IN WHICH PROFESSOR CHALLENGER GIVES HIS OPINION
Enid had stepped into the cab and Malone was following when his name was
called and a man came running down the street. He was tall, middle-aged,
handsome and well-dressed, with the clean-shaven, self-confident face of
the successful surgeon.
“Hullo, Malone! Stop!”
“Why, it’s Atkinson. Enid, let me introduce you. This is Mr. Atkinson of
St. Mary’s about whom I spoke to your father. Can we give you a lift? We
are going towards Victoria.”
“Capital!” The surgeon followed them into the cab. “I was amazed to see
you at a Spiritualist meeting.”
“We were only there professionally. Miss Challenger and I are both on
the Press.”
“Oh, really! The _Daily Gazette_, I suppose, as before. Well, you will
have one more subscriber, for I shall want to see what you made of
to-night’s show.”
“You’ll have to wait till next Sunday. It is one of a series.”
“Oh, I say, I can’t wait as long as that. What _did_ you make of it?”
“I really don’t know. I shall have to read my notes carefully to-morrow
and think it over, and compare impressions with my colleague here. She
has the intuition, you see, which goes for so much in religious
matters.”
“And what is your intuition, Miss Challenger?”
“Good--oh, yes, good! But, dear me, what an extraordinary mixture!”
“Yes, indeed, I have been several times and it always leaves the same
mixed impression upon my own mind. Some of it is ludicrous, and some of
it might be dishonest, and yet again some of it is clearly wonderful.”
“But you are not on the Press. Why were _you_ there?”
“Because I am deeply interested. You see, I am a student of psychic
matters and have been for some years. I am not a convinced one but I am
sympathetic, and I have sufficient sense of proportion to realise that
while I seem to be sitting in judgment upon the subject it may in truth
be the subject which is sitting in judgment upon me.”
Malone nodded appreciation.
“It is enormous. You will realise that as you get to close grips with
it. It is half a dozen great subjects in one. And it is all in the hands
of these good humble folk who, in the face of every discouragement and
personal loss, have carried it on for more than seventy years. It is
really very like the rise of Christianity. It was run by slaves and
underlings until it gradually extended upwards. There were three hundred
years between Cæsar’s slave and Cæsar getting the light.”
“But the preacher!” cried Enid in protest.
Mr. Atkinson laughed.
“You mean our friend from Atlantis. What a terrible bore the fellow was!
I confess I don’t know what to make of performances like that.
Self-deception, I think, and the temporary emergence of some fresh
strand of personality which dramatises itself in this way. The only
thing I am quite sure of is that it is not really an inhabitant of
Atlantis who arrives from his long voyage with this awful cargo of
platitudes. Well, here we are!”
“I have to deliver this young lady safe and sound to her father,” said
Malone. “Look here, Atkinson, don’t leave us. The Professor would really
like to see you.”
“What, at this hour! Why, he would throw me down the stairs.”
“You’ve been hearing stories,” said Enid. “Really it is not so bad as
that. Some people annoy him, but I am sure you are not one of them.
Won’t you chance it?”
“With that encouragement, certainly.” And the three walked down the
bright outer corridor to the lift.
Challenger, clad now in a brilliant blue dressing-gown, was eagerly
awaiting them. He eyed Atkinson as a fighting bulldog eyes some canine
stranger. The inspection seemed to satisfy him, however, for he growled
that he was glad to meet him.
“I’ve heard of your name, sir, and of your rising reputation. Your
resection of the cord last year made some stir, I understand. But have
you been down among the lunatics also?”
“Well, if you call them so,” said Atkinson with a laugh.
“Good Heavens, what else could I call them? I remember now that my young
friend here” (Challenger had a way of alluding to Malone as if he were a
promising boy of ten) “told me you were studying the subject.” He roared
with offensive laughter. “‘The proper study of mankind is spooks,’ eh,
Mr. Atkinson?”
