“I’m tingling from head to foot,” said Miss Booth.
At this moment the table gave a violent lurch. Miss Climpson had overestimated the force necessary to move bamboo furniture.
“Ah!”
After a slight pause for recuperation, the table began to move again, but more gently, till it was rocking with a regular seesaw motion. Miss Climpson found that by gently elevating one rather large foot, she could take practically all the weight off her wrist hooks. This was fortunate, as she was doubtful whether their constitution would stand the strain.
“Shall we speak to it?” asked Miss Climpson.
“Wait a moment,” said Miss Booth. “It wants to go sideways.”
Miss Climpson was surprised by this statement, which seemed to argue a high degree of imagination, but she obligingly imparted a slight gyratory movement to the table.
“Shall we stand up?” suggested Miss Booth.
This was disconcerting, for it is not easy to work a vibrating table while stooping and standing on one leg. Miss Climpson decided to fall into a trance. She dropped her head on her chest and uttered a slight moan. At the same time she pulled back her hands, releasing the hooks, and the table continued to revolve jerkily, spinning beneath their fingers.
A coal fell from the fire with a crash, sending up a bright jet of flame. Miss Climpson started, and the table ceased spinning and came down with a little thud.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Miss Booth, “The light has dispersed the vibrations. Are you all right, dear?”
“Yes, yes,” said Miss Climpson, vaguely. “Did anything happen?”
“The power was tremendous,” said Miss Booth. “I’ve never felt it so strong.”
“I think I must have fallen asleep,” said Miss Climpson.
“You were entranced,” said Miss Booth. “The control was taking possession. Are you very tired, or can you go on?”
“I feel quite all right,” said Miss Climpson, “only a little drowsy.”
“You’re a wonderfully strong medium,” said Miss Booth.
Miss Climpson, surreptitiously flexing her ankle, was inclined to agree.
“We’ll put a screen before the fire this time,” said Miss Booth. “That’s better. Now!”
The hands were replaced on the table, which began to rock again almost immediately.
“We won’t lose any more time,” said Miss Booth. She cleared her throat slightly, and addressed the table.
“Is there a spirit here?”
Crack!
The table ceased moving.
“Will you give me one knock for ‘Yes’ and two for ‘No’?”
Crack!
The advantage of this method of interrogation is that it obliges the enquirer to put leading questions.
“Are you the spirit of one who has passed over?”
“Yes.”
“Are you Fedora?”
“No.”
“Are you one of the spirits who have visited me before?”
“No.”
“Are you friendly to us?”
“Yes.”
“Are you pleased to see us?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes.”
“Are you happy?”
“Yes.”
“Are you here to ask anything for yourself?”
“No.”
“Are you anxious to help us personally?”
“No.”
“Are you speaking on behalf of another spirit?”
“Yes.”
“Does he want to speak to my friend?”
“No.”
“To me, then?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.” (The table rocked violently.)
“Is it the spirit of a woman?”
“No.”
“A man?”
“Yes.”
A little gasp.
“Is it the spirit I have been trying to communicate with?”
“Yes.”
A pause and a tilting of the table.
“Will you speak to us by means of the alphabet? One knock for A, two for B, and so on?”
(“Belated caution,” thought Miss Climpson.)
“Crack!”
“What is your name?”
Eight taps, and a long indrawn breath.
One tap—
“H—A—”
A long succession of taps.
“Was that an R? You go too fast.”
“Crack!”
“H—A—R—is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Is it Harry?”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
“Oh, Harry! At last! How are you? Are you happy?”
“Yes—no—lonely.”
“It wasn’t my fault, Harry.”
“Yes. Weak.”
“Ah, but I had my duty to think of. Remember who came between us.”
“Yes. F—A—T—H—E—”
“No, no, Harry! It was mo—”
“—A—D!” concluded the table, triumphantly.
“How can you speak so unkindly?”
“Love comes first.”
“I know that now. But I was only a girl. Won’t you forgive me now?”
“All forgiven. Mother forgiven too.”
“I’m so glad. What do you do where you are, Harry?”
“Wait. Help Atone.”
“Have you any special message for me?”
“Go to Coventry!” (Here the table became agitated.)
This message seemed to overwhelm the seeker.
“Oh, it really is you, Harry! You haven’t forgotten the dear old joke. Tell me—”
The table showed great signs of excitement at this point and poured out a volley of unintelligible letters.
“What do you want?”
“G—G—G—”
“It must be somebody else interrupting,” said Miss Booth. “Who is that, please?”
“G—E—O—R—G—E” (very rapidly).
“George? I don’t know any George, except Tom’s boy. Has anything happened to him, I wonder.”
“Ha! ha! ha! not George Booth, George Washington.”
“George Washington?”
“Ha! ha!” (The table became convulsively agitated, so much so that the medium seemed hardly able to hold it. Miss Booth, who had been noting down the conversation, now put her hands back on the table, which stopped capering and began to rock.)
“Who is here now?”
“Pongo.”
“Who is Pongo?”
“Your control.”
“Who was that talking just now?”
“Bad spirit. Gone now.”
“Is Harry still there?”
“Gone.”
“Does anybody else want to speak?”
“Helen.”
“Helen who?”
“Don’t you remember? Maidstone.”
“Maidstone? Oh, do you mean Ellen Pate?”
“Yes, Pate.”
“Fancy that! Good evening, Ellen. How nice to hear from you.”
“Remember row.”
“Do you mean the big row in the dormitory?”
“Kate bad girl.”
“No, I don’t remember Kate, except Kate Hurley. You don’t mean her, do you?”
“Naughty Kate. Lights out.”
“Oh, I know what she’s trying to say. The cakes after lights were out.”
“That’s right.”
“You still spell badly, Ellen.”
“Miss—Miss—”
“Mississippi? Haven’t you learnt it yet?”
“Funny.”
“Are there many of our class where you are?”
“Alice and Mabel. Send love.”
“How sweet of them. Give them my love too.”
“Yes. All love. Flowers. Sunshine.”
“What do you—”
“P,” said the table, impatiently.
“Is that Pongo again?”
“Yes. Tired.”
“Do you want us to stop?”
“Yes. Another time.”
“Very well, good night.”
“Good night.”
The medium leaned back in her chair with an air of exhaustion which was perfectly justified. It is very tiring to rap out letters of the alphabet, and she was afraid the soapbox was slipping.
Miss Booth turned on the light.
“That was wonderful!” said Miss Booth.
“Did you get the answers you wanted?”
“Yes, indeed. Didn’t you hear them?”
“I didn’t follow it all,” said Miss Climpson.
“It is a little difficult, counting, till you’re used
