here; I really don’t know much about steam-fitters’ work, but if it
were plumbing I should certainly say, yes. Thank fortune, it is not
plumbing, Mr. Onset.”
“But it is steam-fitting,” quoth Onset, now becoming positive, his
mental process very inconsequent, as with many of his type. “Now,
Doctor, I’d like to ask you just one question, seriously you know,
strictly private. I ought not to ask it but I really must, under the
circumstances. Mrs. Thorn has told me considerable about vibrations;
now any fool can see that vibrations are not good for steam pipes,
yet here we are. Now tell me frankly, do you think Mrs. Thorn’s
meditations can affect or be affected by all this around us. She told
me, most positively, that her meditations vibrating to me must not
leak out---- Oh I wish she would accelerate a little if any good is
to come of it.”
The Doctor at once made a plunge for his handkerchief, and blew his
nose, enough to create more vibrations; then,
“Well, Mr. Onset, your perspicacity is remarkable; I never met anyone
who detected possibilities, aye, even probabilities, more quickly
than you do.” Onset felt flattered, the Doctor gave him time to pat
himself on the back, and then,
“But there’s nothing like having one’s mind prepared for emergencies.
If anything should happen, why, just call on me, Mr. Onset. Fact is,
I’m now so accustomed to accidents both mental and physical that when
not killed in the first crash I generally pull through.”
“Thanks awfully, I certainly shall. Doctor, my man James is good
enough in ordinary emergencies, but I doubt his use in accidents.
James! Jamie! here, Jimmy! take me back where I won’t see this steam,
the odor and its suggestions are both unpleasant. Good-bye, Doctor, I
must now take a rest.”
Onset’s organs of speech were certainly all right, but his mental
apparatus decidedly leaky, and something the matter with his legs.
“I trust the preliminary tonic may not lose its effect before nine P.
M.,” mused the Doctor as he went to report to the other conspirators.
XII
AMATEUR TACTICS--A FRIGHTFUL CURE
Dinner served, the conspirators enjoyed a promenade on deck, keeping
an eye upon Mr. Onset and Mrs. Thorn as they sat conversing. No doubt
vibrations were at work, the most approved methods of the wonderful
Mystic Department of the Sanitorium Universitasque making some sort
of an impression; because, as Mrs. Thorn remarked afterwards, “Mr.
Onset was already oscillating between the old and the new, and
whenever that condition arose she felt sure that the preliminary
tendencies of the occult influences towards a cure were already
taking effect.” Mrs. Thorn could be quite as perspicacious as the
Doctor when she chose, her theories decidedly new as well as lucid,
in fact unique.
At last James appeared, to take the patient to his state-room; this
was the signal for the Doctor’s party to fly to their stations. The
rolling chair was brought to one of the narrow gangways leading
directly to Mr. Onset’s quarters below; the passage entered through a
door at the top, the short flight of steps down closed by partitions
on either side. The chief conspirator noticed that when James went
off with the patient Professor Cultus was engaged in conversation
with Mrs. Thorn; evidently one of those curious coincidences most
opportune, which occult influences often exert in favor of the
one conspired against. “Good!” exclaimed the Doctor. “I now know
where our marine-angel is to be found when I want him; now for an
impression less occult.”
When James reached the head of the gangway, there stood the Doctor,
apparently by accident; and of course he offered to assist in
carrying the invalid down the steps. Onset appeared more helpless
than usual when, the Doctor supporting his shoulders and James his
feet, the trio began to descend. If ever a subject for treatment had
weak legs, it was Onset at that moment.
All progressed favorably until they reached the bottom, and were
about to make the turn into the state-room passage; “Look out for
that awkward corner, James.”
“All right, sir! Keep his head up, I’ll take his feet round first.”
“Go ahead!” exclaimed the Doctor. (The signal.)
No sooner said than a brilliant flash of light burst forth, a little
way ahead down the passage, accompanied by a hissing noise not unlike
an explosion.
Onset gave a start. “What’s that? Look there! Oh, Lord!” replied
to by shrieks from female voices, and a cloud of white smoke with
pungent odor. In an instant the passage seemed filled with frightened
voices and smoke.
It was merely some of Paul’s photographic flash-light powder,
accompanied by very realistic exclamations in consequence, but in
such close quarters it seemed much more serious.
