A PRIVATE EXHIBIT.
“Oh, Bill! Bill! Bill! What have you done?”--and a woman’s wild scream
rent the atmosphere.
And no wonder our heroine, standing there in the doorway, was upset.
No wonder she clutched at her pompadour in frenzy. No wonder she shook
like several leaves. The suddenness of her admirer’s departure was so
very--in fact--sudden.
After she had shrieked she leaned against the door-jamb, gazing
incoherently at that which she saw.
It was now Bill’s turn to laugh, and this he did, long, loud and
uproariously. Then he shouted in a triumphant crescendo,--“Hi, there,
my lady--catch onto the display. And well you may squeal at the sight
of your old familiar pig-wheel. Dollars to doughnuts you never
shackled as slim a one as this at the yard. Say, watch him. He’s in
the swim sure, ain’t he? See him swing--round toward the sticker.
That’s me. D’ye hear, madam? I’m the sticker in this yard. And he’s
coming to the knife in fine style. Now watch me close, for he’s going
to land against the point this time, and then--Aha! ha! ha!--and
then--the last hot water plunge, and--”
“Monster! monster!” sobbed the lady.
Bill laughed again.
“Oh, my Lonnie, my Llama!” wailed Mrs. V.
And again Bill Vanderhook laughed.
“Aha!--your Astral Mate got a move on him that time. Go ask him if he
has any fresh data on affinities. Ask him how he likes this newest
_attraction_.”
“Brute!”--and, dashing past her husband, the distracted lady rushed to
the rescue of her primordial mate. She flung herself wildly into the
workshop from which she had been so long excluded.
The picture presented to her gaze as she crossed the threshold struck
terror to her soul. All at once Mrs. Vanderhook felt weak as boiled
water. She clasped her hands in frantic protest.
“Get onto his curves” bawled Bill. “What d’ye think of your Lonnie
Bird now? He’s off his perch, ain’t he? Never miss a Mystic when he
moults. And here’s your Lonnie Lammie--at shearing time. Here’s your
little piggy-wiggy on a hook. Here’s your-r-r-r”--and the angry
husband wound himself up in a knot of words and spluttered off into
monosyllabic ravings.
Angry and frightened and bewildered by the very unusual scene, Mrs.
Vanderhook staggered, moaned a couple of times, and crumpled up over
against a big empty packing case.
It would have been a braver woman who could look unmoved upon the
revenge of the Kankakee druggist.
In the center of a long, narrow room strewn with jugs, jars, bottles
and chemical apparatus, whirled a small and curious cylinder, a
little black machine that gave off a trail of glittering sparks upon
the brilliant atmosphere, a tiny monster that sang and purred and
whizzed in its dizzy revolutions.
It was not, however, this curious machine that attracted the attention
of Mrs. Vanderhook. It was neither the brightness, nor energy, nor
speed, nor the whizziness of the things in the room that spellbound
her. It was the novel attachment of that satanic cylinder which
riveted her gaze and temporarily paralyzed her vocal organs.
The ethereal despoiler of the Vanderhook home had, indeed, gotten a
move on himself. He was “in the air,” and no mistake.
At a distance of perhaps ten feet from the revolving cylinder swung
the gay Gnani of Gingalee. He was suspended in the air without visible
sign of support, and was following the rotary motion of the machine;
which meant that he was appearing and disappearing through the floor
and ceiling of the room with a rate of motion akin to that Bill
Vanderhook was giving the machine. Even the woman, though unfamiliar
with theories of electro-dynamics, realized at once that this whirling
cylinder possessed electro-magnetic attraction for astral substance.
All at once she realized that the Mystic had been captured by the
Mayor; that the wise man was in the toils of the druggist.
Alas, and alas, the mystical lover was in the clutches of the
scientific husband.
“You nasty thing!” sobbed Mrs. Vanderhook wildly. And as the awfulness
of the situation grew upon her, love lent her courage. She darted past
her husband’s outstretched hand and flung herself forward to the
rescue of her Mate.
Mr. Vanderhook, however, was a true scientist. He was given to detail.
He had provided for just that emergency. A fine wire, strung several
feet from the floor immediately over a circular copper track which was
laid in the floor and around the cylinder, was to serve a very
practical purpose. The impulsive creature who would have plucked her
“Lonnie Bird” from his unpleasant predicament, was instead, flung
violently backward into her husband’s arms.
“Soul communion temporarily suspended, you will observe,” grinned the
master of ceremonies as he seated his wife upon the packing case. “His
hunkey highness from Hindustan is now taking a whirl at physical
science. He’ll be able now to prove, as I have said, that all matter
isn’t illusion. Ah, there, Lonnie Lammie, how’s this from an astral
point of view?”
“Extremely unpleasant,” admitted that gentleman, trying to smile. “But
I say, Bill, explain this cruel joke. I don’t understand why you
should do this. I’m awfully anxious to know how you--that is--one not
illuminated could--thus--thus--”
“Get the drop on you?” queried Bill pleasantly. “Glad you asked.
