"I had it tiled last week," continued Hawkins. "A tiled well is absolutely
safe, you see. Nothing can happen in a tiled well, no----"

That was another of Hawkins' fallacies. Something happened right then
and there.

A gentle breeze started the windmill. Slowly, spectacularly, the ladder
began to move--downwards!

"Why, say!" cried the inventor, in amazement, as he made one futile effort
to regain the ground. "Do you think----"

I wasn't thinking for him, just then. All my wits were centered on one
great, awful problem.

Before I could realize it and release my hold, the ladder had dropped far
enough to throw me off my balance. The problem was whether to let go and
risk dashing down sixty feet, or to keep hold and run the very promising
chance of a slow and chilly ducking.

I took the latter alternative, threw myself upon the ladder, and clung
there, gasping with astonishment at the suddenness of the thing.

"Well, Hawkins?" I said, getting breath as my head sank below the level
of the beautiful earth.

"Well, Griggs," said the inventor defiantly, from the second rung below,
"the gear must have slipped--that's all."

"Isn't it lucky that this is a tiled well?"