“God help us!” cried Jimmy, dropping Onset’s legs and turning
around to discover what had happened. Through the smoke he saw
Paul violently beating back flames which came from one of the
cross-passages.
It was only Miss Winchester and Adele, invisible behind the angle,
holding at arm’s length some burning paper upon a plate, but quite
enough for faithful James. Seizing Onset by the ankles he would
probably have dragged him on deck feet foremost if the Doctor had not
ordered him in sharp tones:
“Keep your head, man! Don’t yell! I’ll attend to this! Go find
Professor Cultus near the head of the gangway, quick! Don’t yell!
It’s bad enough as it is!”
The last remark settled Jimmy; he vanished up the steps, and Onset
groaned at the thought of being caught helpless below decks.
“Now,” said the Doctor, quickly turning to the patient, “we’ve got to
hustle--it looks like an explosion, near by!--before a panic seizes
the passengers.” Poor Onset, in the narrow passage lit by the flames,
seized the Doctor with a grip of terrible fright, his well arm
jerking the Doctor as if he had a spasm. “For God’s sake, don’t leave
me!”
“I don’t intend to, I’ll stick by you,” said the arch conspirator,
“but you must make an effort, too,” and he lifted the fellow upon his
feet.
At this instant, down the steps came Professor Cultus and, by another
prearranged “coincidence” to which he was not a party, the door above
closed behind him.
Darkness indeed. The place might prove a veritable death-trap,
surely, so thought Onset.
“What mischief are you up to?” exclaimed the Professor, serious in
tone, but his countenance (which none could see) somewhat suspicious
if not humorous.
“Lend a hand!” cried the Doctor, and then in a whisper, “I’m trying
to get an idea into this chap’s legs---- Sh!”
Professor Cultus took hold of Onset’s opposite shoulder, and together
they turned him around, moved him in an upright position towards the
steps. He seemed indeed helpless, but his eye was now fixed toward
that gangway, the way to escape. To get there and escape was the
only thought potent in his mind. The Doctor turned and again nodded
to Paul. Off went another flash-explosion, more pungent smoke, the
sort of choking fumes that scare you off. This time nearer, the vivid
light and more excited screams seemed hardly ten feet away.
Onset gave a plunge with his well leg, and would certainly have
fallen flat but for his strong support.
“Now for it, Onset,” urged the Doctor, lifting the limp limb,
assisting to put it on the next step. Professor Cultus nodded and
took the weight.
“Now for another step!” urged the Doctor. Onset put his well leg up
by his own effort, but when the Doctor helped the other to follow he
noticed a change for the better, the paralyzed limb was not quite
such a non-active member as before. Onset’s fright and desire to
escape were getting their hold on him in spite of himself, his legs
asserting and maintaining themselves without his realizing the fact
that paralyzed legs should not be able to behave that way.
The critical moment was approaching, the crucial test, the final
effort to force Onset to put forth his whole strength spontaneously
as for his life. The closed door above made the passage still darker
at the top, the smoke from behind made the atmosphere more oppressive
each moment. “Only three more steps,” exclaimed the Doctor, “to burst
through that door or be suffocated.” Onset heard this. The Doctor
pressed his elbow against Professor Cultus to signal he was now
ready. The Professor gradually lessened his support, and then quietly
let go, slipping behind him to catch the man if he fell.
Nothing of the kind occurred. Onset was so frantically determined to
get out that he stood supported on one side only without realizing
the fact, both legs commencing to work together. Almost alone he
managed to force himself higher. Seizing the auspicious moment the
Doctor gave Paul the final signal. Flash! hiss-s-s-s-s! red lights,
jumping shadows; cries, more jumps; something yellow--ghastly! “Rush
for your life!” Onset and the infernal regions close behind him, at
the foot of the steps!
Paul had prolonged the agony by some red-burning powder from one
of the ship’s signal lights. Miss Winchester waving a sheet of
yellow glass from Paul’s photographic lantern before her portable
flames--great effect! Screams certainly diabolical; one could hear
the wild laughter amid the cries. At such close quarters none could
stand the racket a moment longer. Professor Cultus, in the thick of
the fumes, was the first to protest. “Open that door! open I tell
you, we’ll be smothered!” which was a fact. Onset in a spasm of
despair, “Let me out! Let me out!” Miss Winchester, also spasmodic,
“I’m getting roasted--fried!” Adele, “I _am_ roasted!”
