TIBBY CONQUERS
Upon the second afternoon of Mark’s absence from home Alice was
surprised by the dreaded appearance of Professor Russell. The man had
changed his outward guise considerably. His auburn whiskers had given
place to a smooth-shaven chin. A red mustache, grizzled with white,
decked his upper lip, and his hair was closely cut. Even his eyebrows
seemed to have shared in the general cut, and the man looked sleeker
and, if possible, more like Uriah Heep than before. Alice did not at
first recognize him as he came toward the house, but a glance from those
gray-green eyes identified him.
She shrank back with a perceptible shudder of abhorrence.
“You here, Professor? I supposed you had departed to lands afar!” she
exclaimed.
“You did not then receive notice of my coming?” he asked, with a meaning
look.
“Notice? No—why—how could I?”
“I have numerous unseen messengers.”
Again Alice shivered, and turning toward her sister-in-law, beckoned her
approach. Mrs. Wylie left the bunch of prairie flowers she was plucking,
and came forward, while at the same time Tibby came around the corner of
the house, leading Robert.
As Alice presented the Professor to each in her turn, she observed the
keen look he cast upon them, and noted later the return of his gaze to
Tibby. Her beauty was evidently not lost upon him.
As for Tibby, she regarded him steadily, as again and again his eyes
sought hers. They appeared like two children trying to look one another
out of countenance. Then Russell’s eyes fell and he turned to enter the
house, while Tibby, her eyes dancing in triumph, followed him in and sat
down opposite him, watching him much as a cat watches the crevice in a
wall through which a mouse has disappeared. Evidently Tibby was very
ill-bred. There was a peculiar electrical charging of the air. Mrs.
Wylie noticed it, and looked apprehensively out of doors to see if a
storm was approaching, then at Alice. Alice felt its influence and
trembled. Tibby alone seemed unmoved and entirely serene. A wicked,
yellow gleam shone in her expressive eyes.
“Is your husband at home, Mrs. Cramer?” Russell asked at length, after
taking a chair a short distance from the door, and tilting it slightly
backward against the wall.
“No, I am sorry to say he is not. But why do you ask, Professor? I
supposed you always knew.”
“I have neglected to make inquiry this time, Mrs. Cramer. Undoubtedly I
might have learned had done so.”
Tibby rolled up her eyes with an expression of youthful innocence.
“What a lovely idea that would be for making calls, Mrs. Wylie! One
could always go and leave cards when people were away from home.”
Mrs. Wylie shook her head at the girl reprovingly.
“Ahem! I have taken the liberty to invite over some of our friends for a
meeting to-night,” said the Professor.
Mrs. Cramer could hardly repress signs of her annoyance.
“I am very sorry—” she began. “It is unfortunate Mark is not here or
that you did not take the trouble to inquire beforehand. For he
decidedly objects to anything of the kind here in his absence.”
Truly, Alice was becoming brave.
“I am sorry for Mark’s blindness,” the Professor said, with priestly
assumption.
“Mark blind? How very strange. I should never have suspected it,” said
Tibby with childish naivete.
“He is blind to the truth, Miss Waring. A sort of moral blindness, which
is the worst form of ophthalmia.”
“Oh!” Tibby opened her eyes to their widest extent and met his look
squarely. Then her eyes narrowed until only a rim of blue was visible,
and she did not take them off the visitor. It soon became evident that
the Professor was annoyed by this childish scrutiny. He changed his
position several times and finally turned upon the girl abruptly.
“Have we ever met before, Miss Waring?”
“I think not,” Tibby said, with an emphasis that sounded much like “I
hope not,” but she did not relax her persistent watchfulness. Surely the
girl, though handsome, was very ill-mannered. She acted like a child who
had met an interesting specimen.
“Have you had any new experiences, Mrs. Cramer?” the man asked, again
changing his position nervously. He was evidently upon the defensive so
far as Tibby was concerned, and did not care to longer challenge her
attention.
“N—no,” said Alice. “I think I have been less annoyed by unpleasant
influences, lately,”—then, catching Tibby’s eye,—“since you went away,”
she added.
Professor Russell gave Alice a sharp glance, as if to determine whether
any disrespect was intended by her remark, while Tibby’s eyes danced
mirthfully.
“We trust,” said Mrs. Wylie, with a dignified raising of her chin, “that
as Mrs. Cramer is getting her nerves under better control, she will not
be haunted any more by imaginary spectres.”
“You think them, then, a mere delusion of the senses?”
