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Raspberry Jam






CHAPTER I

THE GREAT HANLON


"You may contradict me as flat as a flounder, Eunice, but that
won't alter the facts. There is something in telepathy--there is
something in mind-reading--"

"If you could read my mind, Aunt Abby, you'd drop that subject.
For if you keep on, I may say what I think, and--"

"Oh, that won't bother me in the least. I know what you think,
but your thoughts are so chaotic--so ignorant of the whole
matter--that they are worthless. Now, listen to this from the
paper: 'Hanlon will walk blindfolded--blindfolded, mind you
--through the streets of Newark, and will find an article hidden
by a representative of The Free Press.' Of course, you know,
Eunice, the newspaper people are on the square--why, there'd be
no sense to the whole thing otherwise! I saw an exhibition once,
you were a little girl then; I remember you flew into such a rage
because you couldn't go. Well, where was I? Let me see--oh,
yes--'Hanlon--' H'm--h'm--why, my goodness! it's to-morrow!
How I do want to go! Do you suppose Sanford would take us?"

"I do not, unless he loses his mind first. Aunt Abby, you're
crazy! What is the thing, anyway? Some common street show?"

"If you'd listen, Eunice, and pay a little attention, you might
know what I'm talking about. But as soon as I say telepathy you
begin to laugh and make fun of it all!"

"I haven't heard anything yet to make fun of. What's it all
about?"

But as she spoke, Eunice Embury was moving about the room, the
big living-room of their Park Avenue apartment, and in a
preoccupied way was patting her household gods on their
shoulders. A readjustment of the pink carnations in a tall
glass vase, a turning round of a long-stemmed rose in a silver
holder, a punch here and there to the pillows of the davenport
and at last dropping down on her desk chair as a hovering
butterfly settles on a chosen flower.

A moment more and she was engrossed in some letters, and Aunt
Abby sighed resignedly, quite hopeless now of interesting her
niece in her project.

"All the same, I'm going," she remarked, nodding her head at the
back of the graceful figure sitting at the desk. "Newark isn't
so far away; I could go alone--or maybe take Maggie--she'd love
it--'Start from the Oberon Theatre--at 2 P.M.--' 'Him, I could
have an early lunch and--'hidden in any part of the city--only
mentally directed--not a word spoken--' Just think of that,
Eunice! It doesn't seem credible that--oh, my goodness!
tomorrow is Red Cross day! Well, I can't help it; such a chance
as this doesn't happen twice. I wish I could coax Sanford--"

"You can't," murmured Eunice, without looking up from her
writing.

"Then I'll go alone!" Aunt Abby spoke with spirit, and her bright
black eyes snapped with determination as she nodded her white
head. "You can't monopolize the willpower of the whole family,
Eunice Embury!"

"I don't want to! But I can have a voice in the matters of my
own house and family yes, and guests! I can't spare Maggie
to-morrow. You well know Sanford won't go on any such wild
goose chase with you, and I'm sure I won't. You can't go alone
--and anyway, the whole thing is bosh and nonsense. Let me hear
no more of it!"

Eunice picked up her pen, but she cast a sidelong glance at her
aunt to see if she accepted the situation.

She did not. Miss Abby Ames was a lady of decision, and she had
one hobby, for the pursuit of which she would attempt to overcome
any obstacle.

"You needn't hear any more of it, Eunice," she said, curtly. "I
am not a child to be allowed out or kept at home! I shall go to
Newark to-morrow to see this performance, and I shall go alone,
and--"

"You'll do nothing of the sort! You'd look nice starting off
alone on a railroad trip! Why, I don't believe you've ever been
to Newark in your life! Nobody has! It isn't done!"

Eunice was half whimsical, half angry, but her stormy eyes
presaged combat and her rising color indicated decided annoyance.

"Done!" cried her aunt. "Conventions mean nothing to me! Abby
Ames makes social laws--she does not obey those made by others!"

"You can't do that in New York, Aunt Abby. In your old Boston,
perhaps you had a certain dictatorship, but it won't do here.
Moreover, I have rights as your hostess, and I forbid you to go
skylarking about by yourself."

"You amuse me, Eunice!"

"I had no intention of being funny, I assure you."

"While not distinctly humorous, the idea of your forbidding me
is, well--oh, my gracious, Eunice, listen to this: 'The man
chosen for Hanlon's "guide" is the Hon. James L. Mortimer--'
--h'm--'High Street--' Why, Eunice, I've heard of Mortimer
--he's--"

"I don't care who he is, Aunt Abby, and I wish you'd drop the
subject."

"I won't drop it--it's too interesting! Oh, my! I wish we could
go out there in the big car--then we could follow him round--"

"Hush! Go out to Newark in the car! Trail round the streets and
alleys after a fool mountebank! With a horde of gamins and low,
horrid men crowding about--"

They won't be allowed to crowd about!"

