"No. How can they be anything but a delusion?"
"I don't know. I only know they are profoundly mysterious and that they
tell me things which convince me. They seem to know my most secret
thought. I have been _forced_ to believe in them. My aunt's fortune has
been doubled and my own income greatly augmented by their advice."
He took this up. "Tell me more about that. What did they advise you to
do?"
"They advised buying certain stocks in a machine for making paper boxes
and recommended the Universal Traction Company."
At this moment Mrs. Wood, senior, plucked at his sleeve. "Louise tells
me you're the son of our dear medium, Lucy Ollnee."
"I am, yes," he replied, rather ungraciously, for he was eager to revert
to Leo.
"Perhaps you're a medium yourself," the old lady pursued.
"Thank the Lord, no! I haven't the ghost of a Voice about me."
She chuckled. "At your age one thinks only of love and dollars. When you
are as old as I am the next world will interest you a great deal more
than it does now. Besides, you must believe in spirits after they have
made you rich. They've made Louise and Leo rich--I suppose you know
that?"
He soon turned back to Leo. "I wish people would not talk my mother's
Voices to me. I hear nothing else now."
"It's your mother's 'atmosphere.' No one thinks of anything else when in
her presence."
"Don't you see how intolerable all that is going to be for me?" he
asked, with bitter gravity. "I can see that she isn't exactly human even
to you. She's just a sort of a freak. No one loves her or seeks her for
herself alone, only for what she can do. That's another reason why I
must insist on her getting away from this. I will not have her treated
like a wireless telephone."
Her eyes expressed more sympathy than she put into her voice. "I see
what you mean; but, believe me, I had not thought of her in just that
light, and I think you're quite wrong about my aunt. She is really very
fond of your mother."
He was eager to know more of what this clear-sighted girl had seen, but
her neighbor, Mr. Carew, claimed her, and he was forced back upon
Grandmother Wood, who talked of her new faith to him for nearly half an
hour.
After dinner, while the ladies were in the drawing-room and the men were
smoking their cigars, the perturbed youth expected to be freed from any
further inquisition, for Philo Wood was apparently of that type of man
who has no interest in the things he cannot turn into hard cash. The
merits of a new strawboard box-machine was engaging his attention at
this time, but, after a few minutes of polite discussion of the weather
and other general topics, Carew, the lawyer, turned to Victor and began
an interrogation which made him wince. Carew was very nice about it, but
he pursued such a well-defined line of inquiry that it amounted to a
cross-examination. He soon possessed himself of the fact that Victor did
not approve of his mother's way of life and that he was trying to secure
employment in order to stop all further "fortune-telling" on his
mother's part. "I don't believe in it," he reiterated.
"The amazing thing to me," interposed Wood, with quiet emphasis, "is
that her predictions come true. I 'play the ponies' a bit"--he
smiled--"and I have tried to draw Mrs. Ollnee into partnership with me.
'You have the spooks point out the winning horse to me,' said I to her,
'and I'll share the pot with you.'"
"And she wouldn't do it?" asked Carew.
Wood seemed to be highly amused. "No, she says her guides do not
sanction gambling of any sort. And yet she advises Louise to buy into a
new transportation scheme that looks to me like the worst kind of a
gamble. My advice counts for nothing against these Voices."
"That's true," admitted Carew. "You might as well be the west wind so
far as influencing her goes. Since 'Mr. Astor' butted into the game my
services are good only in so far as they drive tandem with his! Now you
say you have no belief in the thing," he said, turning again to Victor.
"How is that? How did that come about?"
"Well, in the first place, I've given some study to what Professor
Boyden calls delusional hysteria," Victor responded.
Wood smiled cynically. "My sister won't mind what you call it so long as
it enables your mother to designate the winning stocks."
The attitude of each of these men was that of watchful tolerance, and
Victor chafed under their assumption of superior wisdom. He plainly
perceived that Wood was using the psychic for his own ends, and this
angered him. He shut up like a clam and left the room as soon as he
could decently do so.
He made his way to where Leonora was sitting on a sofa in the library
and took his seat beside her, with intent to continue the conversation
which they had begun at the dinner, but he forgot his problems as he
looked into her merry, candid eyes.