“Most assuredly.”
“But if I should tell you that I, who am not in the least nervous, can
see forms about Mrs. Cramer, why should she not see them?”
“Because they are not there. Because you make her see them. Mr. Russell,
we feel, my brother and I, that you have done a serious wrong to Alice,
and I know if Mark were here he would not permit you to see her.”
“Eh? What? Not to see her? Mark must be beside himself. Why, I am sorry.
I regret very much that—that—that—Why, bless you! how sleepy this warm
weather makes me. I have really allowed myself to become wearied.
Perhaps I ate too hearty a dinner. Mrs. Cramer, may I trouble you for a
glass of water?” And Russell started up and passed his hands before his
eyes as if to brush cobwebs from them. “I have been walking about in the
heat all day and it’s almost overcome me, I reckon.”
Alice rose to go to the well at the back of the house, and it was
several moments before she returned.
“Here is the water, Professor,” she said, coming forward with a pitcher
and glass upon a small tray. “I have drawn some fresh for you.”
But her words seemed wasted upon the man before her, who was apparently
deaf and blind to all external influences. “Why, can it be he’s asleep?”
she continued, under her breath.
“Ah, I hardly think—he’d be so severe as that. I am—much—interested—much
in—the dark,” muttered Russell. “I’m—m—m—” His chin dropped, his eyes
closed, and he sank back heavily in his chair. Tibby arose and
approached him with cat-like tread, looking at him eagerly. She waved
her hand before his face. “Yes, you’re asleep fast enough!” she said
exultantly. The man began to breathe with the measured rhythm of deep
sleep.
“Mrs. Cramer, you are free from that man’s influence,” Tibby continued,
with a long sigh of conscious relief. “I was so afraid I could not get
him under control, as he might be on his guard. But you distracted his
attention, Mrs. Wylie, and then I got him. He was warm and tired from
walking, and a heavy dinner too, probably. Did I do the baby act well?
He probably thought I was the personification of rustic innocence and
did not fear me. Ah, you’re asleep now, old fellow, and cannot awaken
until I give you permission. I can see Donald Bartram coming,” she
continued, looking out of the door. She waited for him to come up,
standing upon the step of the cabin, a picture of animated life.
“For once, Mr. Bartram, you are on hand when you are wanted.” And she
courtesied to him mockingly.
“For once? Rather say, always,” he replied with assurance. “But what is
it now? Whew!” as he caught sight of the slumbering man.
“Can you ask? Don’t you see it is a sleeping beauty; and as he’s liable
to wait until the Millenium for the princess to come to awaken him, or a
thousand years, more or less, suppose we bury him.”
Donald looked from the face of the laughing girl to the sleeping man, in
amazement.
“I put him to sleep,” she vouchsafed.
“By all that’s good, if old Russell hasn’t met his match!” he whispered.
“O, you needn’t whisper, he won’t waken; and it isn’t a lucifer-match,
so don’t look surprised, but please suggest to me what to do with him.”
“It’s Tibby that has put him there,” said Mrs. Wylie. “She has
mesmerized the creature. Ugh! I hope there is no danger of his
wakening.”
“Not until I waken him,” said Tibby.
“Then suppose you wait until Gabriel sounds his trumpet,” Donald
suggested.
“Mr. Bartram, I am bad enough, but you are positively wicked! To think
of punishing poor Mrs. Cramer by having such a clod as this left around
to look at.”
“Miss Waring, if the man is in a hypnotic sleep, any suggestion you may
make to him, he will act upon. Why not use him as he has Esther
McCleary? Make an exhibition of him.”
“What, make him dance? I might try. Wouldn’t it be fun? We should have a
larger audience, though. I wonder if I can. Oh, what a joke it will be!”
“Certainly you can. He can be made to dance, talk, make a speech—even
tell the truth, perhaps. Try it!”
“He said when he came in he had invited some people here to a seance
to-night,” said Mrs. Wylie. “It is nearly time to expect them, is it
not?”
“That’s so. Jump on your pony and go after Esther, Mr. Bartram. How I
wish Mr. Cramer were here. It will be a joke for them to find him
asleep.” And Tibby’s eyes glowed wickedly, with yellow fire in them.
Donald, nothing loth, started upon his errand.
“Be sure he does not waken,” he said.
“Never fear! I’ll see to that,” she called after him.
Poor Alice Cramer had not spoken since the drama began. She was
frightened, yet glad in her secret heart. She feared this man so much,
it was a satisfaction to see him harmless and sleeping, and Mark would
be home before the night was over.