Dee-lighted to explain. You’ll appreciate the importance of the
discovery. It’s a great addition to scientific knowledge”--and the
experimenter warmed to scientific enthusiasm, lessened the current
which was driving its prisoner relentlessly through floor and ceiling.
“I shall undoubtedly appreciate this particular process”--and Mr.
Leffingwell appeared to be catching his breath, as he felt himself
released from the terrific force generated from somewhere. “But pray
go on. I’m deeply interested.”
“Very good,” responded Bill, holding his rival suspended that he might
converse with him. “You are, of course, aware that, as an astral
being, you’ve had enormous advantages over the man encased in the
physical.”
“True, and yet, you--”
“Pardon me,” interrupted the druggist dryly when the Mystic would have
chipped in. “This advantage you’ve used remorselessly, to break up my
home. You broke the spirit, if not the letter, of occult law. You know
you did. You ignored our agreement made before you left Kankakee. You
knew and you acknowledged my claim upon Mrs. V., for at least this
present dispensation. I told you then that I was perfectly willing to
take a back seat in a century or so. Apparently this didn’t satisfy
you. You took advantage of your superior learning to sneak into my
house like a thief. Oh, yes, of course, you came astrally. Of course
you didn’t use skeleton keys. But,--you got there just the same, and
you got in your work.”
“But,--but,--” pleaded the man from Gingalee--“I never agreed not to
seek her enlightenment, at such times and places as might be
convenient. I merely returned here to instruct her in the
Fifty-Seven-Fold-Path, and to discourse to her upon those several and
sundry sheaths which do clothe her higher principles. And--”
“Oh, Bosh!” growled Bill. “All that sounds very fine, in your measly
old Sanscrit; but you stole her just the same, and that’s plain United
States. And now, Mr. Mystic,”--and the angry husband shut his teeth
with a savage click--“you must know that outraged confidence will seek
revenge. That’s your karma, ain’t it, Mr. Alonzo Leffingwell, Gnani
of Gingalee, and Grand High Muckymuck of the Order of Nowhere? I’ve
got you, and I’ve got you in your own trap. You’re hoist by your own
petard. You went in for Science, and so did I. Science is going to
settle this dispute, and you’re about to learn that nature has
_several_ laws. Oh, pusillanimous pirate of the air, you are about to
realize that invention is the hand-maid of justice, and that science
is--the--mother-in-law--of--doom.”
“How,--what,--Bill,--I do not comprehend,” murmured Mr. Leffingwell
perplexedly, as he disappeared slowly through the ceiling in response
to the faint current with which Bill was now holding him.
“No?”--queried Bill sarcastically as the gentleman reappeared. “Then
there are, after all, some few things you don’t comprehend. Well,
then--” and the druggist drew himself up with calm ferocity--“I will
enlighten you. Hear then my pronunciamento. You’ve been weighed in
the balance and found wanting--everything that didn’t rightfully
belong to you; and because of that I, your self-appointed judge and
executioner, have resolved--upon--your--complete--annihilation.”
“A-n-n-i-h-i-l-a-t-i-o-n-!”
“A-n-n-i-h-i-l-a-t-i-o-n-!”
The mournful tenor of the Mystic mingled with the high C of his
primordial Mate.
“Yes, just that”--burst forth the druggist savagely. “When I
discovered that you were not only dead to the proprieties and deaf to
appeals, but that you were impervious to boot-jacks and bullets, I set
to thinking as to the best manner of dealing with the situation. When
I saw you chipper as a lark when impaled on a carving knife, I
realized the insufficiency of brute force. It was then that I turned
to science and planned for this my long sought and well earned
R-E-V-E-N-G-E.”
This last word came out in a long hissing whisper, the which is so
effective upon the stage.
The Seer was now staring at the druggist in open faced dismay. Imogene
was whimpering softly.
“To this end,” continued Mr. Vanderhook, “I practically gave up my
business. I constructed this laboratory. I gave up Mrs. V.’s society.
I permitted _you_ to entertain her while I buried myself to work out
_my revenge_. During the past five months I’ve acquainted myself with
all the great authorities on chemistry, electricity, alchemy,
astrology, theosophy, and occultism generally. I’ve studied Darwin and
Haeckel and Huxley and Tyndall. I’ve familiarized myself with all of
the facts of all of the sciences. I’ve saturated myself with the
theories of all the philosophers, prophets and cranks. I’ve studied
the body from monkey to man. I’ve chased the elusive soul down through
the unintelligible symbolism of Buddha, on down to the ultimate atom
of Huxley--and I’ve made a Great Discovery. Your school of mysticism’s
a fake. I’ve smashed your occultism to smithereens, and I can bear
witness to the wisdom of that eminent materialist who said,--‘I have
tried the soul in the crucible and found it Protoplasm.’”
“You--you--deny the soul?” broke out the Mystic in astonishment.
