Bowing in response to the mighty cheer that greeted his appearance,
Hanlon stood, smiling at the crowd.
A young fellow he seemed to be, slender, well-knit and with a frank,
winning face. But he evidently meant business, for he turned at once to
Mr. Mortimer, and asked that the test be begun.
A few words from one of the staff of the newspaper that was backing
the enterprise informed the audience that the day before there had been
hidden in a distant part of the city a penknife, and that only the hider
thereof and the Hon. Mr. Mortimer knew where the hiding place was.
Hanlon would now undertake to go, blindfolded, to the spot and find the
knife, although the distance, as the speaker was willing to disclose,
was more than a mile. The blindfolding was to be done by a committee of
prominent citizens and was to be looked after so carefully that there
could be no possibility of Hanlon’s seeing anything.
After that, Hanlon engaged to go to the hiding place and find the knife,
on condition that Mr. Mortimer would follow him, and concentrate all his
willpower on mentally guiding or rather directing Hanlon’s footsteps.
The blindfolding, which was done in full view of the front ranks of
spectators, was an elaborate proceeding. A heavy silk handkerchief
had been prepared by folding it in eight thicknesses, which were then
stitched to prevent Clipping. This bandage was four inches wide and
completely covered the man’s eyes, but as an additional precaution
pads of cotton wool were first placed over his closed eyelids and the
bandage then tied over them.
Thus, completely blindfolded, Hanlon spoke earnestly to Mr. Mortimer.
“I must ask of you, sir, that you do your very best to guide me
aright. The success of this enterprise depends quite as much on you as
on myself. I am merely receptive, you are the acting agent. I strive to
keep my mind a blank, that your will may sway it in the right direction.
I trust you, and I beg that you will keep your whole mind on the quest.
Think of the hidden article, keep it in your mind, look toward it.
Follow me--not too closely--and mentally push me in the way I should
go. If I go wrong, will me back to the right path, but in no case get
near enough to touch me, and, of course, do not speak to me. This
test is entirely that of the influence of your will upon mine. Call it
telepathy, thought-transference, will-power--anything you choose, but
grant my request that you devote all your attention to the work in hand.
If your mind wanders, mine will; if your mind goes straight to the goal,
mine will also be impelled there.”
With a slight bow, Hanlon stood motionless, ready to start.
The preliminaries had taken place on a platform, hastily built for the
occasion, and now, with Mortimer behind him, Hanlon started down the
steps to the street.
Reaching the pavement, he stood motionless for a few seconds and then,
turning, walked toward Broad Street. Reaching it, he turned South,
and walked along, at a fairly rapid gait. At the crossings he paused
momentarily, sometimes as if uncertain which way to go, and again
evidently assured of his direction.
The crowd surged about him, now impeding his progress and now almost
pushing him along. He gave them no heed, but made his way here or there
as he chose and Mortimer followed, always a few steps behind, but near
enough to see that Hanlon was in no way interfered with by the throng.
Indeed, so anxious were the onlookers that fair play should obtain, the
ones nearest to the performer served as a cordon of guards to keep his
immediate surroundings cleared.
Hanlon’s actions, in all respects, were those that might be expected
from a blindfolded man. He groped, sometimes with outstretched hands,
again with arms folded or hands clasped and extended, but always with an
expression, so far as his face could be seen, of earnest, concentrated
endeavor to go the right way. Now and then he would half turn, as if
impelled in one direction, and then hesitate, turn and march off the
other way. One time, indeed, he went nearly half a block in a wrong
street. Then he paused, groped, stumbled a little, and gradually
returned to the vicinity of Mortimer, who had stood still at the corner.
Apparently, Hanlon had no idea of his detour, for he went on in the
right direction, and Mortimer, who was oblivious to all but his mission,
followed interestedly.
One time Hanlon spoke to him. “You are a fine ‘guide,’ sir,” he
said. “I seem impelled steadily, not in sudden thought waves, and I
find my mind responds well to your will. If you will be so good as to
keep the crowd away from us a little more carefully. I don’t want
you any nearer me, but if too many people are between us, it interferes
somewhat with the transference of your guiding thought.”
“Do you want to hear my footsteps?” asked Mortimer, thoughtfully.
“That doesn’t matter,” Hanlon smiled. “You are to follow me,
sir, even if I go wrong. If I waited to hear you, that would be no test
at all. Simply will me, and then follow, whether I am on the right
track or not. But keep your mind on the goal, and look toward it--if
convenient. Of course, the looking toward it is no help to me, save as
it serves to fix your mind more firmly on the matter.”