Her first word was a compliment to his mother. "How pretty she looks
to-night! No one would suspect her of being 'the dark and subtle siren'
of yesterday's _Star_. Her face is positively angelic at this moment.
How beautiful she must have been as a girl! I must say you do not
resemble her."
"Thank you," he said.
She laughingly explained. "I mean you are so tall and dark. You must
resemble your father."
"I believe I do, although I cannot remember him."
"I wonder if he had your absurd pride. Aunt Louise tells me you
absolutely refuse to accept any favor from her, and that you were
practically forced into coming to dinner to-night. Is that true?"
He leaned toward her with intense seriousness. "How would you feel if
you had suddenly learned that all your clothing, your food, your theater
tickets--everything had been paid for in money drawn from strangers by
means of--well--hypnotism."
"If I believed that I should feel as you do, but I don't. It is not so
simple as all that. Your mother's power seems very real to me, and so
far as I can now see she has given us all value received for every
dollar. By rights one-half of all our profits belongs to her, or, if you
prefer, to her Voices. Do you know that these Voices will not permit her
to retain more than a scanty living out of all the wealth she makes for
others? Did you know that?"
"I know she lives in a shabby apartment, and she tells me that she is
entirely under the control of these 'guides.'"
"Yes, they refuse to let her keep anything beyond what she actually
needs for herself and your education. I think all that should be counted
in on her side, don't you? The fact that she is not enriching herself
surely makes her part in the transaction a clean one."
He sank away from her and brooded over this thought for a minute or two
before he replied. "But the whole thing is so preposterous. Have you
seen her slate-writing 'stunt'?"
"Many times; but I don't think you should call it a 'stunt.'"
"Come, now, give me your honest opinion. Do you think my mother
unconsciously cheats?"
She faced him with convincing candor. "No, I don't. I think she is
perfectly simple and straightforward, and I believe the writing is
supernormal."
"How can you believe that? You're a college girl, mother tells me. Don't
the belief in these things wipe out everything you have been taught at
school? It certainly rips science into strips for me, or would--if I
believed it. It makes a fool of a man like Boyden, that's a sure thing."
Mrs. Joyce, looking across the room, smiled in delight at the charming
picture these young people made in their animated conversation.
Doubtless they were glowing over Tennyson's position in modern poetry or
the question of Meredith's ultimate standing in fiction.
What the youth was really saying to the maid was this: "What did you get
out of it all? What did The Voices give you?"
"They told me to study composition, for one thing. They told me I would
compose successful songs, with the aid of--of Schubert." She was a
little embarrassed at the end.
"And you took all that in?"
She colored. "I'm afraid I didn't really believe the Schubert part.
However, I'm studying composition on the _chance_ of their being right."
"You say they advise you on money matters. How do they do that?"
"They advise my uncle through me to sell stock in a certain company and
buy in another. They told me to withdraw my money from my California
bank and put it into this Universal Traction Company."
"Did you do that?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry. I wish you wouldn't take their advice. I wish you would put
your money back where it came from at once."
"Why?"
"Because it scares me to think of your going into anything on my
mother's advice."
"But it wasn't your mother's advice. It was the advice of a great
financier."
"You mean a dead financier?"
"Yes."
He did not laugh at this; on the contrary, his face darkened. "I've
heard about that. Did he advise your uncle to go into this same
transportation company?"
"Yes; all our friends are in it."
"You mean everybody that went to my mother for advice?"
"Yes."
"Do many go to her for help of this kind?"
"No, not many; she gives sittings only to my aunt and her friends now.
There were several big business men of the city who went regularly. Why,
Mr. Pettus, the president of the Traction Company, relies upon her."
The absurdity of these great capitalists going to his mother's
threadbare little apartment for counsel in ways to win millions made
Victor smile. He said, with a mock sigh, "I wish these Voices would tell
me where to find a job that would pay fifteen dollars a week."
"They will--if you give yourself up to them. You must have faith."