“Ah, Mrs. Cramer,” cried Tibby, “just pay no attention to him. I’ll make
him go and lay in the corner, if he is in your way.”
“Oh, no!” cried Alice, frightened at her daring. “Let him remain where
he is. You’re sure you can bring him out when you please?”
“Yes, indeed!”
Alice stepped about softly, as if in fear she would wake him, while she
arranged the furniture in the room.
“I am sorry he arranged for a seance here to-night,” she whispered.
“Mark will be angry.”
“But _he_ isn’t to have one. Don’t you see. It’s _I_ that will have the
seance, and he is to dance at it. Oh, you wicked man, I have heard
enough about you! Are you not wicked? Answer me!”
“Yes, I am wicked,” came from the lips of the slumberer.
Tibby clapped her hands with delight.
“I can see Sol Garrett coming now,” Alice said, going to the door.
“Dear me! What will they say?”
“They’ll say Satan is outwitted,” said Mrs. Wylie.
“Well, I am sure I hope it is all right,” Alice replied, with a sigh.
Before Mr. Garrett reached the house, Donald galloped up from the
opposite direction and threw himself from the horse.
“How is it, have you got him fast?” he asked, hurrying in.
“Yes, but where is Esther?”
Donald frowned.
“She is either not at home or would not see me,” he said.
“And her mother?”
“Was nursing a headache and would not see me.”
“Ah, then they will not be here. I am so sorry,” murmured Tibby. “Esther
ought to see him act the clown’s part.”
Mrs. Jenkinson soon arrived, with Auntie Dearborn and the Pemberton
twins. Sol Garrett waited to come in with Lissa Bartram, and three or
four others soon followed them. They all started back at the sight of
the sleeping Professor, and looked at one another inquiringly.
“Too much spirits,” said Tibby audaciously.
“Why, you don’t say? Has he been drinking?” queried Auntie Dearborn in a
loud whisper.
“No, he’s overcome by spirits, but not of that kind,” Donald said.
“A stronger spirit than his own controls him,” added Mrs. Wylie.
“Strong spirits are always dangerous,” giggled Tibby in an aside to
Donald.
“Weak ones are more so,” he replied in the same tone.
The company were soon seated about the room, looking curiously at the
slumbering medium.
Then Donald explained to them that his sleep was an unnatural one,
induced by Miss Waring, who had, like the Professor, hypnotic powers.
“We propose to prove to you that much that this man has taught is
fallacy,” he said. “That which he has claimed to be spirit manifestation
is much of it only hypnotic suggestion.” Then at a signal from him Tibby
came forward.
“Come, Professor!” she said with authority. “You are asleep, very sound
asleep, are you not? You cannot open your eyes if you try to, can you?”
The man made an evident vain effort to do so.
“Now, put out your arm.” The subject obeyed. “Put it down.” Again he
obeyed her.
“He is all right,” said Donald, biting his mustache nervously. “He will
dance if you tell him to.”
“Come, these people have come here to see you dance, Professor. You know
you are a dancing master and can perform in a wonderful manner. Mr.
Bartram will whistle a jig for you. Now begin!”
Donald gave Tibby a humorous grimace, but he struck up a lively tune,
and the Professor, springing to his feet with the agility of a youth,
kept time with him in a most ludicrous manner. He flourished, kicked,
double-shuffled and pirouetted in the manner of a professional stage
minstrel.
“That will do now! You are tired,” said Tibby, after the man had
continued his exhibition until his audience was convulsed with laughter.
“You see,” said Donald, “it was not spirits, but hypnotism, that made
Miss McCleary entertain us by waltzing.”
“That is true, is it not, Professor?” Tibby asked.
“Yes,” he nodded, “it is true.”
“Well, I swan!” said Solomon Garrett. “If this don’t beat all creation!
Has that man been foolin’ us all this time, or is he dancin’ with
spirits himself.”
“He is controlled by this lady here. There is nothing supernatural about
it,” replied Donald. “She controls him, as he has us, many times, making
us see and believe what had no existence. Miss Waring will make him see
things not here.” He looked at Tibby.
“Professor, Mark Cramer is standing over you with a horse-whip. Look
out, he is going to strike you!” The man showed signs of terror, and
shrank away from the supposed antagonist. “You had better strike back.”
He doubled up his fist and struck back with energy. “There, you have hit
him, he is down.” The Professor glared at the floor, smiling with the
air of a conquering pugilist.
