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Updated: June 25, 2025
Sizzling, steaming on the red-hot cinders, it caught Hawkins and hurled his panting person to the other side, Anti-Fire-Fly and all. Mike had arrived with the hose. After a period of wallowing in water and mud I regained my feet. Hawkins was already standing a little distance away, torn, scorched, drenched, black with cinders and staring wild-eyed about him.
"It was the Hawkins Anti-Fire-Fly," I said spitefully. "Fly away from fire with the Anti-Fire-Fly, you know. Tell your wife about it, Hawkins." Then Mrs. Hawkins addressed her husband and said but let that pass. We have all the essential facts of the case as it is. Moreover, a successful author told me last week that unhappy endings are in the worst possible taste just now.
"That, Griggs," sneered Hawkins, "is about the view a poor little brain like yours, permeated with cheap humor, would take. Really, I don't suppose you could guess the purpose or the name of that thing if you tried a week." "Candidly, I don't think I could. What is it?" "It's the Hawkins Anti-Fire-Fly!" said the inventor. "The Hawkins what?" I ejaculated.
"Yes, sir, that's where we'll drop. D'ye see that fellow wheeling a wheelbarrow toward the pile? Hey!" The man glanced up in amazement. "Farther down every minute!" pursued Hawkins. "I knew we'd be all right! Maybe the Anti-Fire-Fly isn't such a bad thing after all, eh?" "Maybe not," I sighed. "But I'll take the red-hot ladder." "Go ahead and take it," chattered the inventor.
"The Anti-Fire-Fly!" repeated Hawkins enthusiastically. "Say, Griggs, how that will sound in an advertisement: 'Fly Away From Fire With The Anti-Fire-Fly! Great, isn't it?" "So it's a fire escape?" "Certainly," chuckled Hawkins, digging around among the ribs and bringing into tangible shape what looked like several sets of huge bird-wings.
"No more climbing down red-hot ladders through belching flames! No more children being thrown from fifth story windows! No, siree! All we have to do now is to place the Anti-Fire-Fly on the window-sill, spread the wings, jump into the basket, push her off, and " "And drop to instant death!"
I wondered whether the accursed Anti-Fire-Fly would dump us out and flutter away into eternity, to leave our fate unexplained, or whether it would accompany us to our doom and be found gloating over the respective grease-spots that would represent all that was mortal of Hawkins and myself. And at about this point in my meditations, I noted that we were sailing over Union Square.
And still later, when I had been choked and twisted almost into insensibility by the eccentric dives of the affair and the consequent tightening of the cords, he revived me with: "By George, Griggs, we're sinking toward land!" I managed to look downward. Hawkins had told the truth. The wind was indeed going down, and with it the remains of the Anti-Fire-Fly.
We'll go into the street this time, and " "Thank you, Hawkins," I said, positively. "Don't count me in on that. I'll wait for the fire before dabbling with your Anti-Fire-Fly." "Oh, well, come with me, anyway. I'm going down once more. You've no idea of the sensation."
It was a considerable feat of engineering to persuade the Anti-Fire-Fly into passing through the scuttle, but Hawkins finally accomplished it, and pushed the contrivance to the edge of the roof. "Now that thing will carry a small family with ease and safety," he said proudly. "Just sit down in the basket and feel the roominess. Oh, don't be afraid. I'll come, too."
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