The Shadow World | Page 4

my
lap and at last to the top of the table, apparently of its own motion. A
little rocking-chair moved to and fro precisely as if some one were
sitting in it, and so on. It was all unconvincing at the time, but as I look
back upon it now, after years of experience, I am inclined to think part
of it at least was genuine. And this brings me to say to Mrs. Quigg, and
to any other doubter, that you have only to step aside into silence and
shadow and wait for a moment--and the bewildering will happen, or
you will imagine it to happen. I will agree to furnish from this company
a medium that will astonish even our materialistic friend Miller."
There was a loud outcry: "What do you mean? Explain yourself!"
"I am perfectly certain that if this company will sit as I direct for
twenty-one days at the same hour, in the same room, under the same
conditions, phenomena will develop which will not merely amaze but
scare some of you; and as for you, Mrs. Quigg, you who are so certain
that nothing ever happens, you will be the first to turn pale with awe."
"Try me! I am wild to be 'shown.'"
Harris was not so boastful. "You mean, of course, that some of these
highly cultured ladies would develop hysteria?"
"I am not naming the condition; I only say that I have seen some very
hard-headed and self-contained people cut strange capers. The trance
and 'impersonation' usually come first."
"Let's do it!" cried out Miss Brush. "It would be such fun!"

"You'd be the first to 'go off,'" said I, banteringly.
Harris agreed. "She is neuropathic."
"I propose we start a psychic society here and now," said Cameron. "I'll
be president, Mrs. Quigg secretary, and Garland can be the director of
the awful rites. Miss Brush, you shall be the 'mejum.'"
"Oh no, no!" she cried, "please let some one else be it."
This amused me, but I seized upon Cameron's notion. "I accept the
arrangement provided you do not hold me responsible for any ill
effects," I said. "It's ticklish business. There are many who hold the
whole process diabolic."
"Is the house ready for the question?" asked Cameron.
"Ay, ay!" shouted every one present.
"The society is formed," announced Cameron. "As president, I suggest
a sitting right now. How about it, Garland?"
"Certainly!" I answered, "for I have an itching in my thumbs that tells
me something witching this way comes."
The guests rose in a flutter of pleased excitement.
"How do we go at it?" asked Mrs. Cameron.
"The first requisite is a small table--"
"Why a table?" asked Mrs. Quigg.
"The theory is that it helps to concentrate the minds of the sitters, and it
will also furnish a convenient place to rest our hands. Anyhow, all the
great investigators began this way," I replied, pacifically. "We may also
require a pencil and a pad."
Miller was on his dignity. "I decline to sit at a table in that foolish way.

I shall look on in lonely grandeur."
The others were eager to "sit in," as young Howard called it, and soon
nine of us were seated about an oblong mahogany table. Brierly was
very serious, Miss Brush ecstatic, and Mrs. Harris rather nervous.
I was careful to prepare them all for failure. "This is only a trial sitting,
you know, merely to get our hands in," I warned.
"Must we keep still?"
"Oh no! You may talk, if you do so quietly. Please touch fingers, so as
to make a complete circuit. I don't think it really necessary, but it
sometimes helps to produce the proper mental state; singing softly also
tends to harmonize the 'conditions,' as the professionals say. Don't
argue and don't be too eager. Lean back and rest. Take a passive
attitude toward the whole problem. I find the whole process very restful.
Harris, will you turn down the lights before--"
"There!" said Miller, "the hocus-pocus begins. Why not perform in the
light?"
"Subdued light will bring the proper negative and inward condition
sooner," I replied, taking a malicious delight in his disgust. "Now will
some one sing 'Annie Laurie,' or any other sweet, low song? Let us get
into genial, receptive mood. Miller, you and your fellow-doubters
please retire to the far end of the room."
In a voice that trembled a little, Mrs. Harris started the dear old melody,
and all joined in, producing a soft and lulling chorus.
At the end of the song I asked, matter-of-factly: "Are the conditions
right? Are we sitting right?"
Mrs. Quigg sharply queried, "Whom are you talking to?"
"The 'guides,'" I answered.
"The 'guides'!" she exclaimed. "Do you believe in the guides?"

"I believe in the belief