"It's all right, o' man; shut the door," he said, and then I
discovered him.

There he was right up close to the cornice in the corner by the door,
as though some one had glued him to the ceiling. His face was anxious
and angry. He panted and gesticulated. "Shut the door," he said.
"If that woman gets hold of it--"

I shut the door, and went and stood away from him and stared.

"If anything gives way and you tumble down," I said, "you'll break
your neck, Pyecraft."

"I wish I could," he wheezed.

"A man of your age and weight getting up to kiddish gymnastics--"

"Don't," he said, and looked agonised.

"I'll tell you," he said, and gesticulated.

"How the deuce," said I, "are you holding on up there?"

And then abruptly I realised that he was not holding on at all,
that he was floating up there--just as a gas-filled bladder might
have floated in the same position. He began a struggle to thrust
himself away from the ceiling and to clamber down the wall to me.
"It's that prescription," he panted, as he did so. "Your great-gran--"

He took hold of a framed engraving rather carelessly as he spoke