lead up to it after her own fashion, Miss Winchester kept one eye
upon the occupant of the chair, and the other upon Professor Cultus,
and yet answered Adele at the same time; all of which goes to show
that she herself was somewhat of an expert in impressions, and
in leading others up to them; observing others while not herself
perceived. When she was ready she replied:
“No, Adele, I do not believe they are all quacks; but I do believe in
nerves and hysterics. There is such a thing as self-deception;--the
little tin-Solomon within the most of us does sometimes assert
himself;--you know the saying, ‘Everybody’s crazy except you and me,
and you’re a little off!’ I certainly believe in nerves and hysteria.”
“What has that got to do with it?” asked Mrs. Cultus, curious.
“May I refer to the Professor?” quoth Miss Winchester, blandly.
Professor Cultus thus unwillingly drawn in, gave some points simply
as the quickest way to get rid of the talking. “There is a class of
disease known as hysteria, nervous, yet involving no recognizable
anatomical hurt, wound or injury. The nervous system plays a
very important part in the problem, and nerves, you know, affect
mentality.”
“No doubt of it, my dear,” interrupted Mrs. Cultus; “a pinch always
makes me start up as nervous as a witch, and I never could talk sense
during an electric storm. I feel nervous now just to think of it.”
The Professor continued: “To meddle unadvisedly with the nervous
system is dangerous; yet with shrewd sense based upon clinical
observation it is possible to perfect cures.”
“Not without some smelling salts,” chimed in Mrs. Cultus, laughing.
“But bless me! are these new doctors experts like that?”
“Specialists in the shrewd-sense department,” remarked Miss
Winchester. “Please go on, Professor Cultus.”
“When mental science encounters cases of hysteria, it is quite
possible a cure may be accomplished now and then, but from the
standpoint of what you would call orthodox treatment, mental
derangement of any kind requires most careful consideration and
perhaps prolonged treatment in the full light of scientific research.
To attempt such practice irregularly is to court the consequences of
ignorance, or perhaps worse, really to injure the patient.”
“Oh, I understand it perfectly!” exclaimed Mrs. Cultus. “I might be
accidentally cured by irregular treatment, but would not stay cured.
My dear, I prefer to be orthodox. Adele, where are my salts? Look in
that bag, please,--I haven’t used them for some time.”
“Nonsense, Mother! You’re cured already and don’t want any salting,
the sea air is quite enough;--nor do I believe that all mental
scientists have the hysterics, I mean their patients haven’t.”
“No, indeed!” said the sprightly Frank Winchester; “it is those who
are cured who had the hysterics or something equivalent; and the
practitioners who now have the shrewd sense and cash perquisite,--I
know from experience.”
“What! Oh, my!” exclaimed Adele, “you have the hysterics! Frank, I
should never have accused you of such accomplishments,” then, as if
musing: “Isn’t it strange that when you begin to describe an ache, so
many others soon find they have the same thing. Mild case I suppose,
Frank?”
Miss Winchester enjoyed immensely this little rap; but having been
caught concluded to make the next sensational remark more specific.
“I’m thankful to say, in my case there was no hysterics;--but I
did visit a mental science center, where ‘vibrations’ were said to
radiate marvellously. I went there on strictly professional business,
to hunt up a case, and on arriving was received by--by----”
The speaker came to a sudden halt, her eyes fixed upon a remarkable
individual, the Professoress, now standing by the deck-rail,
overlooking the sea;--a short, very stout personage under a
broad-brimmed hat decorated with enough feathers to have plumed a
male ostrich in the month of January. Her attendant, a tall, slender
man with long neck, sharp eyes, and gold eye-glasses. Fortunately the
couple stood far enough away to be out of hearing, or Miss Winchester
would not have continued:
“Speak of angels! there she is herself! She of the winged thoughts!
the redoubtable Angelica Thorn, popularly known as ‘Madame,’ the
honorary title conferred exclusively by the Sanitorium-University.
You may not believe it, but that impressive angel with wings in her
hat and honorary degree on her own University register, is gifted
with a marvellous power of radiating thoughts,--her words fly up but
thoughts remain below, credited with realizing thousands of dollars
per annum by giving and taking mental impressions, sent and received
by the bushel-basket full, all by mail.” Mrs. Cultus put up her
lorgnette to see if any ships were passing in that direction--then
whispered:
“You surely don’t mean that person with flowing tresses and all
those waving plumes? She’s Milesian Frinch, not Parisian French. You
can’t deceive me. And what is she here for?”