Onset never knew the exact moment when the Doctor left him standing
alone; all he realized was the bursting open of the door, the flood
of electric light--it seemed like daylight--and the Doctor above
offering his hand to assist, the hand not quite within reach, an
effort necessary to reach it; all depended upon the invalid’s own
effort.
Without a thought but to escape, Onset started up those remaining
steps as one flying for his life, forgetful of weak legs, paralysis,
or any other incumbrance. Actuated by the mental and spiritual
impulse towards self-preservation he plunged through the opening out
upon the deck. Thoroughly scared by a vivid realization of things as
they were, his previous hysteria which had clouded the mind vanished
before a more potent impression which cleared his mental atmosphere,
vanquished by a forced acceptance of the actual facts--he was not
paralyzed.
The Doctor steadied him an instant; only a moment of assistance was
necessary, until he realized himself standing without support. Dazed
and frightened, choking from the fumes, while those who followed made
an uproar of coughs and laughter, the poor fellow could not take in
the situation at a glance. No one seemed excited, however, about any
explosion; all interest seemed centered in himself, congratulations
from everybody, Mrs. Cultus in particular.
“Why, Mr. Onset! I’m delighted to see you looking so well” (social
fib; Onset looked like an escaped lunatic), “and able to walk”
(conversational stretch), “cured” (perhaps), “and quite like yourself
again” (since when?).
Not until Onset heard these highly appropriate congratulations did
the whole situation dawn upon him. Yes, he had escaped by his own
unaided efforts at the last, and of course it was too ridiculously
evident to be denied that he was then and there standing alone. The
very thought was paralyzing to the former impression that he could
not stand. And behold the power of a new lively idea, affecting
matter as well as mind--instead of melancholy Onset and an old scared
impression, behold Onset smiling in spite of himself. Everybody
thought he was going to make a speech. He did.
“Ho there, Jimmy! James, where are you?--Jim!”
Now, James had been in a terrible quandary during all the latter
part of these proceedings. After Professor Cultus had descended, at
his request, James had been confronted by Mrs. Cultus, who calmly
moved her seat directly in front of the passageway and with apparent
carelessness closed the door. She had moved not an inch until just
in time for the Doctor to make his exit, followed by the demoralized
Onset. It was Mrs. Cultus who had amused herself by giving her
impressions as to the vibrating Jimmy, keeping him there until the
proper time came. The valet was as much surprised as the master when
he saw the melancholy Onset rise to the surface in a cloud of smoke
and then favor the company with a smile. He received a further new
impression when Onset remarked:
“We’ll clear the deck, Jimmy; I go it alone.”
* * * * *
Would Onset remain cured? Could a man so unstable in legs, mode of
thought, and possibly character, remain steadfast? Adele was the
first to ask herself this question.
XIII
ADELE’S MEDITATIONS
Nothing succeeds like success. The Doctor’s party had broken so many
of the ship’s rules, by igniting flash-powder and burning paper below
decks, that a lively time was expected when they were called upon to
explain matters. No real harm had, however, been done to the vessel;
no more than if they had taken a flash-light picture after dark. A
few good fees to the stewards and a draft of fresh air through the
passage soon cleared the atmosphere. When the officers put in an
appearance to make an examination, merely the fragrance from some
pastilles which Miss Winchester thoughtfully used to overcome the
odor from charred paper was noticeable, and every one was talking
about the paralytic who had rushed up the gangway in a state of
terror.
Onset’s cure became the general topic of conversation on board, and
forty people had forty differences of opinion as to what had happened
and the propriety of such proceedings. Adele had taken only a minor
part, but after it was over came a reaction which made her very
thoughtful:
“Onset must be very weak, weak in mind as well as body; something
must be wanting in his make-up. I don’t believe that any one with
real strength of character could be cured exactly as he was; and
what’s more, I don’t believe he is cured.”
Then she mused more comprehensively, and being a well-educated girl
at once sought for the most notable example she could recall of the
antithesis of this weakness. Her thoughts had been much on serious
matters since her meditations in the Park and her previous talk with
her Father. “What is it this man lacks?--strength of character, force
of character? What is that?
