“Just this, Mrs. Embury, the impossibility of my being blindfolded.
As a matter of fact, it is practically impossible to blindfold anybody,
anyway.”
“Why, what do you mean?” interrupted Hendricks. “Why is it?”
“Because the natural formation of most people’s noses allows them to
see straight down beneath an ordinary bandage. I doubt if one child out
of a hundred who plays ‘Blind Man’s Buff’ is really unable to see
at all.”
“That’s so,” said Embury, “when I played it, as a kid, I could
always see straight down--though not, of course, laterally.”
“And noses are different,” went on Hanlon. “Some prominent
beaks could never be blindfolded, but some small, flat noses might
be. However, this refers to ordinary blindfolding with an ordinary
handkerchief. When it comes to putting fat cotton pads in one’s eye
sockets, before the thick bandage is added, it necessitates previous
preparation. So, my powers of contracting and expanding my forehead
muscles allow me to push the pads out of the way, and enable me to see
straight down the sides of my nose from under the bandage. Of course, I
can see only the ground, and that but in a circumscribed area around my
feet, but it’s enough.”
“How?” asked Eunice, her piquant face eagerly turned to the speaker.
“How did you know which way to turn?”
“I don’t like it,” declared Aunt Abby. “I hate it--I’m
absolutely disgusted with the whole performance! I detest practical
jokes!”
“Oh, come now, Miss Ames,” and Hendricks chuckled; “this isn’t
exactly a joke--it’s a hoax, and a new one, but it’s a legitimate
game. From the Davenport Brothers and Herrmann, on down through the line
of lesser lights in the conjuring business--even our own Houdini--we
know there is a trick somewhere; the fun is in finding it. Hanlon’s is
a new one and a gem--I don’t even begin to see through it yet.”
“Neither do I,” agreed Mason Eliott. “I think to do what he did
by a trick is really more of a feat than to be led by real
thought-transference.”
“Except that the real thing isn’t available--and trick-work
is.” Hanlon smiled genially as he said this, and Embury, a little
impatiently, urged him to go on, and begged the others to cease their
interruptions.
“Well,” Hanlon resumed, “understand, then, that I cannot be really
blindfolded. No committee of citizens, however determined, can bandage
my eyes in such a manner that I can’t wiggle my forehead about
sufficiently to get the pads up or down or one side or the other until
I can see--all I want to.” Hanlon knotted up his frontal muscles to
prove that a bandage tied tightly would become loose when he relaxed the
strain. “Understand that I can see the ground only for a few inches
directly at the front of me or very close to my sides. That is all.”
“O.K.,” said Hendricks. “Now, with your sight assured for that
very limited space, what is next?”
“That, sir, is enough to explain the little game I put over in the
newspaper office, before trying the out-of-door test. You remember,
ladies, Mr. Mortimer told you how I followed a chalk line, drawn on the
floor, and which led me up and down stairs, over chairs, under desks,
and all that. Well, it was dead easy, because I could see the line
on the floor all the time. Their confidence in their ‘secure’
blindfolding made them entirely unsuspicious of my ability to see. So,
that was easy.”
“Clever, though,” and Embury looked at young Hanlon with admiration.
“Simple, but most perfectly convincing.”
“Yes, sir, it was the very simplicity of it that gulled ‘em. And, of
course, I’m some actor. I groped around, and felt my way by chairs and
railings and door-frames, though I needn’t have touched one of ‘em.
My way was plainly marked, and I could see the chalk line and all I had
to do was to follow it. But it was that preliminary test that fixed
it in their minds about the ‘willing’ business. I kept asking the
‘guide’ to keep his mind firmly on his efforts to ‘will’ me.
I begged him to use all his mental powers to keep me in the right
direction--oh, I have that poppycock all down fine--just as the mediums
at the séances have.”
Aunt Abby sniffed disdainfully, and Embury chuckled at her expression.
