strangely inspiring than that of medicine. Odd herbs
and unspeakable things when properly compounded under
a favorable aspect of the heavenly bodies are potent
to achieve miraculous cures, and few are the Chinamen
who do not brew some special concoction of their own
devising for the lesser ills which beset mankind.

Sing was no exception in this respect. In various
queerly shaped, bamboo covered jars he maintained
a supply of tonics, balms and lotions. His first thought
when he had made Professor Maxon comfortable upon the
couch was to fetch his pet nostrum, for there burned
strong within his yellow breast the same powerful
yearning to experiment that marks the greatest of the
profession to whose mysteries he aspired.

Though the hideous noises from the inner campong rose
threateningly, the imperturbable Sing left the bungalow
and passed across the north campong to the little lean-to
that he had built for himself against the palisade that
separated the north enclosure from the court of mystery.

Here he rummaged about in the dark until he had found
the two phials he sought. The noise of the monsters
upon the opposite side of the palisade had now assumed
the dimensions of pandemonium, and through it all the
Chinaman heard the constant crack that was the sharp
voice of the bull whip.

He had completed his search and was about to return