"Oh, but the whole thing is dotty. Why should a poor farmer like my
grandfather by just merely dying become a great financier?" Again his
brow darkened and his voice deepened with contempt. "It's all poppycock!
If he knows so much about the future why didn't he warn my mother
against that reporter that came in the other day to do her up? Why
didn't he permit me to stay on at Winona and get my degree?"
The girl was troubled by his questions and evaded them. "It must have
been hard to leave in the midst of your final term."
"It was punishing. It was like being yanked out of the box in the middle
of an inning, with the game all coming your way."
She knew enough of baseball slang to catch his meaning and she smiled as
she asked, "Why don't you go back?"
"Simply because I couldn't stand the chinning I'd get from my
classmates."
"Can't you go on with your studies here and pass your examination?"
"I might do that if I could get a job that would pay me my board and
leave me a little time to study."
She looked up at him with smiling archness. "Why not drive an
automobile? You could carry your books around under the seat and study
while waiting outside the shops or the theaters."
"Good idea!" he exclaimed, responding to her humor. "I'm pretty handy
with the machine. One of my friends up at Winona had one. I hope you own
a car." He said this with intent to indicate his growing desire to be
near her.
Mrs. Joyce came over at this moment to inquire what they were so jolly
about.
Leo answered: "I was just suggesting that Mr. Ollnee become a chauffeur.
He could go on with his studies--"
"Capital!" exclaimed Mr. Joyce. "The man I have is liable to drink and
very crusty in the bargain. You may have his place."
"I'm afraid I wouldn't do," he responded. "I might get crusty, too."
"I hope you are not liable to drink," said Leo.
"No, sarsaparilla is my only tipple. But this is all Miss Wood's joke,"
he explained.
"I'm not joking, indeed I'm not," the girl retorted. "I don't know of
any skill that is more in demand just now than that of a chauffeur. I
know of one who is studying the piano. I don't see any reason why Mr.
Ollnee should not take it up temporarily. It's perfectly honorable.
Witness Bernard Shaw's play."
"Oh, I'm not looking down on any job just now," he disclaimed. "All I
ask is a chance to earn a living while I'm finding out what my best
points are."
Mr. Wood beckoned and Leo rose to meet him. "We must be off," he said.
Victor bade Leo good-night with such feeling of intimacy and
friendliness as he had not hoped to attain for any one connected with
Mrs. Joyce. There was something in the pressure of her hand and in the
sympathetic tone of her voice at the last that he remembered with keen
pleasure.
Mr. Carew was deep in conversation with Mrs. Ollnee, and Victor drew
near with intent to know what was being said. The lawyer was very
gentle, very respectful, but Mrs. Ollnee was undergoing a thorough
investigation at his hands. He represented the calm, slow-spoken, but
very keen inquisitor, and the psychic was already feeling the force of
his delicate, yet penetrating sarcasm.
"I would advise you not to trust your Voices in matters that relate to
life, limb, or fortune," he said, suavely, and a veiled threat ran
beneath his words. "These Voices may be deceiving you."
Mrs. Ollnee protested with vehemence. "Mr. Carew, I am content to put my
_soul_ into their keeping."
He bowed and smiled. "Your faith is very wonderful." Then he added, with
a glance at Mrs. Joyce, who was listening, "For myself, I would not put
my second-best coat in their keeping."
Mrs. Joyce intervened at this point, and, after some little discussion
of a conventional topic, offered to send Victor and his mother home in
her car. Victor was not pleased by her offer. It was only putting him
just that much deeper into her debt, but he could not well refuse,
especially as his mother accepted it as a matter of course.
On the way he took up the question of Carew's warning. "He's right,
mother. You must stop advising people to buy or sell."
"Why so, Victor?"
"Suppose you should advise buying the wrong thing?"
"But they don't advise the wrong thing, Victor. They are always right."
"Always?"
"Nobody has ever reported a failure," she declared.
"Well, it's sure to come. Why should father or grandfather know any more
about stocks now than he did before he died?"
She was a little nettled by his tone. "They have the constant advice of
a great financier on that side."
"So Miss Wood told me. Who is this great financier who is so willing to
help you decide what to do with other people's money?" he asked,
cuttingly.