,
had a "numb sorter light-headed feelin'," and was told by a voice
from the back of the hall that his "leg was being pulled, Mac," and by
another buzzin' far-away kind of "ventrillick" voice that he would make
a good subject, and that, if he only had the will power and knew how
(which he would learn from a book the professor had to sell for five
shillings) he would be able to drive his van without horses or any
thing, save the pole sticking straight out in front. These weren't the
professor's exact words--But, anyway, Mae came to himself with a sudden
jerk, left with a great Scottish snort of disgust and the sound of heavy
boots along the floor; and after a resentful whisky at the Royal, where
they laughed at his scrooging bushy eyebrows, fierce black eyes and his
deadly-in-earnest denunciation of all humbugs and imposters, he returned
to the aforesaid van, let down the flaps, buttoned the daft and "feekle"
world out, and himself in, and then retired some more and slept, as I
have said, rolled in his blankets and overcoats on a bed of cushions,
and chaff-bag.

Harry Chatswood got down from his empty coach, and was helping the yard
boy take out the horses, when his eye fell on the remnant of a roll of
fencing wire standing by the stable wall in the light of the lantern.
Then an idea struck him unexpectedly, and his mind became luminous. He
unhooked the swinglebar, swung it up over his "leader's" rump (he was
driving only three horses that trip), and hooked it on to the horns
of the hames. Then he went inside (there was another light there) and
brought out a bridle and an old pair of spurs that were hanging on the
wall. He buckled on the spurs at the chopping block, slipped the winkers
off the leader and the bridle on, and took up the fencing-wire, and
started out the gate with the horse. The boy gaped after him once, and
then hurried to put up the other two horses. He knew Harry Chatswood,
and was in a hurry to see what he would be up to.

There was a good crowd in town for the show, or the races, or a stock
sale, or land ballot, or something; but most of them were tired, or at
tea--or in the pubs--and the corners were deserted. Observe how fate
makes time and things fit when she wants to do a good turn--or play
a practical joke. Harry Chatswood, for instance, didn't know anything
about the hypnotic business.

It was the corners of the main street or road and the principal short
cross street, and the van was opposite