"I propose we start a psychic society here and now," said Cameron. "I'll
be president, Mrs. Quigg secretary, and Garland can be the director of
the awful rites. Miss Brush, you shall be the 'mejum.'"
"Oh no, no!" she cried, "please let some one else be it."
This amused me, but I seized upon Cameron's notion. "I accept the
arrangement provided you do not hold me responsible for any ill
effects," I said. "It's ticklish business. There are many who hold the
whole process diabolic."
"Is the house ready for the question?" asked Cameron.
"Ay, ay!" shouted every one present.
"The society is formed," announced Cameron. "As president, I suggest a
sitting right now. How about it, Garland?"
"Certainly!" I answered, "for I have an itching in my thumbs that tells
me something witching this way comes."
The guests rose in a flutter of pleased excitement.
"How do we go at it?" asked Mrs. Cameron.
"The first requisite is a small table--"
"Why a table?" asked Mrs. Quigg.
"The theory is that it helps to concentrate the minds of the sitters,
and it will also furnish a convenient place to rest our hands. Anyhow,
all the great investigators began this way," I replied, pacifically. "We
may also require a pencil and a pad."
Miller was on his dignity. "I decline to sit at a table in that foolish
way. I shall look on in lonely grandeur."
The others were eager to "sit in," as young Howard called it, and soon
nine of us were seated about an oblong mahogany table. Brierly was very
serious, Miss Brush ecstatic, and Mrs. Harris rather nervous.
I was careful to prepare them all for failure. "This is only a trial
sitting, you know, merely to get our hands in," I warned.
"Must we keep still?"
"Oh no! You may talk, if you do so quietly. Please touch fingers, so as
to make a complete circuit. I don't think it really necessary, but it
sometimes helps to produce the proper mental state; singing softly also
tends to harmonize the 'conditions,' as the professionals say. Don't
argue and don't be too eager. Lean back and rest. Take a passive
attitude toward the whole problem. I find the whole process very
restful. Harris, will you turn down the lights before--"
"There!" said Miller, "the hocus-pocus begins. Why not perform in the
light?"
"Subdued light will bring the proper negative and inward condition
sooner," I replied, taking a malicious delight in his disgust. "Now will
some one sing 'Annie Laurie,' or any other sweet, low song? Let us get
into genial, receptive mood. Miller, you and your fellow-doubters please
retire to the far end of the room."
In a voice that trembled a little, Mrs. Harris started the dear old
melody, and all joined in, producing a soft and lulling chorus.
At the end of the song I asked, matter-of-factly: "Are the conditions
right? Are we sitting right?"