"And yelling--"

"I admit the yelling--"

"Aunt Abby, you're impossible!" Eunice rose, and scowled
irately at her aunt. Her temper, always quick, was at times
ungovernable, and was oftenest roused at the suggestion of any
topic or proceeding that jarred on her taste. Exclusive to the
point of absurdity, fastidious in all her ways, Mrs, Embury was,
so far as possible, in the world but not of it.

Both she and her husband rejoiced in the smallness of their
friendly circle, and shrank from any unnecessary association with
hoi polloi.

And Aunt Abby Ames, their not entirely welcome guest, was of a
different nature, and possessed of another scale of standards.
Secure in her New England aristocracy, calmly conscious of her
innate refinement, she permitted herself any lapses from
conventional laws that recommended themselves to her inclination.

And it cannot be denied that the investigation of her pet
subject, the satisfaction of her curiosity concerning occult
matters and her diligent inquiries into the mysteries of the
supernatural did lead her into places and scenes not at all in
harmony with Eunice's ideas of propriety.

"Not another word of that rubbish, Auntie; the subject is taboo,"
and Eunice waved her hand with the air of one who dismisses a
matter completely.

"Don't you think you can come any of your high and mighty airs on
me!" retorted the elder lady. "It doesn't seem so very many
years ago that I spanked you and shut you in the closet for
impudence. The fact that you are now Mrs. Sanford Embury instead
of little Eunice Ames hasn't changed my attitude toward you!"

"Oh, Auntie, you are too ridiculous!" and Eunice laughed
outright. "But the tables are turned, and I am not only Mrs,
Sanford Embury but your hostess, and, as such, entitled to your
polite regard for my wishes."

"Tomfoolery talk, my dear; I'll give you all the polite regard
you are entitled to, but I shall carry out my own wishes, even
though they run contrary to yours. And to-morrow I prance out to
Newark, N.J., your orders to the contrary notwithstanding!"

The aristocratic old head went up and the aristocratic old nose
sniffed disdainfully, for though Eunice Embury was strong-willed,
her aunt was equally so, and in a clash of opinions Miss Ames not
infrequently won out.

Eunice didn't sulk, that was not her nature; she turned back to
her writing desk with an offended air, but with a smile as of one
who tolerates the vagaries of an inferior. This, she knew, would
irritate her aunt more than further words could do.

And yet, Eunice Embury was neither mean nor spiteful of
disposition. She had a furious temper, but she tried hard to
control it, and when it did break loose, the spasm was but of
short duration and she was sorry for it afterward. Her husband
declared he had tamed her, and that since her marriage, about two
years ago, his wise, calm influence had curbed her tendency to
fly into a rage and had made her far more equable and placid of
disposition.

His methods had been drastic--somewhat like those of Petruchio
toward Katherine. When his wife grew angry, Sanford Embury grew
more so and by harder words and more scathing sarcasms he--as he
expressed it--took the wind out of her sails and rendered her
helplessly vanquished.

And yet they were a congenial pair. Their tastes were similar;
they liked the same people, the same books, the same plays.
Eunice approved of Sanford's correct ways and perfect intuitions
and he admired her beauty and dainty grace.

Neither of them loved Aunt Abby--the sister of Eunice's father
--but her annual visit was customary and unavoidable.

The city apartment of the Sanfords had no guestroom, and
therefore the visitor must needs occupy Eunice's charming boudoir
and dressing-room as a bedroom. This inconvenienced the Emburys,
but they put up with it perforce.

Nor would they have so disliked to entertain the old lady had it
not been for her predilection for occult matters. Her visit to
their home coincided with her course of Clairvoyant Sittings and
her class of Psychic Development.

These took place at houses in undesirable, sometimes unsavory
localities and only Aunt Abby's immovable determination made it
possible for her to attend.

A large text-book, "The Voice of the Future," was her inseparable
companion, and one of her chief, though, as yet, unfulfilled,
desires was to have a Reading given at the Embury home by the
Swami Ramananda.

Eunice, by dint of stern disapproval, and Sanford, by his
good-natured chaffing and ridicule had so far prevented this
calamity, but both feared that Aunt Abby might yet outwit them
and have her coveted seance after all.

Outside of this phase of her character, Miss Ames was not an
undesirable guest. She had a good sense of humor, a kind and
generous heart and was both perceptive and responsive in matters
of household interest.

Owing to the early death of Eunice's mother, Aunt Abby had
brought up the child, and had done her duty by her as she saw it.

It was after Eunice had married that Miss Ames became interested
in mystics and with a few of her friends in Boston had formed a
circle for the pursuance of the cult.

Her life had otherwise been empty, indeed, for the girl had given
her occupation a-plenty, and that removed, Miss Abby felt a vague
want of interest.

Eunice Ames had not been easy to manage. Nor was Miss Abby Ames
the best one to be her manager.

The girl was headstrong and wilful, yet possessed of such
winsome, persuasive wiles that she twisted her aunt round her
finger.

Then, too, her quick temper served as a rod and many times Miss
Ames indulged the girl against her better judgment lest an
unpleasant explosion of wrath should occur and shake her nervous
system to its foundation. So Eunice grew up, an uncurbed,
untamed, self-willed and self-reliant girl, making up her
quarrels as fast as she picked them and winning friends
everywhere in spite of her sharp tongue.

