As
we moved, the Tuttle person whisked the handkerchief from off the eyes
of his mount and with loud, shrill cries began to beat the sides of
its head with his soft hat, bobbing about in his saddle, moreover, as
if the beast were most unruly and like to dismount him. Cousin Egbert
joined in the yelling, I am sorry to say, and lashed his beast as if
he would overtake his companion. The cabman also became excited and
shouted his utmost, apparently in the way of encouragement. Strange to
say, I presume on account of the motion, I felt the thing was becoming
infectious and was absurdly moved to join in the shouts, restraining
myself with difficulty. I could distinctly imagine we were in the
hunting field and riding the tails off the hounds, as one might say.
In view of what was later most unjustly alleged of me, I think it as
well to record now that, though I had partaken freely of the
stimulants since our meeting with the Tuttle person, I was not
intoxicated, nor until this moment had I felt even the slightest
elation. Now, however, I did begin to feel conscious of a mild
exhilaration, and to be aware that I was viewing the behaviour of my
companions with a sort of superior but amused tolerance. I can account
for this only by supposing that the swift revolutions of the carrousel
had in some occult manner intensified or consummated, as one might
say, the effect of my previous potations.
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