Mrs. Thorn had taken off her hat; the tall, slim attendant held it;
while she, resting both elbows on the rail, and her chin on her
wrists, gazed out o’er the mighty deep.
“The pose is certainly cherubic,” remarked Mrs. Cultus, cynical.
“No doubt she is radiating now,” remarked Frank Winchester. Adele
noticed her hair parted on one side, and plastered flat over the
temples, also wavy ringlets round her neck.
The Doctor, who thus far had not taken any part in this
impressionistic séance, no sooner observed her hands exposed to
display an unusual assortment of rings glistening in the sunlight,
than he concluded his turn for investigation had arrived. Possibly
here palmistry might be in order,--and diamond cut diamond. There
might be some real sport in it. Before the others noticed, he
sauntered off towards the couple. Little did he then realize the
consequences.
X
PALMISTRY POSES AS MENTAL SCIENCE
It was not difficult for the Doctor to obtain an interview, and
this without really introducing himself, simply by some casual
remark suggested by the surroundings. He soon succeeded in directing
conversation away from the immediate vicinity and called attention
to objects at a distance, of course interjecting the highly
original remark that distance lends enchantment. Mrs. Thorn at once
appreciated the enchantment part of the proceedings, and pointed
with her forefinger at certain objects as not being exactly what
they seemed,--thereby illustrating what was really more important
for the Doctor to find out, namely, that she had no real objection
from refinement of feeling to specify given objects by pointing
at them. If she did appreciate enchantment, so-called, she was
certainly very practical in its application. From the Doctor’s
point of view this was simply “delicious” on her part, and made him
more blandly-persuasive-appreciative than ever. Within five minutes
more he had Mrs. Thorn and her attendant both pointing at various
features, clouds, waves, ripples, a passing ship, the capstan and
the captain’s signals, anything, in fact, that would cause them to
use their hands; even soiled spots on the hand-rail and some very
sticky tar on a rope he made them avoid touching by withdrawing their
hands, any movement, in fact, that would show both the form and
action of their hands in connection with the spoken words,--the hands
suiting the action to the word (thoughts). Mrs. Thorn was, in fact,
betraying herself by every word and action, and the expert Doctor
reading “the natural tendencies of the individuals” as if an open
book.
The Cultus group privately watched these proceedings. Paul and
Adele, with heads rather close together, having their own fun, Paul
imitating the Doctor, and interjecting the platitudes-of-humbuggery
he had often heard the Doctor use before in similar palmistry cases.
“You are a person with strong social instincts,” remarked Paul, wise
as an owl.
“Yes! not a hermit,--thanks!” said Adele.
“Very popular. Lot of fellows might fall in--h’m!--admiration of you.”
“Thanks again, but don’t look at me, watch the Doctor.”
The Doctor was peering into Mrs. Thorn’s hand, which she held out to
him with evident satisfaction. Of course Paul seized Adele’s hand
while watching.
What was the Doctor examining with such apparent interest? In general
terms, a short fleshy hand, soft, with thin skin, and ruddy color
easily suppressed or caused under pressure. Fingers only slightly
tapering, with tips of the well known “useful” curve when viewed from
the under side, yet curiously suggestive of the spatulate when seen
from the back. Thumb well proportioned and turning back spontaneously
with considerable self-assertion. But most noticeable of all, where
the roots of the fingers joined the palm, materialism developed to an
exceptional degree, almost of the “elementary” type. A combination
more curious than rare, designating certain womanly instincts likely
to operate by methods presumably masculine in character. It was not
easy to formulate a specific diagnosis until after hearing such a
person converse on subjects about which she had had an interested
experience, for no mortal could reasonably conjecture, not even she
herself, how things would go eventually. Certainly a woman of the
world with strong emotions, no doubt loquacious at times, yet a very
clear head when it came to action; and material results never lost
sight of. Strange to say, however, the hands themselves were soon
forgotten, attention being drawn to their adornment. The woman had an
inordinate passion for precious gems. Mrs. Thorn wore upon each hand
exquisite rings, superb stones set in excellent taste, but rather a
mixture when displayed together. The usual solitaires, also set with
sapphires of peculiar peacock hue; a changeable alexandrite, and
a ruby amid emeralds as leaves, evidently some color-scheme taken
direct from nature; not a topaz nor white sapphire among the lot, and
evidently the wearer knew cat’s-eyes from Norwegian opals, even if
others did not. Even these, however, were secondary to a fire-opal
of true Indian iridescence. A cleft-opal, that mysterious gem so
suggestive to mystics in all climes. The light came from within the
stone, through an irregular cleft, the exterior still rough;--by no
means a conspicuous ornament, but when the eye upon close examination
penetrated the cleft, the mysterious interior was ablaze with
variegated colors. It was this fire-opal the Doctor was examining
when Adele caught him holding the impressionist hand. The Cultus
group saw little more of the Doctor until after-dinner-promenade on
deck; he was occupied with Mrs. Thorn. Then Miss Winchester at once
applied at the bureau of information.
