Victor exploded. "Get out," he shouted. "If you come back here again
I'll throw you down the stairs." Thereupon he slammed the door in their
faces and returned to his mother.
"We've got to get away from here," he said as he came to her. "We can't
stay here another day."
"That must be as my guide, your grandfather, says," she replied.
"There's no use talking like that to me, mother. You've got to stop this
business. I won't have any more of it. It's shameful, and I won't have
it."
She answered, gently: "I'm under orders, Victor. I can do nothing in
opposition to The Voices."
He bent over her with knitted brow. "See here, mother, I want you to
understand that this medium business has got to be cut out. Look what it
has let you in for! I don't believe in your Voices, and you must--"
She stopped him. "My son, if you do not believe in The Voices you
cannot believe in me. They are real. If they were not, I should go mad.
They are in my ears all day long. My comfort is that they are not
imaginary. Others hear them, and that proves to me that they are not an
illusion. If you listen they will speak to you."
"I don't want them to speak to me. I want you to pack up--"
"Hark!" she commanded. "They are speaking now."
As he listened, the same measured whisper which he had heard upon
entering the house made itself distinctly heard, apparently in the air,
a little higher than his mother's head. "_Boy, trust in us!_"
Victor glanced at his mother's lips. He could not help it; base as it
seemed, he suspected her of ventriloquism. "Who are you?" he asked.
"_Your grandsire, Nelson Blodgett._"
This reply, apparently without his mother's agency, was uttered in so
plain a tone that Victor's hair rose. He opened and peered into a little
closet which stood behind his mother's chair. It was empty, and as he
came slowly back and stood looking down into her face a low, breathy
chuckle sounded in his ear.
"_A smart lad. Needs discipline._"
A flush of rage passed over him, leaving him cold. He studied his mother
in silence, convinced that she was cunningly playing upon his fears. As
he pondered she said, quietly: "I'm glad you came, Victor. You fill my
heart with joy; but you must not stay. I do not need you. You must go
back to your studies."
"That I cannot do."
"Oh, Victor, you must! I want you to graduate. Father insists on it."
"I tell you it is impossible. Do you suppose I'm going back there where
all the fellows are laughing at me? Why, they're talking of throwing me
out of the club! More than that, I can't take another cent of your
money. If I had known how you were earning your living I would never
have entered the university at all."
"Oh, my boy, do you doubt me? Do you believe what they say against me?"
This brought him face to face with the whole problem. "Of course I don't
believe that you cheat--purposely--but I do think you are abnormal. You
can't expect me to believe that a voice can come out of the air like
that. It's impossible! It's against all reason, and yet--"
At this moment another knock, a gentler signal, sounded at the door, and
the youth, relieved by the interruption, flared out at the unknown
intruder. "Go away," he shouted.
"No, no; these are friends," his mother asserted, and rose to let them
in.