And then Hanlon seemed to go more carefully. He stepped slowly,
feeling with his foot for any curbstone, grating or irregularity in the
pavement. And yet he failed in one instance to feel the edge of an open
coalhole, and his right leg slipped down into it.
Some of the nearby watchers grabbed him, and pulled him back without his
sustaining injury, for which he thanked them briefly and continued.
Several times some sceptical bystanders put themselves deliberately in
front of the blindfolded man, to see if he would turn out for them.
On the contrary, Hanlon bumped into them, so innocently, that they were
nearly thrown down.
He smiled good-naturedly, and said, “All right, fellows; I don’t
mind, if you don’t. And I don’t blame you for wanting to make sure
that I’m not playing ‘possum!”
Of course, Hanlon carried no light cane, such as blind men use, to
tap on the stones, so he helped himself by feeling the way along shop
windows and area gates, judging thus, when he was nearing a cross
street, and sometimes hesitating whether to cross or turn the corner.
After a half-hour of this sort of progress he found himself in a vacant
lot near the edge of the city. There had been a building in the middle
of the plot of ground, but it had been burned down and only a pile of
blackened debris marked the place.
Reaching the corner of the streets that bounded the lot, Hanlon made no
pause, but started on a straight diagonal toward the center of the lot.
He stepped into a tangle of charred logs and ashes, but forged ahead
unhesitatingly, though slowly, and picked his way by thrusting the toe
of his shoe tentatively forward.
Mortimer, about three paces behind him, followed, unheeding the rubbish
he stalked through, and very evidently absorbed in doing his part to its
conclusion.
For the knife was hidden in the very center of the burned-down house. A
bit of flooring was left, on which Hanlon climbed, Mortimer getting up
on it also.
Hanlon walked slowly round in a circle, the floor being several
yards square. Mortimer stepped behind him, gravely looking toward the
hiding-place, and exerting all his mentality toward “guiding” Hanlon
to it. At no time was he nearer than two feet, though once, making a
quick turn, Hanlon nearly bumped into him. Finally, Hanlon, poking about
in the ashes with his right foot, kicked against something. He picked it
up and it proved to be only a bit of wire. But the next moment he
struck something else, and, stooping, brought up triumphantly the hidden
penknife, which he waved exultantly at the crowd.
Loud and long they cheered him. Cordially Mr. Mortimer grasped the
hands of the hero, and it was with some difficulty that Alvord Hendricks
restrained Miss Abby Ames from getting out of his car and rushing to
congratulate the successful treasure-seeker.
“Now,” she exclaimed; “no one can ever doubt the fact of telepathy
after this! How else could that young man have done what he has done.
Answer me that!”
“It’s all a fake,” asserted Hendricks, “but I’m ready to
acknowledge I don’t know how it’s done. It’s the best game I ever
saw put up, and I’d like to know how he does it.”
“Seems to me,” put in Eunice, a little dryly, “one oughtn’t to
insist that it is a fake unless one has some notion, at least, of how it
could be done. If the man could see--could even peep--there might be a
chance for trickery. But with those thick cotton pads on his eyes and
then covered with that big, thick, folded silk handkerchief--it’s
really a muffle-there’s no chance for his faking.”
“And if he could see--if his eyes were wide open--how would he know
where to go?” demanded Aunt Abby. “That blindfolding is only so he
can’t see Mr. Mortimer’s face, if he turns round, and judge from its
expression. And also, I daresay, to help him concentrate his mind, and
not be diverted or distracted by the crowd and all.”
“All the same, I don’t believe in it,” and Hendricks shook his
head obstinately. “There is no such thing as telepathy, and this
‘willing’ business has all been exposed years ago.”
“I remember,” and Aunt Abby nodded; “you mean that Bishop man and
all that. But this affair it quite different. You don’t believe Mr.
Mortimer was a party to deceit, do you?”
“No, I don’t. Mortimer is a judge and a most honest man, besides.
He wouldn’t stoop to trickery in a thing of this sort. But he has been
himself deceived.”
“Then how was it done?” cried Eunice, triumphantly; “for no one
else knew where the knife was hidden, except that newspaper man who hid
it, and he was sincere, of course, or there’d be no sense in the whole
thing.”
“I know that. Yes, the newspaper people were hoodwinked, too.”
“Then what happened?” Eunice persisted. “There’s no possible
explanation but telepathy. Is there, now?”
“I don’t know of any,” Hendricks was forced to admit. “After the
excitement blows over a little, I’ll try to speak with Mortimer again.
I’d like to know his opinion.”
They sat in the car, looking at the hilarious crowds of people, most of
whom seemed imbued with a wild desire to get to the hero of the hour and
demand his secret.