“What are the probabilities, Doctor Wise? mystic, or merely
gymnastic? One must never judge by appearances, of course, but----”
and Miss Winchester gave a little cough to suggest her impression.
“Oh, a very interesting case,--very intelligent and thoroughly
practical. She talks mysticism like a California theosophist, but
acts like a cool-headed politician. Her thoughts are about mysticism
in its useful aspects; her words mystical because a good business
method for her; and her acts businesslike, very, from the mystical
point of view. How do you like that for a type?”
“Evidently interesting to talk to,--also good to keep clear of, in
business,” thought Miss Winchester.
“So that’s what you palm-cranks call a mixed type!” exclaimed Mrs.
Cultus. “I call her variegated.”
“Oh, of course she is bound to be contradictory, in appearance at
least, at odd times,” said the Doctor. “Moody as a mystic, dogmatic
as a sectarian theologian, and will take risks like a Wall Street
speculator. She is made that way, she is constitutionally so. Oh,
yes, she is a bundle of mystical impressions held together by very
clear ideas of what she wants, also has fearless business methods
to obtain it. The seeming contradiction is more apparent than real,
however.”
“How about those rings?” quizzed Adele, when Paul’s back was turned.
“Well, only one thing worth remembering. She wears her largest upon
her forefinger, the most conspicuous position possible, a sure sign
of--but let that pass.”
“No, Doctor! no passing allowed in this game--just tell me, but
please don’t tell Paul, or I shall never hear the end, no matter what
it is;” and she put her arm in the Doctor’s, drawing him off for a
deck promenade.
“Well, my dear, if you must know, the woman can’t help advertising
herself,--a most unrefined quality in woman, to my notion. Men, you
know, no matter how much they may do it themselves, generally detest
that sort of thing in women. That’s one way in which her feminine
instinct for appreciation takes a somewhat masculine form in action.
I could only find it out surely by conversation with her. Now I
expect to hear of her some day as President of the International
Impressionists’ Mental-Mystic Board of Trade. She will make a good
thing of it and possibly then disappear, mystically.”
Adele shuddered. The Doctor felt the motion on his arm. Evidently
that sort of talk was antipathetic to Adele.
After a little while she asked quietly:
“Does she presume to practice when travelling?”
“I should not be surprised if she were at it now. She told me there
was a patient on board whom she knew she could cure, whether he had
faith or not.” Adele twitched again.
“That sort of thing ought to be counteracted in some way. I’ve not
served in a hospital without learning at least that much. But here!
Oh, what can we do?”
XI
AMATEUR MENTAL SCIENCE
Many on board had noticed an invalid who took his airing in a rolling
chair. It seemed very natural that he should appear melancholy at
times, for he was said to be partially helpless, in fact paralyzed
on one side. This was the unfortunate Mr. Onset, whom Mrs. Thorn
desired to treat according to the impressionistic methods of the
Mental-Mystic University-Sanitorium.
How it came to be rumored that she had obtained his consent and that
he was already acting under her direction is really of little moment,
for the fact soon became evident,--Mr. Onset himself willingly
alluded to it. He explained that after trying many regular physicians
he was about to visit certain baths on the Continent when he
incidentally met Mrs. Thorn, and was only too glad to avail himself,
in passing, of any hopeful aid; especially since “the method required
no medicines which might interfere with subsequent treatment at the
Spa, and demanded no faith,”--of the latter commodity he had little
left to give to any system whatsoever. Mr. Onset was certainly trying
conscientiously to be frank with himself.
