But Hawkins was already trotting back to the cars, and, with a
murmured benediction for the hapless mechanic who stood and trembled
alone on the platform of the Alcomotive, I followed.
We took seats in one of the cars.
"Well, why doesn't he start?" muttered the inventor.
"Maybe the fright has killed him," I suggested. "It's enough----"
Bang!
The Alcomotive had sprung into action once more. People slid out of
their seats with the shock, others toppled head over heels into the
aisle, the porter went down unceremoniously upon his sable countenance
and crushed into pulp the plate of tongue sandwich he had been
carrying.
But the Alcomotive was going--that was enough for Hawkins. He sat back
and watched the scenery slide by kinetoscope fashion.
"Lord, Lord, where's the old locomotive now?" he laughed pityingly.
"Don't shout till you're out of the wood, Hawkins," I cautioned him.
"We haven't reached Philadelphia yet."
"But can't you see that we're going to? Won't that poor little mind of
yours grapple with the fact that the Hawkins Alcomotive is a
success--a _success?_ Can't you feel the train shooting along----"
"I can feel that well enough," I said dubiously; "but suppose----"
"Suppose nothing! What have you to croak about now, Griggs? Actually,
there are times when you really make me physically weary.
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