"natural" death. (He was a bit Irish--as all Scots are--back on one
side.)

But the strangest is to come. The Professor, next morning, proved
uncomfortably unsociable, and though he could have done a roaring
business that night--and for a week of nights after, for that
matter--and though he was approached several times, he, for some
mysterious reason known only to himself, flatly refused to give one
more performance, and said he was leaving the town that day. He
couldn't get a vehicle of any kind, for fear, love, or money, until
Harry Chatswood, who took a day off, volunteered, for a stiff
consideration, to borrow a buggy and drive him (the Professor) to the
next town towards the then railway terminus, in which town the
Professor's fame was not so awesome, and where he might get a lift to
the railway. Harry ventured to remark to the Professor once or twice
during the drive that "there was a rum business with old Mac's van
last night," but he could get nothing out of him, so gave it best,
and finished the journey in contemplative silence.

Now, the fact was that the Professor had been the most surprised and
startled man in Cunnamulla that night; and he brooded over the thing
till he came to the conclusion that hypnotism was a dangerous power
to meddle with unless a man was physically and financially strong and
carefree--which he wasn't. So he threw it up.

He learnt the truth, some years later, from a brother of Harry
Chatswood, in a Home or Retreat for Geniuses, where "friends were
paying," and his recovery was so sudden that it surprised and
disappointed the doctor and his friend, the manager of the home.
As it was, the Professor had some difficulty in getting out of it.