Later he addressed me through a dreamland haze and said that not a bone
was broken. I recall giving him a foolish smile and thanking him politely.

Some twenty feet away I was conscious that Hawkins was chattering volubly
to a crowd of eager faces. His own features were bruised almost beyond
recognition, but he, too, was evidently on this side of the River Jordan,
and I felt a faint sense of irritation that the Auto-aero-mobile hadn't
made an end of him.

My wits must have remained some time aloft for a last inspection of the
spot where ended our aerial flight. Certainly they did not wholly return
until I found myself sitting beside Hawkins in Brotherton's carriage.

We were just driving past a pile of red scrap-metal that had once been the
auto, and the wondering crowd was parting to let us through.

"Well, that's the end of your aerothingamajig, Hawkins," I observed, with
deep satisfaction.

"Oh, yes, experience is expensive, but a great teacher," replied the
inventor, thickly, removing a wet cloth from his much lacerated upper lip
to permit speech. "When I build the next one----"

"You'll have to get a divorce before you build the next one," I added,
with still deeper satisfaction, as I pictured in imagination the lively
little domestic fracas that awaited Hawkins.

If his excellent lady gets wind of the doings in his "workshop," Hawkins
rarely invents the same thing twice.