“It was that,” he shouted, as he set to racing up and down again, “which let loose the dogs of envy, spite, and slander. They called him mad—him, Buggins, mad, ha-ha! It was the fools themselves were mad. He ignored their clamour; his vast brain was yet busy with immortal conceptions; he matured a scheme against Death from Flying-machines” (here he tore off one whisker and threw it into the fireplace); “he did more—he personally tested the theory of aerostatics” (here he tore off the other whisker, and stamped on it). “Too great, too absorbed, he never noticed that the unstable engine had landed him in the grounds of a private asylum, and, relieved of his weight, had soared away again. The attendants came; they seized and immured him; they would not believe his assurances that he was a perfect stranger. From that day to this, when fortuitous circumstances enabled him to escape, he has appealed to their justice, their humanity, in vain.”
Again he stopped before me, and, flinging his spectacles in my face, rent open the breast of his coat.
“Know me at last for what I am!” he yelled. “I am Buggins, and I appoint you my advocate in the action I am about to bring against the Commissioners of Lunacy!”
The door opened softly, and a masculine face peered round the edge. Its scrutiny appearing satisfactory, it was followed by the whole of an official form, which, in its entering, revealed another, large and passionless, standing behind it.
“Now, Mr. Buggins,” said the first, “we’re a-waitin’ for you to take up your cue.”
The visitor whipped round, started, chuckled, and, to my relief and surprise, responded rather abjectly.
“All right, Johnson,” he said. “I just slipped out between the acts for a whiff of fresh air.”
“Well,” said the man, “you must be quick and come along, or you’ll spile the play.”
He went quite tamely, and the second official outside received him stolidly into custody. Mate number one lingered to touch his cap to me and explain.
“Flyborough Asylum, sir. They give him a part in some private theatricals, and he tuk advantage of his disguise as a family lawyer to hook it between the acts. None of us reco’nized him, or guessed what he’d done, till the time come for him to take up his cue; and then, with the prompter howling for him and him not answering, the truth struck us of a heap.”