The next thing known was that Mrs. Thorn had held a good orthodox
business-mystic interview properly to diagnose the case; and had
given the patient some published articles to read, the wording of
which was most dexterously adapted to excite curiosity for--what
next; and later on some manuscript letters to be perused when
alone, the lights turned low so that no one else could read them by
looking over his shoulder, nor find out how he kept them next the
fifth-rib-covering of his heart. These latter letters must be made
mysterious, simply because they communicated to the patient the
mystical line of thought he was to follow while the Commandant of the
Thought Center sat in her state-room meditating.
“Oh! I know exactly how it works!” exclaimed Mrs. Cultus.
“How? What?” asked Miss Winchester, laughing.
“Why, lying in your state-room bunk, meditating. I know the whole
business, so does the steward. He brings me champagne in one hand and
porridge-mush in the other. He reads my thoughts perfectly.”
What the printed matter given to Mr. Onset contained was soon known
all over the ship,--an excellent advertisement; what the written
pages contained Onset kept to himself, as if the subject-matter was
rather too personal for discussion in either the men’s or women’s
smoking departments.
Mutual meditations continued, however; mental impressions were
presumably radiating, the vibrations presumably acting in a
marvellous manner, having been promised to take a straight course
direct from the state-room bunk to Mr. Onset’s legs and none other,
which certainly was a vast improvement upon the expansion method of
wireless telegraphy in communicating thoughts. And this even if the
paralysis did remain as evident as before.
Yet curious to relate, these mysterious vibrations certainly
did expand with most positive effects upon others; Mrs. Cultus
continually on the lookout for substantial results, Frank Winchester
jotting down absurd notes as they flew by, Paul continually vibrating
between Adele and what she wanted. This until Adele asked if there
was any book in the library upon “Practical Metaphysics.” Then Paul
flunked, and sat down beside her. As to the Doctor----
One morning he and the Professor inquired of the patient how he was
progressing:
“Slowly,” said Mr. Onset. “I still have little hope, but I certainly
caught a new idea.”
Onset’s voice was unquestionably melancholy, from his own point of
view,--but not of that peculiar timbre, nor in any degree involved,
as might reasonably be expected from a partially helpless paralytic.
“There is something strange about that fellow,” remarked the Doctor.
“I think so myself, but have not defined it as yet,” added the
Professor.
“Did you ever observe a man paralyzed on the right side who could
speak as he does, to say nothing of his power to talk and converse
connectedly and with ease?”
Their conversation naturally became more technical than is desirable
in this record, but it may be remarked that Professor Cultus’ mode
of thought displayed an insight into the nature of mental processes
in general, from the standpoint of the modern psychology; whereas
the Doctor accentuated certain facts he had observed in Mr. Onset in
particular. The Professor, very careful in what he stated and very
cautious as to conclusions; the Doctor intensely appreciative, and
ultra sanguine as to results. The Professor much better informed
as to how details of anatomy were supposed to work; the Doctor
understanding how they actually had worked in cases he had observed.
They were, each of them, truth-seeking;--the Professor exceptionally
explicit as to the anatomy, nerves, nerve-centers; especially clear
as to “a veritable nerve-center having a strange domination over the
memory of articulating words.” The Doctor insisted that Onset ought
to manifest phenomena different from what he did if he suffered from
veritable paralysis. Both being sure that paralysis of the right
side of the body is undoubtedly connected by the nervous system with
the left side of the brain; the careful Professor would not commit
himself further as to Onset’s case; the sanguine Doctor did so at
once:
“Onset is paralyzed on the right side. The organs of speech in his
case are not affected, yet if speech should be affected, and is not,
what becomes of the paralysis?”
A twinkle in the Doctor’s eye as he said this was noticed by the
Professor.
“You seem to have discovered something,” said the Professor, smiling.
Another twinkle in the Doctor’s eye. “Rather! I think it must be
another opportunity for the palmistry humbug. Mrs. Thorn and he are
a pair, complementary, positive and negative. He a good subject, for
her, perhaps a medium and all that sort of thing.”
“Go tell it to the marines on board,” said the Professor, laughing,
as the Doctor hurried off to find Onset.