“Here is a piece of candy for him,” said Donald, handing Tibby a piece
of balsam-weed.
“Yes, here, Professor, you are fond of sweets. Eat this.”
The Professor took the stick and bit it, smacking his lips, and chewing
it with apparent relish.
“What is it?” asked Tibby.
“Candy,” he responded.
“No, it’s poison,” she said.
Immediately his face was distorted and he strove to eject it from his
mouth.
“There, it is all right. You know you have been deceiving these people
and now you are going to make a speech and tell them the truth. Tell
them how you tricked them,” continued Tibby.
“My friends,” said Russell, “I will now undertake to explain to you all
that has seemed to you mysterious and supernatural. I am a mind-reader
and a hypnotist. I sometimes figure as a spirit-medium. I have the power
of going into a trance, when my senses no longer control my mind, and
then I can see through time and space; and what has seemed to you
unaccountable except by spirit agency is simply the result of natural
forces not yet well understood.”
“That is true,” said a voice at the door, and the spectators turned to
see Mark Cramer entering the room. Tibby gave him a meaning look and put
her fingers to her lips.
“I have deceived you and worked harm among you,” the Professor went on;
“and not only here, but in many other parts of the country. I am
planning more mischief still. Esther McCleary is in my power—”
“Stop! You have said enough!” cried Tibby, alarmed at his words.
“Yes, I’ve said enough,” he repeated.
“Shall I awaken him?” Tibby asked, turning to Mark.
“So you’ve really hypnotized the villain. Good girl!” cried Mark, and
his hand was extended to her in friendly appreciation.
“Yes, he’s been dancing, and giving himself away badly,” said Donald.
“Are you all satisfied that he is a fraud and a villain?” asked Mark,
looking about him.
“We have his own word that he is,” replied Sol Garrett.
“O, his dancing was too funny,” giggled the Pemberton twins.
“I don’t know what to think of it, but I believe the Professor will
explain it when he comes out of his trance,” said Mrs. Jenkinson. “I am
sure he has been under control.”
“Under Miss Waring’s control,” said Mark, with a frown. “Can it be that
you will yet ascribe this to spirit agency?”
“He was controlled by a dancing master,” said the twins.
“Mark, I wish you would send him away,” whispered Alice; “I am so
tired.”
“You may as well awaken him,” Mark said. “These people are bound to be
deceived.”
“Awake!” cried Tibby.
For a moment the Professor’s face became convulsed, he struggled
desperately, then fell prone upon the floor. Donald and Solomon Garrett
assisted him to his feet, and for a few moments he stood staring and
glaring about him.
“What are you doing here, sir, when I forbade you the house?” cried
Mark. “Get out of here at once, and never let me see your face in this
part of the country again, if you value your miserable life!”
The man glared at Mark in impotent rage.
“Come, go! I know all your iniquity and I swear I’ll have a mob after
you before another night if you’re in this vicinity!”
Mark spoke with angry vehemence.
“I go, but your wife will follow me,” Russell said, turning and fixing
his eyes upon Alice Cramer. Mark saw her totter forward, and catching
her in one arm he drew a revolver from his belt and levelled it at the
Professor’s head.
“Will you go?” he hissed.
Professor Russell did not stop long to question the muzzle of a
revolver, and sprang out into the night. The neighbors, too, frightened
by Mark’s savagery, made short adieux and went home.
Alice was nearly unconscious from her fright, and Mark bore her to a
couch.
“I should like to have kicked that hound into the middle of next week!”
he muttered. “Heaven knows what he has done to my poor Alice.”
“I hope it’s not I who have harmed Mrs. Cramer,” faltered Tibby.
“No, no, child! Not you! You have done good work. I wish I had been here
earlier.”
Tibby lifted Mrs. Cramer’s white face in her arms and whispered softly
to her. “He has gone, and will never harm nor frighten you again.”
“Mark did not kill him?” she questioned.
“No, only frightened him away. Mark is here.”
“You will not let him come again,” she said, looking with appealing eyes
into Tibby’s face.
“Never!” said Tibby with finality.
With a sigh of relief she sank back upon her pillow, and after a time,
Tibby, believing her asleep, stole softly away.
“I’ve been a brute to frighten Alice so,” Mark said as Tibby came out.
“No, it was Russell that frightened her. I wish before I wakened him I
had driven him out and told him not to stop going,” Tibby replied.
“We would have a second edition of the Wandering Jew,” Mark responded.