"I have no drugs here, but already I have despatched a man to San
Lorenzo for strychnia, which in the first stage is invaluable.
Meantime I must do what I can with whisky. Have you plenty of whisky?"
"Yes, but----"
"I want a gallon of it."
"Of course you are aware--you know, I mean----"
The Professor waved a powerful arm; beneath his shaggy brows his grey
eyes sparkled angrily.
"I know what I am doing," he said sharply, "and I cannot waste
valuable time imparting to a layman knowledge gathered during a
lifetime. The whisky, please--_at once_."
I obeyed meekly. Five minutes later, the Professor was walking towards
the bunk-house with a gallon demijohn tucked under his arm. A quarter
of an hour afterwards he might have been seen returning. His eyes were
positively snapping with vigour and excitement, for he loved a fight
for a fight's sake. Ajax met him.
"Professor," he said, "I don't want you to impart the knowledge of a
lifetime to me, but do, please, tell us something. We are on edge with
anxiety."
The man of science melted. With a shrug of his massive shoulders, he
said, mildly for him--
"My dear sir, I will try to gratify a not unreasonable curiosity.
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