Moreover, when Mrs. Hawkins drove over in style with Patrick, to take my
wife to somebody's afternoon euchre, and brought me a message from her
"Herbert," asking me to come and assist him in fighting off the demon of
loneliness, I should have realized that Fate was fairly clutching at me.

By this time I should be aware that when Hawkins is left alone he doesn't
bother with that sort of demon; he links arms with the old, original
Satan, and together they stroll into Hawkins' workshop--to perfect an
invention.

But I suspected nothing. I went over at once to keep Hawkins company.

When I reached his place, Hawkins didn't meet my eye at first, but
something else did.

For a moment, I fancied that the Weather Bureau had recognized Hawkins'
scientific attainments, and built an observatory for him out by the barn.
Then I saw that the thing was merely a tall, skeleton steel tower, with a
wind-mill on top--the contrivance with which many farmers pump water from
their wells.

"Well," remarked Hawkins, appearing at this point, "can you name it?"

"Well," I said, leaning on the gate and regarding the affair, "I imagine
that it is the common or domestic windmill."

"And your imagination, as usual, is all wrong," smiled Hawkins. "That,
Griggs, is the Hawkins Pumpless Pump!"

"What!" I gasped, vaulting into the road. "Another invention!"