in my face must have forbidden conversation, for Hawkins wrapped
the soiled fragments of his raiment about him in offended dignity, and was
silent on the subject of horse-brake.
Nor have I ever heard of the thing since. Possibly Mrs. Hawkins succeeded
in demonstrating the fallacy of the whole horse-brake theory; in fact,
from the expression on her face when we reached the house, I am inclined
to think that she did.
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