Jem gave one quick glance at Kearns and was off after his companion.
Kearns and the Professor stood watching their rapidly retreating figures until they disappeared around the bend of a hill.
“Well—I’m hanged!” exclaimed Kearns. “Mad,” he added with conviction, “mad as March hares.”
“You see what comes of ill-advised asperity!” remarked Dean reprovingly. “Instead of soothing these two unfortunate madmen, you have thrown them into a condition of excitement. Your impetuosity has reacted upon them. You have sent them flying—running amuck—and God knows what may happen to any unfortunate who crosses their path!”
“But did you ever know of such impudence?” cried Kearns, still angry. “I civilly ask these louts the direction of the main road and where I can hire a horse and carriage; they laugh in my face; invite me to ride on a pitchfork! Things have come to a pretty pass if every lunatic one meets thinks he has full license to be as impudent as he pleases. And they acted as if they thought we were crazy, confound them!”
“It’s a common delusion of crazy folks to imagine everyone is crazy except themselves,” said the Professor.
“Yes; that’s very true! I’ve noticed that!” assented Kearns.
“As I remarked before, a case of senile dementia, that little fellow,” said the Professor sagaciously; “a clear case of senile dementia, my good friend!”
“Yes,” declared Kearns, “I noted his sickly smile.”
“Well,” said Dean, “they’re gone and we are fortunately left alive to tell the story and to put the madhouse people on their trail. The next thing to be done is to find the main road and get to the nearest village. There we can hire a conveyance and get refreshments. I am both hungry and thirsty.”