The Wanderings of a Spiritualist

We had a wonderful reception at Sydney. I have a great shrinking from / such deputations as they catch you at the moment when you are exhausted / and unkempt after a long journey, and when you need all your energies to / collect your baggage and belongings so as to make your way to your / hotel. But on this occasion it was so hearty, and the crowd of faces / beamed such good wishes upon us that it was quite a pick-me-up to all of / us. "God bless you! " and "Thank God you have come! " reached us from all / sides. My wife, covered with flowers, was hustled off in one direction, / while I was borne away in another, and each of the children was the / centre of a separate group. Major Wood had gone off to see to the / luggage, and Jakeman was herself embedded somewhere in the crowd, so at / last I had to shout, "Where's that little girl? Where's that little / boy? " until we reassembled and were able, laden with bouquets, to reach / our carriage. The evening paper spread itself over the scene.

"When Sir Conan Doyle, his wife and their three children arrived from / Melbourne by the express this morning, an assembly of Spiritualists / accorded them a splendid greeting. Men swung their hats high and / cheered, women danced in their excitement, and many of their number / rushed the party with rare bouquets. The excitement was at its highest, / and Sir Conan being literally carried along the platform by the pressing / crowds, when a digger arrived on the outskirts. 'Who's that? ' he asked / of nobody in particular. Almost immediately an urchin replied, 'The / bloke that wrote "Sherlock Holmes. " When asked if the latter gentleman / was really and irretrievably dead the author of his being remarked, / 'Well, you can say that a coroner has never sat upon him."