Part 11 (2/2)
”There's no exception?” asked Embury, quite surprised.
”Not among the professionals. They wouldn't keep on in their profession if they didn't put up the goods. And to do that, they've got to use the means.”
”Why--why, young man--” cried Aunt Abby, explosively, ”you just read 'The Voice of Isis'! You read--”
”That's all right, they are plenty of fake books, more, prob'ly, than fake mediums, but you read some books that I'll recommend. You read 'Behind the Scenes With the Mediums,' or 'The Spirit World Unveiled,'
and see where you're at then! No, ma'am, the only good spook is a dead spook, and they don't come joy-riding back to earth.”
”But,” and Eunice gazed earnestly at her guest, ”is there nothing--nothing at all in telepathy?”
”Now you've asked a question, ma'am. I don't say there isn't, but I do say there isn't two per cent of what the fakers claim there is. I'll grant just about two per cent of real stuff in this talk of telepathy and thought-transference, and even that is mostly getting a letter the very day you were thinking about the writer!”
Embury laughed. ”That's as close as I've ever come to it,” he said.
”Yep, that's the commonest stunt. That and the ghostly good-by appearance of a friend that's dyin' at the time in a distant land.”
”Aren't those cases ever true?” Eunice asked.
”'Bout two per cent of 'em. Most of those that have been traced down to actual evidence have fizzled out. Well, I must be going. You see, now, I've sold this whole spiel that I've just given you folks to a big newspaper syndicate, and I got well paid. That puts me on Easy Street, for the time bein', and I'm going to practice up for a new stunt. When you hear again of w.i.l.l.y Hanlon, it'll be in a very different line of goods!”
”What?” asked Eunice, interestedly.
”'Scuse me, ma'am. I'd tell you, if I'd tell anybody. But, you see, it ain't good business. I just thought up a new line of work and I'm going to take time to perfect myself in it, and then spring it on a long-sufferin' public.”
”No, I won't ask you to tell, of course,” Eunice agreed, ”but when you give an exhibition, if it's near New York, let me know, won't you?”
”Yes, ma'am, I sure will. And now I'll move on.”
”Oh, no, you must wait for a cup of tea; we'll have it brought at once.”
Eunice left the room for a moment. Aunt Abby in dudgeon, refused to talk to the disappointing visitor. But the three men quickly engaged him in conversation and Hanlon told some anecdotes of his past experiences that kept them interested.
Ferdinand brought in the tea things, and Eunice, with her graceful hospitality, saw to it that her guest was in no way embarra.s.sed or bothered by unaccustomed service.
”I've had a right good time,” he said in his boyish way, as he rose to go. ”Thank you, ma'am, for the tea and things. I liked it all.”
His comprehensive glance that swept the room and its occupants was a sincere compliment and after he had gone there was only kindly comment on his personality.
Except from Aunt Abby.
”He's an ignorant boor,” she announced.
”Now, now,” objected Eunice, ”you only say that because he upset your favorite delusions. He punctured your bubbles and pulled down your air-castles. Give it up, Aunt Abby, there's nothing in your' Voice of Isis' racket!”
”Permit me to be the judge of my own five senses, Eunice, if you please.”
”That's just it, Miss Ames,” spoke up Hendricks. ”Is your psychic information, or whatever it is, discernible to your five senses, or any of them?”
”Of course, or how could I realize the presence of the psychic forces?”
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