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.
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