That night was a long and restless one for the mother, but the son, with
the healthy boy's power of forgetfulness, slept dreamlessly, waking only
when the morning light struck beneath his eyelids. For a moment the
thunder of the elevated trains in the alley puzzled him, and he rose
dazedly on his elbow expecting to catch Frenson at some practical joke,
but as his eyes took in the faded carpet, the cheap curtains, the
decrepit furniture, his brain cleared and his beleaguering worries came
back upon him like a swarm of vultures.
He recalled the terror of his mother's trance, the coming of her lovely
friends, the ride, the luxurious dinner, and, last of all, the
significant words with which they had parted.
In the light of the day his situation did not seem so complicated. "We
must leave this city and go out West somewhere--get shut of the whole
bunch. Father was right--this trance business is intolerable."
His natural vigor and decision returned to him. He rose with a bound,
calling to his mother with a realization of the fact that she had no
cook. "Who gets breakfast, you or I?"
She replied, with a little flutter of dismay in her voice, "I don't
believe there is a crumb of bread in the house."
"Never mind," he replied; "I'll go to the corner and negotiate a roll."
The neighborhood did not improve with daylight acquaintance, and on his
way back from the shop with a jug of cream and a paper bag in his hands
he dwelt again upon his motor-car ride to the Palace Hotel and reviewed
the eighteen-dollar meal they had eaten. He possessed sufficient sense
of humor to grin as he clutched his parcels. "If Miss Wood were to see
me now she'd experience a jolt."
His smile did not last long. "Mrs. Joyce knows all about us," he
admitted. "That's why she blew us to that feast. She was trying to
compensate mother for her empty cupboard, which was very nice of her."
Then his thought went deeper. He began to understand that it was to
provide him with a larger allowance that his mother had been living
alone and doing her own work. "Dear little mutter!" he said, and his
heart softened toward her. "She's been walking the tight-rope, all
right."
She was up and at work in the tiny kitchen as he came in. "I forgot to
get my supplies Saturday--and yesterday I was so upset--"
"Never mind," he replied, gaily. "The 'royal gorge' we had last night
makes breakfast supererogatory. I've attached some rolls and a bottle of
cream, and if you've any coffee and sugar we're fixed."
"I have sugar but no coffee. I drink--"
"Not on your life!" he cut in. "No burnt wheat for me!" And he tore down
the stairs like mad.
At the shop he found himself possessed of just seventeen cents, with
which he bought a half-pound of coffee.
"Now I can begin my conquest of the world as all the great men have
done--penniless. It's me for a stroll down-town, I reckon."
The table was neatly set when he returned, and his mother, proud of her
big and glowing boy, cheerily confronted him. "No matter how poor we
are," she said, "we can be happy." And with her faith renewed she
prepared the coffee for the cream.
The sun struck into the bare little dining-room with golden charm, but
these two souls, so alike yet so unlike, faced each other with returning
constraint. As they talked their antagonism of purpose again developed.
Victor outlined his plan of going West and starting anew. To this
suggestion his mother listened, then gently replied: "There are many
objections to that, Victor. First of all, I have no money."
"Can't we sell something?" She shook her head, and he, after looking
around, ruefully admitted that there was nothing to sell. "But your
house--" This gave him a thought. "Why don't we go back to La Crescent?
I'll work on a farm, in a grocery--anything rather than have you keep on
with this business. It's dangerous, and it isn't nice."
"Victor," she began, with more of self-assertion than she had hitherto
voiced, "you don't understand. My mediumship is not a business, it is a
sacred obligation. God has gifted me with the power of communicating
with those who have passed to a higher plane, and I must respect that
gift. I am in the hands of those wiser than either of us. To oppose them
would be self-destruction."
He listened with growing coldness and hardness. "That's all a delusion,"
he repeated. "Modern science has proved that mediumship is just plain
hysteria."
"We won't argue," she replied, and her tone was that of one hurt. "I
_know_, for I have had the personal experience. I am only a leaf in the
wind when this power sweeps over me. So long as I live I must remain the
instrument of these our supernal friends--it is my work in the world,
and I must execute it."
"What do you expect me to do?" he asked, almost brutally.
"I'd like you to go back to your studies--"
"That I will not do," he assured her in tones that expressed a final
decision.
"Well then--will you remain here with me?"
"Not with you carrying on the business which I hate."
"Why should you hate it? To Leo and Mrs. Joyce my mission is noble."
"I hate it because I think it's foolish, unnatural, and false. I don't
mean that you _consciously_ cheat, mother, but I am certain that in some
way it all comes down to that."
She opened her arms in a gesture of passionate appeal. "My son, these
Voices have educated you--they have helped me to feed and clothe you.
Now here I am, prove me, try me, convict me if you can. I yield myself
to your tests. I _know_ the spirit life is a reality. If I did not I
should perish with despair. Every day, almost all hours of the day,
these Voices whisper in my ears. The hands of those you call the dead
caress my cheek. They cheer and admonish me. They are as real to me as
you are. If you can silence them, do so. I put myself into your hands.
Do what you will in proof of my powers."
The boy was rapidly changing to the man. His mother's words beating upon
his brain aroused something in him which he had not hitherto
acknowledged. He thought deeply as he peered into her eyes, burning with
resolution.
"She is honest--but she is the victim of a fixed idea." He had heard
much of "the fixed idea." "I will try her, I will rid her of her
obsession." Aloud he said: "The important thing is our living. How am I
to pay my way? I haven't a cent. I paid out my last penny for this
coffee."
"I have a little money."
"I told you I wouldn't take another dollar of your money, and I won't,"
he replied, sharply. "That's settled. I must get clear and keep clear of
all this 'bunk.'"
"But suppose you find my powers real?" she asked, trembling with
eagerness.
He hesitated. "Then--well--if I believed in your powers I would still
object to your earning money with--by means of your--your Voices. I've
got to make my own way in the world, and from this moment!"
She read an unmitigable opposition in his eyes and sadly said, "You'll
come here to sleep, won't you?"
He conceded so much, though reluctantly. "Yes, I'll sleep here, but as
soon as I make a raise of any work I intend to pay for my board. As for
carfare, I guess my junk will have to go into 'hock.'" He rose. "You
see, I won a silver mug and a watch by being useful to the team. It's
them to 'Uncle Jake's,'" he ended, with a return to the college youth's
vocabulary, and going to his valise took out his reward for muscular
merit and showed it to her. "Isn't that smooth?"
Her eyes shone with pride. "How much do you suppose you can borrow on
it?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know. Five dollars, maybe."
"Well, I'll lend you ten dollars on it."
He looked at her with musing eyes. "Say twenty, and you may have both
mug and watch."
She went to her purse and handed to him the money.
He took it without hesitation. "Well, here's where I hit the pavement
for a job."
She confronted him in a final appeal. "Oh, Victor, I can't bear to have
you doubt me even for an hour. Stay with me to-day. Stay and let me talk
with you. I've had so little of you. Just think! for more than twelve
years I've kept you away from me--I've starved myself--my
mother-self--in order that you might grow to manhood untroubled by my
faith, and I can't bear to have you doubt me now."
He understood something of her emotion and responded to it. "You dear,
faithful little mother, I realize now what I have cost you, and I'm
grateful; but that's the very reason why I can't let you do any more of
it. I must begin to pay you back."
"All you need to do to pay me is to let me look at you," she fondly
replied. "I'm proud of you, Victor. I was proud of you last night. I saw
Leo admiring you, and Mrs. Joyce thinks you are splendid."