"You'll just come and look at the Bath-chair before you turn in?"
inquired Dr. MELCHISIDEC, of the Dilapidated One, "It's arrived all
right from Zurich. Come by post, apparently."

"Oh, that's nothing," continued young JERRYMAN, "why, there's nothing
you can't send by post in Switzerland, from a house full of furniture,
down to a grand piano or cage of canaries. You've only got to clap
a postage-stamp on it, and there you are!" And the arrival of the
Bath-chair certainly seemed to indicate that he was telling something
very like the truth.

[Illustration: The Trick Chair.]

"I don't quite see how this guiding-wheel is to act," remarked Dr.
MELCHISIDEC, examining the chair, which was of rather pantomimic
proportions, critically; "but suppose you just get in and try it! 'Pon
my word it almost looks like a 'trick-chair'!" which indeed it proved
itself to be, jerking up in a most unaccountable fashion the moment
the Dilapidated One put his foot into it, and unceremoniously sending
him flying out on to his head forthwith. "A little awkward at first,"
he remarked, assisting the Dilapidated One on to his feet. "One has
to get accustomed to these things, you see; but, bless you, in a
day or two you won't want it at all. You'll find the air here like
a continual draught of champagne. 'Pon my word, I believe you feel
better already," and with this inspiriting assurance the Dilapidated
One, who had not only covered himself with dust, but severely bruised
his shins, saying that "he thought, perhaps, he did--just a little,"
was again assisted to the lift, and safely consigned to his room,
where he was comfortably packed away for the night.