reed, in the pale moonlight
now showing, that the sounds of the horses' hoofs had only been
"spirit-rappin' sounds;" and, after some more muttering, two of the
stoutest, with subdued oaths, laid hold of the pole and drew the van to
the side of the road, where it would be out of the way of chance night
traffic. But they stretched and rubbed their arms afterwards, and then,
and on the way back, they swore to admiring acquaintances that they felt
the "blanky 'lectricity" runnin' all up their arms and "elbers" while
they were holding the pole, which, doubtless, they did--in imagination.

They got old Mac back to the Royal, with sundry hasty whiskies on
the way. He was badly shaken, both physically, mentally, and in his
convictions, and, when he'd pulled himself together, he had little to
add to what they already knew. But he confessed that, when he got under
his possum rug in the van, he couldn't help thinking of the professor
and his creepy (it was "creepy," or "uncanny," or "awful," or "rum" with
'em now)--his blanky creepy hypnotism; and he (old Mac) had just laid on
his back comfortable, and stretched his legs out straight, and his arms
down straight by his sides, and drew long, slow breaths; and tried
to fix his mind on nothing--as the 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.