professor had told him when he was "operatin' on him" in the hall.
Then he began to feel a strange sort of numbness coming over him, and
his limbs went heavy as lead, and he seemed to be gettin'
light-headed. Then, all on a sudden, his arms seemed to begin to
lift, and just when he was goin' to pull 'em down the van started as
they had heard and seen it. After a while he got on to his knees and
managed to wrench a corner; of the front curtain clear of the button
and get his head out. And there was the van going helter-skelter, and
feeling like Tam o'Shanter's mare (the old man said), and he on her
barebacked. And there was no horses, but a cloud of dust--or a
spook--on ahead, and the bare pole steering straight for it, just as
the professor had said it would be. The old man thought he was going
to be taken clear across the Never-Never country and left to roast on
a sandhill, hundreds of miles from anywhere, for his sins, and he said
he was trying to think of a prayer or two all the time he was yelling.
They handed him more whisky from the publican's own bottle. Hushed
and cautious inquiries for the Professor (with a big P now) elicited
the hushed and cautious fact that he had gone to bed. But old Mac
caught the awesome name and glared round, so they hurriedly filled out
another for him, from the boss's bottle. Then there was a slight
commotion. The housemaid hurried scaredly in to the bar behind and
whispered to the boss. She had been startled nearly out of her wits
by the Professor suddenly appearing at his bedroom door and calling
upon her to have a stiff nobbler of whisky hot sent up to his room.
The jackaroo yard-boy, aforesaid, volunteered to take it up, and while
he was gone there were hints of hysterics from the kitchen, and the
boss whispered in his turn to the crowd over the bar. The jackaroo
just handed the tray and glass in through the partly opened door, had
a glimpse of pyjamas, and, after what seemed an interminable wait, he
came tiptoeing into the bar amongst its awe-struck haunters with an