And so, on this occasion, neither of the combatants held rancor
more than a few minutes. Eunice went on writing letters and Miss
Abby went on reading her paper, until at five o'clock, Ferdinand
the butler brought in the tea-things.

"Goody!" cried Eunice, jumping up. "I do want some tea, don't
you, Aunty?"

"Yes," and Miss Ames crossed the room to sit beside her. "And
I've an idea, Eunice; I'll take Ferdinand with me to-morrow!"

The butler, who was also Embury's valet and a general household
steward, looked up quickly. He had been in Miss Ames' employ for
many years before Eunice's marriage, and now, in the Embury's
city home was the indispensable major-domo of the establishment.

"Yes," went on Aunt Abby, "that will make it all quite
circumspect and correct. Ferdinand, tomorrow you accompany me
to Newark, New Jersey."

"I think not," said Eunice quietly, and dismissing Ferdinand with
a nod, she began serenely to make the tea.

"Don't be silly, Aunt Abby," she said; "you can't go that way.
It would be all right to go with Ferdinand, of course, but what
could you do when you, reached Newark? Race about on foot,
following up this clown, or whoever is performing?"

"We could take a taxicab--"

"You might get one and you might not. Now, you will wait till
San comes home, and see if he'll let you have the big car."

"Will you go then, Eunice?"

"No; of course not. I don't go to such fool shows! There's the
door! Sanford's coming."

A step was heard in the hall, a cheery voice spoke to Ferdinand
as he took his master's coat and hat and then a big man entered
the living-room.

"Hello, girls," he said, gaily; "how's things?"

He kissed Eunice, shook Aunt Abby's hand and dropped into an easy
chair.

"Things are whizzing," he said, as he took the cup Eunice poured
for him. "I've just come from the Club, and our outlook is
rosy-posy. Old Hendricks is going to get, badly left."

"It's all safe for you, then, is it?" and Eunice smiled radiantly
at her husband.

"Right as rain! The prize-fights did it! They upset old
Hendrick's apple-cart and spilled his beans. Lots of them object
to the fights because of the expense--fighters are a high-priced
bunch--but I'm down on them because I think it bad form--"

"I should say so!" put in Eunice, emphatically.

"Bad form for an Athletic Club of gentlemen to have brutal
exhibitions for their entertainment."

"And what about the Motion-Picture Theatre?"

"The same there! Frightful expense,--and also rotten taste!
No, the Metropolitan Athletic Club can't stoop to such
entertainments. If it were a worth-while little playhouse, now,
and if they had a high class of performances, that would be
another story. Hey, Aunt Abby? What do you think?"

"I don't know, Sanford, you know I'm ignorant on such matters.
But I want to ask you something. Have you read the paper
to-day?"

"Why, yes, being a normal American citizen, I did run through the
Battle-Ax of Freedom. Why?"

"Did you read about Hanlon--the great Hanlon?"

"Musician, statesman or criminal? I can't seem to place a really
great Hanlon. By the way, Eunice, if Hendricks blows in, ask him
to stay to dinner, will you? I want to talk to him, but I don't
want to seem unduly anxious for his company."

"Very well," and Eunice smiled; "if I can persuade him, I will."

"If you can!" exclaimed Miss Abby, her sarcasm entirely unveiled.
"Alvord Hendricks would walk the plank if you invited him to do
so!"

"Who wouldn't?" laughed Embury. "I have the same confidence in
my wife's powers of persuasion that you seem to have, Aunt Abby;
and though I may impose on her, I do want her to use them upon me
deadly r-rival!"

"You mean rival in your club election," returned Miss Ames, "but
he is also your rival in another way."

"Don't speak so cryptically, Aunt, dear. We all know of his
infatuation for Eunice, but he's only one of many. Think you he
is more dangerous than, say, friend Elliott?"

"Mason Elliott? Oh, of course, he has been an admirer of Eunice
since they made mud-pies together."

"That's two, then," Embury laughed lightly. "And Jim Craft is
three and Halliwell James is four and Guy Little--"

"Oh, don't include him, I beg of you!" cried Eunice; "he flats
when he sings!"

"Well, I could round up a round dozen, who would willingly cast
sheeps' eyes at my wife, but--well, they don't!"

"They'd better not," laughed Eunice, and Embury added, "Not if I
see them first!"

"Isn't it funny," said Aunt Abby, reminiscently, "that Eunice did
choose you out of that Cambridge bunch."

"I chose her," corrected Embury, "and don't take that wrong! I
mean that I swooped down and carried her off under their very
noses! Didn't I, Firebrand?"

"The only way you could get me," agreed Eunice, saucily.

"Oh, I don't know!" and Embury smiled. "You weren't so
desperately opposed."

"No; but she was undecided," said Aunt Abby; "why, for weeks
before your engagement was announced, Eunice couldn't make up her
mind for certain. There was Mason Elliott and Al Hendricks, both
as determined as you were."

"I know it, