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Updated: May 7, 2025
"Gibberne," I cried, coming up, "put it down. This heat is too much! It's our running so! Two or three miles a second! Friction of the air!" "What?" he said, glancing at the dog. "Friction of the air," I shouted. "Friction of the air. Going too fast. Like meteorites and things. Too hot. And, Gibberne! Gibberne! I'm all over pricking and a sort of perspiration. You can see people stirring slightly.
There was a breeze, of course, but not so much breeze as sufficed under these conditions to keep me cool and dry. I panted for mercy. "I'm not walking fast, am I?" cried Gibberne, and slackened his pace to a quick march. "You've been taking some of this stuff," I puffed. "No," he said. "At the utmost a drop of water that stood in a beaker from which I had washed out the last traces of the stuff.
Certainly, if ever a man found a guinea when he was looking for a pin, it is my good friend Professor Gibberne. I have heard before of investigators overshooting the mark, but never quite to the extent that he has done. He has really, this time at any rate, without any touch of exaggeration in the phrase, found something to revolutionise human life.
It showed, no doubt, that Gibberne has still much to learn before his preparation is a manageable convenience, but its practicability it certainly demonstrated beyond all cavil.
Sometimes he talked nervously of unexpected physiological results its use might have, and then he would get a little unhappy; at others he was frankly mercenary, and we debated long and anxiously how the preparation might be turned to commercial account. "It's a good thing," said Gibberne, "a tremendous thing.
As every one knows, or at least as all intelligent people know, the special department in which Gibberne has gained so great and deserved a reputation among physiologists is the action of drugs upon the nervous system. Upon soporifics, sedatives, and anaesthetics he is, I am told, unequalled.
And think if you, for example, wanted to finish a book." "Usually," I said, "I wish I'd never begun 'em." "Or a doctor, driven to death, wants to sit down and think out a case. Or a barrister or a man cramming for an examination." "Worth a guinea a drop," said I, "and more to men like that." "And in a duel, again," said Gibberne, "where it all depends on your quickness in pulling the trigger."
Gibberne is now working at the quantitative handling of his preparation, with especial reference to its distinctive effects upon different types of constitution. He then hopes to find a Retarder, with which to dilute its present rather excessive potency.
"Rather," said Gibberne, turning on me in his study. "There it is in that little green phial there! Unless you happen to be afraid?" I am a careful man by nature, and only theoretically adventurous. I WAS afraid. But on the other hand there is pride. "Well," I haggled. "You say you've tried it?" "I've tried it," he said, "and I don't look hurt by it, do I? I don't even look livery and I FEEL "
Assuredly of all the strange experiences that I have ever had, or imagined, or read of other people having or imagining, that little raid I made with Gibberne on the Folkestone Leas, under the influence of the New Accelerator, was the strangest and maddest of all. We went out by his gate into the road, and there we made a minute examination of the statuesque passing traffic. The tops of the wheels and some of the legs of the horses of this char-
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