“There’s a man who looks like Tom Meredith,” said Eunice,
suddenly. “By the way, Alvord, where do the Merediths stand in the
matter of the club election?”
“Which of them?”
“Either--or both. I suppose they’re on your side--they never seemed
to like Sanford much.”
“My dear Eunice, don’t be so narrow-minded. Club men don’t vote
one way or another because of a personal like or dislike--they consider
the good of the club--the welfare of the organization.”
“Well, then, which side do they favor as being for the good of the
club?”
“Ask Sanford.”
“Oh--if you don’t want to tell me.”
Eunice looked provokingly pretty and her piquant face showed a petulant
expression as she turned it to Hendricks.
“Smile on me again and I’ll tell you anything you want to know: if I
know it myself.”
A dazzling smile answered this speech, and Hendricks’ gaze softened as
he watched her.
“But you’ll have to ask me something else, for, alas, the brothers
Meredith haven’t made a confidant of me.”
“Story-teller” and Eunice’s dark eyes assumed the look of a
roguish little girl. “You can’t fool me, Alvord; now tell me, and
I’ll invite you in to tea when we get home.”
“I’m going in, anyway.”
“Not unless you tell me what I ask. Why won’t you? Is it a secret?
Pooh! I’d just as lief ask Mr. Tom Meredith myself, if I could see
him. Never mind, don’t tell me, if you don’t want to. You’re not
my only confidential friend; there are others.”
“Who are they, Euny? I flattered myself I was your only really, truly
intimate friend--not even excepting your husband!”
“Oh, what a naughty speech! If you weren’t Sanford’s very good
friend, I’d never speak to you again!”
“I don’t see how you two men can be friends,” put in Aunt Abby,
“when you’re both after that same presidency.”
“That’s the answer!” Eunice laughed. “Alvord is San’s greatest
friend, because it’s going to be an easy thing for Sanford to win the
election from him! If there were a more popular candidate in Alvord’s
place, or a less popular one in Sanford’s place, it wouldn’t be such
a walkover!”
“You--you--” Hendricks looked at Eunice in speechless admiration.
The dancing eyes were impudent, the red lips curved scornfully, and she
made a daring little moue at him as she readjusted her black lace veil
so that a heavy bit of its pattern covered her mouth.
“What do you do that for? Move that darned flower, so I can see you
talk!”
She laughed then, and wrinkled her straight little nose until the veil
billowed mischievously.
“I wish you’d take that thing off,” Hendricks said, irritatedly;
“it annoys me.”
“And pray, sir, who are you, that I should shield you from annoyance?
My veil is a necessary part of my costume.”
“Necessary nothing! Take it off, I tell you!”
“Merry Christmas!” and Eunice gave him such a scornful shrug of her
furred shoulders that Hendricks laughed out, in sheer enjoyment of her
audacity.
“Tell me about the Merediths, and I’ll take off the offending
veil,” she urged, looking at him very coaxingly.
“All right; off with it.”
Slowly, and with careful deliberation, Eunice unpinned her veil, took
it off and folded it in a small, compact parcel. This she put in her
handbag, and then, with an adorable smile, said: “Now!”
“You beautiful idiot,” and Hendricks devoured her with his eyes.
“All I can tell you about the Merediths is, that I don’t know
anything about their stand on the election.”
“What do you guess, assume, surmise, imagine or predict?” she
teased, still fascinating him with her magnetic charm.
“Well, I think this: they’re a little too old-timey to take up
all my projects. But, on the other hand, they’re far from willing
to subscribe to your husband’s views. They do not approve of the
Sunday-school atmosphere he wants to bring about, nor do they shut their
eyes to the fact that the younger element must be considered.”
“Younger element! Do you call Sanford old?”
“No; he’s only twenty-eight this minute. But there are a lot of new
members even younger than that strange as it may seem! These boys
want gayety--yea, even unto the scorned movies and the hilarious
prize-fights--and as they are scions of the wealthy and aristocratic
families of our little old town, I think we should consider them. And,
since you insist on knowing, it is my firm belief, conviction and--I’m
willing to add--my hope that the great and influential Meredith brothers
agree with me! So there now, Madam Sanford Embury!”
“Thank you, Alvord; you’re clear, at least. Do you think I could
persuade them to come over to Sanford’s side?”
“I think you could persuade the statue of Jupiter Ammon to climb down
from his pedestal and take you to Coney Island, if you looked at him
like that! But I also think that friend husband will not consent to your
electioneering for him. It isn’t done, my dear Eunice.”
“As if I cared what is ‘done’ and what isn’t, if I want to help
Sanford.”
