An assistant, in the light and airy costume which I have so often noticed in Central Africa, in midsummer, beckoned to me, after I had laid aside a quantity of goods, (belonging to my tailor, and other downtown business men,) and I followed him.
The room we entered was heated by what I took to be a successful furnace. I must have been mistaken, however, for I understood the assistant to apologise because, by reason of a defect in the flues, they had been able to get the temperature up only to about 475 degrees that morning. I was a little disappointed, but simply suggested that the thermometer was Fair in Height; but if I felt chilly I would send out for some blankets.
He laid me on a slatted conch.
I experienced a gentle glow.
Afterwards, (I don't know why, exactly, I have always attributed it to the temperature,) I felt hot--hotter--Hottentotter! It seemed as though the equator ran right along the line of my back-bone.
I didn't care.
I couldn't recollect whether my name was SHADRACH, MESHACH, or ABEDNEGO; but I was baking and sizzling just as furiously as though I had paid in advance. My pores were opening, and the perspiration was immense. A red bandanna handkerchief would have been swamped.
There was a bald-headed man next me. He said he had been lying there three weeks, and he was going home next Saturday if he didn't strike oil. I grappled with the allusion, and replied that that was a poor opening any way, and I didn't believe I could myself lie there so coolly.
Waiting till my identity was pretty much gone, I dropped into another marble hall. The assistant (to whom my warmest thanks are due) scooped up what was left of me and laid me on a slab.
The assistant said I needed him, but, to the best of my recollection, he kneaded me. He went all over me, taking up a collection, and did first-rate. I threw off all reserve--about half a pound, I should judge. He seemed to take a fancy to me. I never knew a man to get so intimate on short acquaintance.