“Dad really knows nothing about it, so don’t be offended with him,”
said Enid. “But I assure you, Dad, you would have been interested.” She
proceeded to give a sketch of their adventures, though interrupted by a
running commentary of groans, grunts and derisive jeers. It was only
when the Summerlee episode was reached that Challenger’s indignation and
contempt could no longer be restrained. The old volcano blew his head
off and a torrent of red-hot invective descended upon his listeners.
“The blasphemous rascals!” he shouted. “To think that they can’t let
poor old Summerlee rest in his grave. We had our differences in his time
and I will admit that I was compelled to take a moderate view of his
intelligence, but if he came back from the grave he would certainly have
something worth hearing to say to us. It is an absurdity--a wicked,
indecent absurdity upon the face of it. I object to any friend of mine
being made a puppet for the laughter of an audience of fools. They
didn’t laugh! They must have laughed when they heard an educated man, a
man whom I have met upon equal terms, talking such nonsense. I say it
_was_ nonsense. Don’t contradict me, Malone. I won’t have it! His
message might have been the postscript of a schoolgirl’s letter. Isn’t
that nonsense, coming from such a source? Are you not in agreement, Mr.
Atkinson? No! I had hoped better things from you.”
“But the descriptions?”
“Good Heavens, where are your brains? Have not the names of Summerlee
and Malone been associated with my own in some peculiarly feeble fiction
which attained some notoriety? Is it not also known that you two
innocents were doing the Churches week by week? Was it not patent that
sooner or later you would come to a Spiritualist gathering? Here was a
chance for a convert! They set a bait and poor old gudgeon Malone came
along and swallowed it. Here he is with the hook still stuck in his
silly mouth. Oh, yes, Malone, plain speaking is needed and you shall
have it.” The Professor’s black mane was bristling and his eyes glaring
from one member of the company to another.
“Well, we want every view expressed,” said Atkinson. “You seem very
qualified, sir, to express the negative one. At the same time I would
repeat in my own person the words of Thackeray. He said to some
objector: ‘What you say is natural, but if you had seen what I have seen
you might alter your opinion.’ Perhaps some time you will be able to
look into the matter, for your high position in the scientific world
would give your opinion great weight.”
“If I have a high place in the scientific world as you say, it is
because I have concentrated upon what is useful and discarded what is
nebulous or absurd. My brain, sir, does not pare the edges. It cuts
right through. It has cut right through this and has found fraud and
folly.”
“Both are there at times,” said Atkinson, “and yet ... and yet! Ah,
well, Malone, I’m some way from home and it is late. You will excuse me,
Professor. I am honoured to have met you.”
Malone was leaving also and the two friends had a few minutes’ chat
before they went their separate ways, Atkinson to Wimpole Street and
Malone to South Norwood, where he was now living.
“Grand old fellow!” said Malone, chuckling. “You must never get offended
with him. He means no harm. He is splendid.”
“Of course he is. But if anything could make me a real out-and-out
Spiritualist it is that sort of intolerance. It is very common, though
it is generally cast rather in the tone of the quiet sneer than of the
noisy roar. I like the latter best. By the way, Malone, if you care to
go deeper into this subject I may be able to help you. You’ve heard of
Linden?”
“Linden, the professional medium. Yes, I’ve been told he is the greatest
blackguard unhung.”
“Ah, well, they usually talk of them like that. You must judge for
yourself. He put his knee-cap out last winter and I put it in again, and
that has made a friendly bond between us. It’s not always easy to get
him, and of course a small fee, a guinea I think, is usual, but if you
wanted a sitting I could work it.”
“You think him genuine?”
Atkinson shrugged his shoulders.
“I daresay they all take the line of least resistance. I can only say
that I have never detected him in fraud. You must judge for yourself.”
“I will,” said Malone. “I am getting hot on this trail. And there is
copy in it, too. When things are more easy I’ll write to you, Atkinson,
and we can go more deeply into the matter.”