“Go ahead, then, fair lady; but remember that Sanford Embury stands
for the conservative element in our club, and anything you might try to
do by virtue of your blandishments or fascinations would be frowned
upon and would react against your cause instead of for it. If I might
suggest, my supporters, the younger set, the--well--the gayer set, would
more readily respond to such a plan. Why don’t you electioneer for
me?”
Eunice disdained to reply, and Aunt Abby broke into the discussion
by exclaiming: “Oh, Alvord, here comes Mr. Mortimer, and he has Mr.
Hanlon with him!”
Sure enough the two heroes of the day were walking toward the Hendricks
car, which, still standing near the scene of Hanlon’s triumph, awaited
a good chance for a getaway.
“I wonder if you ladies wouldn’t like to meet this marvel,”
began Mr. Mortimer, genially, and Aunt Abby’s delight was convincing,
indeed.
Eunice, too, greeted Mr. Hanlon cordially, and Hendricks held out a
welcoming hand.
“Tell us how you did it,” he said, smiling into the intelligent face
of the mysterious “mind-reader.”
“You saw,” he returned, simply, with a slight gesture of out-turned
palms, as if to disavow any secrets.
“Yes, I saw,” said Hendricks, “but with me, seeing is not
believing.”
“Don’t listen, Hanlon,” Mr. Mortimer said, smiling a little
resentfully. “That sort of talk would go before the test, but not
now. What do you mean, Hendricks, by not believing? Do you suspect me of
complicity?”
“I do not, Mortimer. I believe you have been taken in with the rest,
by a very clever trick.” He looked sharply at Hanlon, who returned
his gaze serenely. “I believe this young man is unusually apt as a
trickster, and I believe he hoodwinked the whole community. The fact
that I cannot comprehend, or even guess how he did it, in no way
disturbs my conviction that he did do it by trickery. I will change this
opinion, however, if Mr. Hanlon will look me in the eye and assure me,
on his honor, that he found the penknife by no other means or with no
other influence to guide him than Mr. Mortimer’s will-power.”
“I am not on trial,” he said. “I am not called upon to prove or
disprove anything. I promised to perform a feat and I have done so.
It was not nominated in the bond that I should defend my honor by
asseverations.”
“Begging the question,” laughed Hendricks, but Mr. Mortimer said:
“Not at all. Hanlon is right. If he has any secret means of guidance,
it is up to us to discover it. But I hold that he cannot have, or
it would have been discovered by some of the eager observers. We had
thousands looking on to-day. There must have been some one clever enough
to suspect the deceit, if deceit there were.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mortimer,” Hanlon spoke quietly. “I made no
mystery of my performance; I had no confederate, no paraphernalia. All
there was to see could be seen by all. You willed me; I followed your
will. That is all.”
The simple manner and pleasant demeanor of the young man greatly
attracted Eunice, who smiled at him kindly.
“I came here very sceptical,” she admitted; “and even now I
can’t feel entirely convinced--”
“Well, I can!” declared Aunt Abby. “I am willing to own it, too.
These people who really believe in your sincerity, Mr. Hanlon, and
refuse to confess it, make me mad! I wish you’d give an exhibition in
New York.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, madam, but this is my last
performance.”
“Good gracious why?” Aunt Abby looked curiously at him.
“I have good reasons,” Hanlon smiled. “You may learn them later,
if you care to.”
“I do. How can I learn them?”
“Read the Newark Free Press next Monday.”
“Oh!” and Eunice had an inspiration--a premonition of the truth.
“May I speak to you alone a minute, Mr. Hanlon?”
She got out of the car and walked a few steps with the young man, who
politely accompanied her.
They paused a short distance away, and held a brief but animated
conversation. Eunice laughed gleefully, and it was plain to be seen her
charming smiles played havoc with Hanlon’s reserved demeanor. Soon he
was willingly agreeing to something she was proposing and finally they
shook hands on it.
They returned to the car; he assisted Eunice in, and then he told Mr.
Mortimer they had stayed as long as was permissible and were being
eagerly called back to the committee in charge of the day’s programme.
“That’s so,” said Mortimer. “I begged off for a few minutes.
Good-by, all.” He raised his hat and hurried away after Hanlon.
“Well,” said Hendricks as they started homeward, “what did you
persuade him to do, Eunice? Give a parlor exhibition for you?”
“The boy guessed nearly right the very first time!” cried Eunice,
gleefully; “it was all a fake, and he’s coming to our house Sunday
afternoon to tell how he did it. It’s all coming out in the paper on
Monday.”
“My good land!” and Aunt Abby sank back in her seat, utterly
disgusted.