Though not a ‘spiritualist,’ Miss Ames was greatly interested in
telepathy and kindred subjects and like all the apostles of such cults
she disliked to hear of frauds committed in their names.
“Go on,” said Eunice, her eyes dancing with anticipation. “I
love a hoax of this sort, but I can’t imagine yet how you did it! I
understand about the blindfolding, though, and of course that was half
the battle.”
“It was, ma’am, and the other half was--boots!”
“Boots!”
“Yes, ma’am. Do you know that you seldom see two pairs of boots or
shoes alike on men?”
“I thought they were all alike,” exclaimed Eunice. “I mean all
street shoes alike, and all pumps alike, and so forth.”
“No, not that,” and Embury laughed; “but, I say, Hanlon, there are
thousands of duplicates!”
“Not so you’d notice it! But let me explain. First, however, here
are four men present. Let’s compare our shoes.”
Eight feet were extended, and it was surprising to note the difference
in the footgear. Naturally, Hanlon’s were of a cheaper grade than the
others, but whereas it might have been expected that the three society
men would wear almost identical boots, they were decidedly varied. Each
pair was correct in style, and the work of the best bootmakers, but the
difference in the design of tip, side cut, sole and fastening was quite
sufficient to prevent mistaking one for another.
“You see,” said Hanlon. “Well, take a whole lot of your men
friends, even if they all go to the same bootmaker, and you’ll find
as much difference. I don’t mean that there are not thousands of shoes
turned out in the same factory, as alike as peas, but there is small
chance of striking two pairs alike in any group of men. Then, too, there
is the wear to be counted on. Suppose two of you men had bought shoes
exactly alike, you wear them differently; one may run over his heel
slightly, another may stub out the toe. But, these things are observable
only to a trained eye. So--I trained my eye. I made a study of it, and
now, if I see a shoe once, I never forget it, and never connect it with
the wrong man. On the street, in the cars, everywhere I go, I look at
shoes--or, rather, I did when I was training for this stunt. It was
fascinating, really. Why, sometimes the only identifying mark would be
the places worn or rubbed by the bones of the man’s foot--but it was
there, allee samee! I nailed ‘m, every one! Oh, I didn’t remember
them all--that was only practice. But here’s the application; when I
started on that trip in Newark, I was introduced to Mr. Mortimer.
Mind you, it was the first time I had ever laid eyes on the man. Well,
unnoticed by anybody, of course, I caught onto his shoes. They were,
probably, to other people, merely ordinary shoes, but to me they were
as a flaming beacon light! I stamped them on my memory, every detail of
them. They were not brand new, for, of course, anybody would choose an
easy old pair for that walk. So there were scratches, bumps, and
worn, rubbed places, that, with their general make-up, rendered
them unmistakable to yours truly! Then I was ready. The earnest but
easily-gulled committee carefully adjusted their useless pads of cotton
and their thick bandage over my eyes, and I was led forth to the fray.
“Remember, I asked Mr. Mortimer not only to think of the hidden
penknife, and will me toward it, but also to look toward it himself.
Now, to look toward any object, a man usually turns his whole body in
that direction. So, groping about, clumsily, I managed to get sight
of the toes of those well-remembered boots. Seeing which way they were
pointed was all the information I needed just then. So, with all sorts
of hesitating movements and false starts, I finally trotted off in the
direction he had faced. The rest is easy. Of course, coming to a corner,
I was absolutely in the dark as to whether I was to turn or to keep
straight ahead. This necessitated my turning back to Mr. Mortimer to
catch a glimpse of which way his feet were pointing. I covered this
by speaking to him, begging him to will me aright--to will me more
earnestly--or some such bunk. I could invent many reasons for turning
round; pretend I had lost my feeling of ‘guidance,’ or pretend I
heard a sudden noise, as of danger, or even pretend I felt I was going
wrong. Well, I got a peek at those feet as often as was necessary,
and the rest was just play-acting to mislead the people’s minds. Of
course, when I stumbled over a stone or nearly fell into a coal hole or
grating, it was all pretense. I saw the pavements as well as anybody,
and my effort was to seem unaware of what was coming. Had I carefully
avoided obstacles, they would know I could see.”
“And when you reached that vacant lot?” prompted Eunice.
“I saw friend Mortimer’s feet were pointing toward the center of the
lot, and not in the direction of either street. So I turned in, and when
I got where I could see the burned-down house, I guessed that was the
hiding-place. So I circled around it, urging my ‘guide’ to look
toward the place, and then noting his feet. I had to do a bit of
scratching about; but remember, I could see perfectly, and I felt sure
the knife was in the charred and blackened rubbish, so I just hunted
till I found it. That’s all.”
“Well, it does sound simple and easy as you tell it, but, believe me,
Hanlon, I appreciate the cleverness of the thing and the real work you
went through in preparation for it all,” Hendricks said, heartily, and
the other men added words of admiration and approval.
But Miss Ames was distinctly displeased.
“I wouldn’t mind, if you’d advertised it as a trick,” she
said, in an injured tone, “as, say, the conjurors do such tricks, but
everybody knows they’re fooling their audience. It is expected.”
“Yes, lady,” Hanlon smiled, “but the fake mediums and
spirit-raisers, they don’t say they’re frauds--but they are.”
“Sir, you don’t know what you’re talking about! Just because
there are some tricksters in that, as in all professions, you must not
denounce them all.”
“They’re all fakes, lady,” and Hanlon’s air of sincerity carried
conviction to all but Aunt Abby.
“How do you know?” she demanded angrily.
“I’ve looked into it--I’ve looked into all sorts of stunts like
these. It’s in my nature, I guess. And all professional mediums are
frauds. You bank on that, ma’am! If you want to tip tables or run a
Ouija Board with some honest friends of yours, go ahead; but any man or
woman who takes your money for showing you spiritual revelations of any
sort, is a fraud and a charlatan.”
“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 Willy 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 embarrassed 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?”
“I don’t know just what those things are, but I supposed they were
available only to a sort of sixth sense--or seventh! Why, I have five
senses, but I don’t lay claim to any more than that.”
“You’re a trifler, and I decline to discuss the subject seriously
with you. You’ve always been a trifler, Alvord--remember, I’ve known
you from boyhood, and though you’ve a brilliant brain, you have not
utilized it to the best advantage.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” and the handsome face put on a mock penitence,
“but I’m too far advanced in years to pull up now.”
“Nonsense! you’re barely thirty! That’s a young man.”
“Not nowadays. They say, after thirty, a man begins to fall to pieces,
mentally.”
“Oh, Al, what nonsense!” cried Eunice. “Why, thirty isn’t even
far enough along to be called the prime of life!”
“Oh, yes, it is, Eunice, in this day and generation. Nobody thinks a
man can do any great creative work after thirty. Inventing, you know,
or art or literature--honestly, that’s the attitude now. Isn’t it,
Mason?”
Elliott looked serious. “It is an opinion recently expressed by some
big man,” he admitted. “But I don’t subscribe to it. Why, I’d be
sorry to think I’m a down-and-outer! And I’m in the class with you
and Embury.”
“You’re none of you in the sere and yellow,” declared Eunice,
laughing at the idea. “Why, even Aunt Abby, in spite of the family
record, is about as young as any of us.”
“I know I am,” said the old lady, serenely. “And I know more about
my hobby of psychic lore in a minute than you young things ever heard of
in all your life! So, don’t attempt to tell me what’s what!”
“That’s right, Miss Ames, you do!” and Mason Elliott looked
earnestly at her. “I’m half inclined to go over to your side myself.
Will you take me some time to one of your séances--but wait, I only
want to go to one where, as you said, the psychic manifestations are
perceptible to one or more of the five well-known senses. I don’t want
any of this talk of a mysterious sixth sense.”
“Oh, Mason, I wish you would go with me! Madame Medora gives wonderful
readings!”
“Mason! I’m ashamed of you!” cried Eunice, laughing. “Don’t
let him tease you, Aunt Abby; he doesn’t mean a word he says!”
“Oh, but I do! I want to learn to read other people’s thoughts--not
like our friend Hanlon, but really, by means of my senses and brain.”
“You prove you haven’t any brain, when you talk like that!” put in
Hendricks, contemptuously.
“And you prove you haven’t any sense,” retorted Elliott “I say,
who’s for a walk? I’ve got to sweep the cobwebs out of the place
where my brain ought to be--even if it is empty, as my learned colleague
avers.”
“I’ll go,” and Eunice jumped up. “I want a breath of fresh air.
Come along, San?”
“Nixy I’ve got to look over some papers in connection with my coming
election as president of a big club.”
“Your coming election may come when you’re really in the prime of
life,” Hendricks laughed, “or, perhaps, not till you strike the sere
and yellow, but if you refer to this year’s campaign of the Athletic
Club, please speak of my coming election.”
“Oh, you two deadly rivals!” exclaimed Eunice. “I’m glad to be
out of it, if you’re going to talk about those eternal prize-fights
and club theatres! Come on, Mason, let’s go for a brisk walk in the
park.”
Eunice went to her room, and came back, looking unusually beautiful in
a new spring habit. The soft fawn color suited her dark type and a sable
scarf round her throat left exposed an adorable triangle of creamy white
flesh.
“Get through with your squabbling, little boys,” she said, gaily,
with a saucy smile at Hendricks and a swift, perfunctory kiss on
Embury’s cheek, and then she went away with Mason Elliott.
They walked a few blocks in silence, and then Elliott said, abruptly:
“What were you and Sanford quarreling about?”
“Aren’t you a little intrusive?” but a smile accompanied the
words.
“No, Eunice; it isn’t intrusion. I have the right of an old
friend--more than a friend, from my point of view--and I ask only from
the best and kindest motives.”
“Could you explain some those motives?” She tried to make her voice
cold and distant, but only succeeded in making it pathetic.
“I could--but I think it better, wiser and more honorable not to. You
know, dear, why I want to know. Because I want you to be the happiest
woman in the whole world--and if Sanford Embury can’t make you so--”
“Nobody can!” she interrupted him, quickly. “Don’t, Mason,”
she turned a pleading look toward him; “don’t say anything we may
both regret. You know how good Sanford is to me; you know how happy we
are together.”
“Were,” he corrected, very gravely.
“Were--and are,” she insisted. “And you know, too--no one
better--what a fiendish temper I have! Though I try my best to control
it, it breaks out now and then, and I am helpless. Sanford thinks he
can tame it by giving me as good as I send--by playing, as he calls it,
Petruchio to my Katherine--but, somehow, I don’t believe that’s the
treatment I need.”
Her dark eyes were wistful, but she did not look at him.
“Of course it isn’t!” Elliott returned, in a low voice. “I know
your nature, Eunice; I’ve known it all our lives. You need kindness
when you are in a tantrum. The outbursts of temper you cannot help--that
I know positively--they’re an integral part of your nature. But
they’re soon over--often the fiercer they are, the quicker they
pass,--and if you were gently managed, not brutally, at the time they
occur, it would go far to help you to overcome them entirely. But--and I
ask you again--what were you discussing to-day when I came?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I think I do know--and forgive me, if I offend you--I think I can
help you.”
“What do you mean?” Eunice looked up with a frightened stare.
“Don’t look like that--oh, Eunice, don’t! I only meant--I know you
want money--ready money--let me give it to you--or lend it to you--do,
Eunice--darling!”
“Thank you, Mason,” Eunice forced herself to say, “but I must
refuse your offer. I think--I think we--we’ll go home now.”