"Sit up, now," he commanded, "and don't fall over." Monson stiffened straight, and the professor continued his passes until Monson's eyes took on a fixed expression. Then the mesmerist began twitching and pulling his patient's hair, sometimes gently, and again roughly. Then he took a chair, seated himself before Monson, as he had done in my case, and, taking his hands in his own, commanded him to stare at his eyes. Monson obeyed, and, in a few moments, his eyelids drooped. Soon he was asleep. But the professor continued the passes and the occasional twitching of the hair for fully five minutes; then he stood up and stepped back. The sweat was running down his face, and he wiped it off with his handkerchief. "Gentlemen," he said, "I have him in the somnambulistic stage, but it may be necessary to send him deeper. I will try. Monson, answer me," he commanded in a sharp voice. "Yes, sir," answered the sleeping man. "Do you hate cats?" "Yes, sir, I do." The professor made more passes, waited a few minutes; then made more, and again asked sternly: "Monson, do you hate cats?" There was no answer. The professor looked at us with a smile. "I think I have found him," he said. He again began the hair twitching, and after a few moments again questioned him. And the question brought Sullivan and me, gasping and choking, to our feet. "Devlin," he said, in a joking tone, "am I cutting your hair to your satisfaction?" "You are not," answered the sleeper. "I was doggy enough before, but ye're making a hairless Mexican poodle o' me 'stead of a fox terrier." "Devlin," shouted the professor, as he drew away his hands, "you are not a dog. You never have been a dog, and you never will be a dog. You are a man, and your name is not Monson. It never was Monson, and it never will be Monson. When you waken you will remember every event of your past life up to and after the time of the squall aboard the _Chariot_. You will remember everything. Wake up, Devlin, wake up, and don't count your trouble against me, old shipmate. I did not know my power then. I nearly drowned before that ship astern picked me up. Wake up, Devlin. Wake up." The professor was making furious passes upward. Slowly the man's eyes opened, and, with the daze of sleep still in them, he looked at the professor. "You're a bum barber, Andrus," he said. "I wouldn't give ye hell room." The professor did not catch his train that evening. Four old shipmates dined together; and the dinner lasted until it became a supper, and finally a breakfast. THE FIRE WORSHIPER