Part 13 (2/2)

”Do you know,” she said, ”sometimes I think people from the other world do speak to me.”

”But you said,” Winthrop objected, ”you didn't believe.”

”I know,” returned Vera. ”I can't!” Her voice was perplexed, impatient.

”Why, I can sit in this chair,” she declared earnestly, ”and fill this room with spirit voices and rappings, and you sitting right there can't see how I do it. And yet, in spite of all the tricks, sometimes I believe there's something in it.”

She looked at Winthrop, her eyes open with inquiry. He shook his head.

”Yes,” insisted the girl. ”When these women come to me for advice, I don't invent what I say to them. It's as though something told me what to say. I have never met them before, but as soon as I pa.s.s into the trance state I seem to know all their troubles. And I seem to be half in this world and half in another world--carrying messages between them.

Maybe,” her voice had sunk to almost a whisper; she continued as though speaking to herself, ”I only think that. I don't know. I wonder.”

There was a long pause.

”I wish,” began Winthrop earnestly, ”I wish you were younger, or I were older.”

”Why?” asked Vera.

”Because,” said the young man, ”I'd like to talk to you--like a father.”

Vera turned and smiled on him securely, with frank friendliness. ”Go ahead,” she a.s.sented, ”talk to me like a father.”

Winthrop smiled back at her, and then frowned.

”You shouldn't be in this business,” he said.

The girl regarded him steadily.

”What's the matter with the business?” she asked.

Winthrop felt she had put him upon the defensive, but he did not hesitate.

”Well,” he said, ”there may be some truth in it. But we don't know that. We do know that there's a lot of fraud and deceit in it. Now,” he declared warmly, ”there's nothing deceitful about you. You're fine,” he cried enthusiastically, ”you're big! That boy who was in here told me one story about you that showed--”

Vera stopped him sharply.

”What do you know of me?” she asked bitterly. ”The first time you ever saw me I was in a police court; and this morning--you heard that man threaten to put me in jail--”

In turn, by abruptly rising from his chair, Winthrop interrupted her.

He pushed the chair out of his way, and, shoving his hands into his trousers' pockets, began pacing with long, quick strides up and down the room. ”What do I care for that?” he cried contemptuously. He tossed the words at her over his shoulder. ”I put lots of people in jail myself that are better than I am. Only, they won't play the game.” He halted, and turned on her. ”Now, you're not playing the game. This is a mean business, taking money from silly girls and old men. You're too good for that.” He halted at the table and stood facing her. ”I've got two sisters uptown,” he said. He spoke commandingly, peremptorily. ”And tomorrow I am going to take you to see them. And we fellow townsmen,” he smiled at her appealingly, ”will talk this over, and we'll make you come back to your own people.”

For a moment the two regarded each other. Then the girl answered firmly, but with a slight hoa.r.s.eness in her voice, and in a tone hardly louder than a whisper:

”You know I can't do that!”

”I don't!” bl.u.s.tered Winthrop. ”Why not?”

”Because,” said the girl steadily, ”of what I did in Geneva.” As though the answer was the one he had feared, the man exclaimed sharply, rebelliously.

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