I apologized for my impatience, which he gravely accepted, and then woke
Simon from his sleep.
"Where am I?" cried Simon. "Where've I been?"
"I can't tell," said the professor; "I wish I could, for then our work would be accomplished."
"Have you bin a-waccinatin' me?" said Simon.
The little man looked to me for explanation.
"He calls everything mysterious by that name," I said.
"'Cause," continued Simon, "I thought as how you waccinators, or mesmerists, made passes, as they call 'em, and waved your hands about, and like that."
"Did that Mr. Voltaire, I think you call him, make passes?" asked the professor.
"He!" said Simon. "He ain't no ordinary man. He's got dealin's with old Nick, he hev. He didn't come near me, nor touch me, and I wur sleepin' afore I could think of my grandmother."
"Just so; he is no ordinary man. He's a real student of psychology, he is. He has gone beyond the elements of our profession. I despise the foolish things which these quacks of mesmerism make Billy people do in order to please a gaping-mouthed audience. It is true I call myself a professor of mesmerism and clairvoyance, but it would be more correct to call me a practical psychologist. You'll attend to my wishes with regard to our friend, won't you? Good-morning."