“Dinner!” said I; “don’t awaken painful recollections.”
“Go and do as I tell you,” he replied. “Order dinner—beef-steak and oyster-sauce.”
“Beef-steak! Are you mad”—but before I could finish the sentence, he had put on his hat and disappeared.
“Who knows?” thought I, after he was gone, “he’s a devilish clever fellow, something may turn up:” so I ordered the beef-steaks. In less than an hour, my friend returned with exultation in his looks.
“I have done it!” said he, slapping me on the back; “we shall have plenty of money to-morrow.”
I begged he would explain himself.
“Briefly then,” said he, “I have been to the billiard-room, and every other lounging-place about town, where I circulated, in the most mysterious manner, a report that a celebrated German doctor and philosopher, who had discovered the secret of resuscitating the dead, had arrived in Loughrea.”
“How ridiculous!” I said.
“Don’t be in a hurry. This philosopher,” he added, “is about to give positive proof that he can perform what he professes, and it is his intention to go into the churchyard to-night, and resuscitate a few of those who have not been buried more than a twelvemonth.”
“Well.” said I, “what does all this nonsense come to?”