He waved his hands suddenly before my eyes.
"Feel any peculiar sensation at that?" he said.
"Yes," said I.
"What like?" he asked.
"I feel that I 'll not let you do it again," said I.
"Scared like? Feel kind o' slippin' away?"
"No," I said quietly: "not scared one little bit. But I object to your waving your hands within an inch of my face. Any man of grit would n't allow it."
"Well, well, say no more. We 'd better be investigating this yere shack. God! If there was only a drink on the premises. I tell you they 're comin' on again, and when they come on I 'm fearsome—I am."
He looked round the place again and then cried out in a voice of agony:
"Look here! I don't want to lose holt o' myself yet; perhaps a little bit of grub now might help me. I reckon I might be able to shove some down my neck as a dooty. You go and make up the fire outside, do."