Onset’s hands amused the Doctor greatly. He found vitality much
stronger than he had expected, but much less vivid characteristics of
health:--color thin, action weak; texture smooth, fingers pointed;
palm hollow and much crossed; groups of little lines on certain
mounts (versatility); a fine development of a certain part of the
hand (imagination, Mount Luna); thumb lacking in force of will, just
the opposite to Mrs. Thorn; in fact, a number of details which in
combination might be read several ways, but invariably showing marked
susceptibility to fleeting impressions, mental-sensitiveness,--an
active mind yet unstable characteristics, a liability to vagaries of
some sort;--the natural tendencies of the individual also suggested
in certain directions,--but let that pass.
Yes. Onset’s hands were amusing. The Doctor would not assert that the
man was actually hipped then and there, but there was ample chance
that he should be if circumstances led that way, the conditions
favorable. He was just such a patient as Mrs. Thorn might succeed in
curing. And then came the gist of the whole situation:
If Mrs. Thorn, why not anyone else? provided a counter-impression was
given, vivid and forcible enough to convince the patient _in spite of
himself_.
That afternoon found the Doctor, Miss Winchester, Adele and Paul,
putting their heads together, mysteriously cogitating; evidently a
plot on hand to give Mr. Onset another new idea.
“It can do no harm and may do the poor fellow some good,” whispered
the optimistic Doctor. “Adele, your father will find it out soon
enough himself, so we needn’t bother him just yet. In case of a
rumpus the Professor will be just the one to fall back upon. He told
me to go to the marines; we’ll make him our guardian angel,--our
marine.”
Adele, laughing, wondered how angelic her father would appear acting
as a marine.
“Remember!” whispered the Doctor, “all at your stations when the
invalid is brought down to his state-room to retire at nine o’clock
this evening,--now don’t forget. You see we’ve got to catch an idea
before it gets away from us,--quick work;” and the chief conspirator
bustled off to find Onset.
“There’s nothing like having a patient toned up previous to an
operation,” said the Doctor, musing. “If we can succeed in directing
the mind previously, and put him in a proper mood to receive the
impression, the work will be well under way before he himself
is aware of it. Mrs. Thorn seems quite an adept at preliminary
work,--correct, but the preliminaries may reasonably include a
counter-irritant. If we can produce premonitory suggestions leading
up to an idea, the impression will have a better chance to operate,
the idea to cure in its own way.”
“How are you this afternoon, Mr. Onset?” and he took a seat near the
invalid.
“Not much encouraged. No doubt Mrs. Thorn is thinking the thing out
in her room;--can’t say I feel any worse, and that may be her doings;
but really this arm and leg are still so helpless that possibly when
I retire to-night I ought to remain in my berth to give her a better
chance.”
“Not if I know it,” thought the Doctor; then audibly, “Would you
oblige me by attempting to stand up, if only on one foot, and allow
me to support your weak side,--just for the effort?”
“It’s no use, my dear sir, not the slightest; I can’t move, for the
life of me. I only wish I could.”
“Then let me roll your chair for a turn or two,” and without waiting
for a reply he gently moved Onset to a place where both could observe
some steam issuing from an aperture.
“What complicated machinery!” remarked the Doctor. “This ship must
be a network of pipes, steam here at the side, and also from the top
of the funnel, no doubt both connected with the boilers--boilers
and live steam, live boilers and steam everywhere! Fortunately,
explosions seldom occur.”
“What terrible things accidents must be,” quoth Onset, evidently
interested and nervous; “terrible when one is helpless.”
“Sometimes not fatal,” quoth the dismal-cheerful Doctor; “it
frequently depends upon one’s own exertions at the critical moment.
I was myself once in a collision of passenger trains, our car turned
upside down--thrown twenty feet. I lit head-foremost in one of those
overhead parcel baskets which had been above my seat and was now
below. Fortunately, I was able to pick himself up by the seat of
another fellow’s breeches, and scrambled out through a window. If I
hadn’t scrambled out that window I should certainly have been burnt
alive!”
“Heavens!” exclaimed Onset, “there’s not even a window on this ship
downstairs to crawl through. I should never get my leg through a
port-hole, and probably be caught head out and legs in. Do you think
there’s any danger, Doctor?”