“Quite the contrary,” said Mr. Vanderhook. “I’m convinced that there
is a soul, or more scientifically speaking, an astral man. But this
astral man is nothing but a duplicate of the physical man, consisting
of highly attenuated substance. This soul man, or astral man, under
certain conditions, can separate himself from the coarser body and cut
up just such didos as you have. But”--and Bill’s voice assumed the
patronizing intonation of the pedagogue--“now the fact is,
confidentially, this astral man is nothing but a mere emanation of the
physical, and is governed--that is, ultimately--by the same physical
laws. Now, for instance, you talk of a soul, and a spirit, because you
don’t know any better. In reality these phenomena of the astral plane
are only material phenomena of a higher grade or quality than we can
ordinarily get at through our physical senses. But, and again,”--and
Bill Vanderhook sniffed disdainfully--“you’re no more immortal
(because you can’t be seen by everybody) than a wiggle-tail is. Now we
can’t see nor feel the millions of baby tadpoles nor wigglers in
water. But that ain’t saying they’re spirits, nor that they have
immortal souls. Now, Mr. Mystic, a soul or an astral man is just as
natural as flesh and bone. He is in no sense independent of the finer
physical forces, and he is subject to natural law just as much as if
he were going around wearing his body.”
“You have certainly studied to some purpose,” admitted Mr.
Leffingwell.
“More than this,” continued the materialist enthusiastically, “I have
studied and completely mastered this principle of soul mating.”
The Mystic started--but he did not get very far.
Mrs. Vanderhook looked up eagerly, hopefully.
“Yes, I admit,” continued Bill genially, “that I find your old
Oriental fakirs were mainly right. I, however, have been able to prove
that your soul affinity is just plain chemical affinity--just plain
chemical affinity without any frills. It’s an affinity that depends
upon whether you’re made up of the kind of chemical substances that
naturally combine. F’r instance,--I can take any two people and feed
’em both on pie or pig or potatoes, and produce the same kind of
affinity you talk about.”
Alonzo Leffingwell shuddered. Mrs. V. looked at him questioningly.
Bill’s unexpected wisdom was making an impression upon his wife.
“Fact,” continued Bill, delighted with the impression he was
making--“now I don’t deny”--turning to Alonzo exclusively--“that by a
proper course of diet and an ultimate arrangement of particles, my
wife might coördinate with you; but I do say, and you hear me, that
she has been, and is, and is likely to remain, much nearer to me than
to you. Chemically speaking she has not attained to you. She quite
lacks the refinement, attenuation and imponderability you have
achieved. In short, she is not yet quite as swift as you are, and
therefore much better suited to my condition than to yours.”
Continued Bill--“When once I had established the ‘Immortal Soul’ of
the occultist and the ‘Atomic Energy’ of Science as identical, I had a
reasonable basis, a sound hypothesis upon which to proceed. You, Mr.
Gnani, representing this ‘Soul’ became the material for a rare
experiment. And you are now, at this hour, as it were, my working
capital.”
“And now, having satisfied yourself that certain scientific methods
may be applied to certain astral phenomena, what more would you
have?”--ventured Mr. Leffingwell nervously. “Now that you have made
your point, I implore you, Bill, to let me out of this.”
The Honorable William K. Vanderhook (with his hand still on the lever)
cocked his head to one side. He gave the Mystic one long look out of
one eye. The other one he closed.
“As you must know,” he continued serenely, “primordial matter, which
is astral matter, results from a condensation of ether substance into
helium, or biogen. It is of this attenuated, gaseous matter that you
are composed. This being true, it is easily possible to convert or
reduce you back into a semi-material state of hydrogen. Catch on?”
“I do,” admitted the Seer sorrowfully as he passed slowly downward
still swaying along the circle of attraction. “But now”--he
implored--“as you have no further use for me, can’t we take a spell
off for further discussion? I’m getting pretty tired, Bill.”
“I never did see such a kicker,” said Bill. “When I’ve been so
considerate, too. Why, you see, Leff, that the chrysalis of attraction
in which you move is so cunningly tempered as to swing you in a
perfect circle about twenty feet in diameter. So, you see, you are in
no sense exposed, as it were, publicly. You are so adjusted as not to
be dragged through the roof, over the damp grass, through the sewer
pipes nor yet across the clothes-line in the back yard. In thus making
you a strictly Private Exhibit I’ve paid the deference due to your
profession which you yourself have so disgraced. I wonder, now, Leff,
if you haven’t guessed what I’ve been up to all this time?”
Alonzo shook his head dejectedly.
“No?”--interrogatively. “Well, then,” said Bill--“I’ve just reached
the delicate point of practically solving the problem of astral
substance; or, of reducing astral substance to visible, tangible,
physical substance. And the proof which is necessary depends now only
upon the nicety of modern mechanical construction. In short, I believe
that I am about to demonstrate that in electro-dynamics lurks the
secret of the ‘Soul.’”
“But, Bill, I say,--Bill, old fellow. Surely you are not going to
experiment on ME? Surely you are going to release me from this
uncomfortable situation?”
“Why, my dear boy,” said Bill Vanderhook good humoredly, “would you
balk such an experiment on the very threshold of success? Permit me to
assure you that the performance is only half over and the best of the
features are yet to come.”