“Well, it strikes me most impressively in one particular
personality--historical; and in Him so strong that you feel this
strength to-day precisely as if He were yet alive. He told the weak
to take up their beds and walk, and they obeyed--really weak legs
walked. There was something wonderful about such a character and the
cures He made. He certainly had a force which never failed, and the
patients were permanently better through and through, mental as well
as physical--a deepening of the whole character. He seems to me the
only perfect practitioner of healing ever known, and the first great
Psychologist, and although living so long ago is modern yet. He seems
like one who had then conquered even Science itself.”
Adele then sought the opposition to her own view, her college
training having taught her to reason in that way.
“I never heard any one say that the Historic Christ lacked in force
of character. Let me think! Yes, I did, too--once; and curiously
enough it was a Jewish Rabbi disparaging the greatest historic
character of the chosen people. He insisted that Christ was
‘deluded,’ and deluded forsooth in direct consequence of His own good
thoughts and actions. Now, how could a Personality setting the most
notable example of force and power be deluded like an ordinary man or
self-constituted critic? As to the ancient golden rule, known so well
to Confucius in Chinese form, and the Lord’s Prayer, also possibly
known in some form to the Rabbi Hillel in Hebrew fashion previously,
were they not each shown by Christ Himself in a manner far more
potent to all men, each after his kind?--I might say acceptable
to all creation in a way never dreamed of by either Confucius or
Hillel. Don’t tell me that such a character could be deluded. If such
was the case, then truth itself in character is a delusion, and
expediency takes its place. All sciences and religions know better,
all creation knows better, all except the few who delude themselves
in order to bolster up a previous impression as to character to which
they feel committed. Don’t tell me that the greatest Hebrew who ever
lived, great because He developed force and strength of character in
civilizations strong unto this day, was deluded! That is illogical
and unsound, intellect misused, the twaddle of criticism.”
Thus Adele, the young modern educated girl, free to think of truth
as she saw it, decided this question for herself, and put the result
of her meditations away in her mental storehouse, little realizing
how soon she would have occasion to congratulate herself upon having
crystallized her views on this weighty subject.
“I’m glad,” she said inwardly, “I’m glad Christianity is founded
upon Christ’s personality still alive, His own words and deeds still
active, and not upon what other people, ancient or modern, say about
Him.”
* * * * *
Adele went to join her mother, and found Mrs. Thorn already in
evidence. The latter had indeed found her curative vibrations
somewhat counteracted by events due to others also meditating more
actively than she. And Mrs. Thorn showed much worldly wisdom and tact
in saying very little about it; simply remarking that “Mr. Onset was
already in a fair way to recovery when the accident happened. Indeed,
Mrs. Cultus, I feel quite confident I should have cured him with much
less fuss about it.”
This latter remark was made as they sat in the same vicinity on deck
enjoying the air, the day following. Much to their surprise some one
answered promptly:
“I’m sure I should.”
XIV
ANOTHER COMMOTION--RELIGIOUS-CURATIVE
“Will that you won’t be sick, and you won’t be,” quoth a volunteer
adviser.
“It’s my will itself that is sick,” replied a real sufferer.
“I’m sure I should.”
Mrs. Cultus turned quickly, to find the speaker, a placid-looking
person, sitting near, presumably a lady, yet who had evidently
been eavesdropping. A person of matronly aspect, whose voice and
expression suggested a desire to tell others something that might
be of benefit to them. Not at all one whose appearance suggested
mysticism in any degree; on the contrary rather ingenuous,
consequently a surprise to all present when she launched at them the
following dogmatic statements:
“The practice of healing, of course I mean metaphysical healing, is
based upon certain ethical and religious principles, because we know
that mind holds utter control over matter.”
Mrs. Cultus, at first taken aback, then much amused, replied
promptly: “Mind over matter! well, I should hope so. But it strikes
me mind often controls matter better than it controls itself--h’m!”
and Mrs. Cultus gave a little cough, as if the very idea had produced
“something-the-matter” in her own anatomy.
Miss Winchester whispered to Adele: “My dear, we have found
another--metaphysical specimen this time. The ship is full of them.”
“No more cures for me,” retorted Adele. “That magnesium powder is not
out of my head yet--I mean my hair.”
“Never mind that, dear. Your head will save your hair; beg pardon, I
mean your heels.”
