The cigars aboard, I had hoped to turn my face homeward. Not so Hawkins.

"Now, down we go to the square," he cried buoyantly, "do a turn before
the court house, float straight over the common, and then bounce away
home. I guess it'll make the natives talk, eh, Griggs?"

"Your things usually do, Hawkins," I sighed. "But why perform to-day?
This is only the first trial trip. Something might go wrong."

"My dear boy," laughed the inventor, "this is one of those trial trips
that simply can't go wrong, because every detail is perfected to the
uttermost limit."

That settled it; we made for the square.

The square, be it remarked, is in the center of the town. The court house
stands on one side, the post office on the other, and the square itself is
a beautifully kept lawn.

We were just in sight of the grass when I fancied that I detected a rattle.

"What's that noise, Hawkins?" I said.

"Give it up. Something in the machinery. It's nothing."

"But I seem to feel a peculiar shaking in the machine," I persisted.

"You seem to feel a great many things that don't exist, Griggs," remarked
Hawkins, with a touch of contempt.