Windsor took the posters very quietly. Nothing but a circus or a Hawkesbury flood will stimulate the languid circulation of a native of its mud flats. Professor Norris and his assistant, who had arrived at Mrs. Brown’s family hotel that morning, had returned from a round of inspection, and met in their sitting-room to compare notes.
“What do you think of the town, my dear? Is it not a fine, quaint old place?”
“I don’t know about being quaint, it is old enough. Why, half of the buildings seem to be empty, and the other half public houses? Whatever do the people do for a living?”
“Perhaps they drink in each other’s bars,” said the Professor simply.
“And do you know what Mrs. Brown asked me? She said we must pay each day’s hotel charges in advance!”
“It must be her large organ of Caution. This is very unusual.”
“So I told her, but she explained that shows had so often failed to make expenses in this ‘quaint’ old town of yours, that continued losses had forced them to make this stipulation. Nevertheless, she was kind enough to add that she would give something towards the subscription to pay our fare to Sydney when the time came.”
“That was her large organ of Benevolence, and very kind of her.”
“But what a place! I am sure I thought being a professional was something nice, that at any rate people would respect me; but it seems we are looked upon as little better than tramps. For my part I’m sick of it. Windsor is the last straw. Once catch me in Sydney again, and a team of bullocks shall not drag me out of it!”
“You are too impressionable, my dear. Remember our educational mission. It is not only for our own personal ends we travel, but more especially to awaken in men a more enlightened interest in those mesmeric and electric powers that invest them. Think of the cause, my dear, think of our mission.”