“Well,” thought Adele, laughing, “even if this individual is another
new-science-expert, she can’t possibly be of the loud, vociferous
variety.” Adele judged by the placid manner and quiet voice,
insinuating even when making such positive and surprising assertions.
She had yet to learn how extremes sometimes meet in the same
personality. The Doctor could have told her that the woman’s hands
showed a most ardent temperament, and that in some types suppressed
zeal could assume the appearance of placidity personified.
Mrs. Thorn regarded the matronly lady with especial interest, because
new mental impressions of any kind, from any source, might at any
time be of use to her. Her smile was bland, mild, courtesy itself,
with just a humorous tinge for business with it, as she leaned
forward to catch every word. Some new point in the game might be
played at any moment. This when the placid matron remarked: “No
medicines are now needed, no such disturbances as we have had on
board. The true method by which mind may overcome all disease in
suffering humanity we have now learned.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Mrs. Cultus. “No medicines? What a
blessing! But what takes their place, massage, or change of climate?
We’re trying the latter.”
The placid lady, as she soon informed them, was Mrs. Geyser, of
Wyoming, claiming to be an expert in the modern field of _popular_
metaphysics. Miss Winchester, who knew what popularity implied,
interrupted, “Oh, tell us, Mrs. Geyser, Wyoming is noted, is it not,
as a locality where the natural ebullitions produced by physical
forces are very remarkable?”
“Assuredly; in the volcanic region of our Park we have many instances
of nature’s activity, in the boiling springs and water volcanoes,
mud----”
“Baths and smothered combustion?” interrupted Frank Winchester. Mrs.
Geyser paid no attention, except to intensify her previous statement.
“I’m quite accustomed to such sights. Nature often looks so quiet
and harmless, yet the ebullitions you speak of take effect when not
expected.”
“Anybody scalded?” asked Miss Winchester. Mrs. Geyser began to
suspect that she was being chaffed.
“Gushers by nature, don’t you think so, Mrs. Geyser?”
Mrs. Geyser could not question this undoubted fact. How could she?
Her own ebullitions of thought were already seething. She couldn’t
get a word in edgewise without interruptions. How could any one
preach practical metaphysics, metaphysics with interruptions? The
conditions were most unfavorable. She determined, however, not to be
balked in a good cause. No! not by a flippant damsel, anyhow, with
her unseemly intrusions. So she fired off one of her big statements
to back up what she considered to be practical metaphysics.
“You know, I presume, that we preach the gospel or good news
according to doctrine found in the Bible and stated in the tenets of
religious Science.”
Mrs. Cultus remarked that she hoped her knowledge of the Bible was
sufficient, but, really, she knew little about the tenets. “What are
tenets, anyhow?”
“One of our tenets reads this way,” and Mrs. Geyser assumed a tone of
voice most serious, as if she were uttering a revelation of mystery
never before vouchsafed to ordinary mortals. “We acknowledge the way
of salvation to be the power of truth over all error, sin, sickness
and death, and the resurrection of human faith and understanding
to seize the great possibilities, yes, possibilities, and living
energies of divine life.”
Mrs. Cultus drew a long breath. “Oh, dear, tenets are awful things;
so complicated! May I ask what becomes of the simplicity of the
gospel?”
Adele became very attentive while Mrs. Geyser was speaking. There was
something in it which appealed to her as very true, yet that word
“possibilities,” it was so easy to stretch it into the impossible and
unreasonable.
“Please give us a simple tenet,” asked Mrs. Cultus, now the placid
speaker.
“There is nothing easier, it’s as easy as reading a book. We have
keys of our own--you must use our keys--our own book to both science
and health.”
Frank Winchester gave a start, as if struck by an idea. “Keys! those
everlasting keys! There must be two sets!”
“Three, my dear, three! I remember them well,” said Mrs. Cultus, her
memory also startled into activity. “I knew St. Peter by reputation
only, but Louis also had keys. I remember Louis XVI of France very
well, when I was at school. He was a locksmith also, and made
Bourbon keys for the government. Poor man! he lost both his keys
and his head. Why, Mrs. Geyser, I’m astonished! Don’t you know the
religious-government-locksmith-business is entirely obsolete?”
“In both science and religion,” mused Adele, while her mother still
kept the floor.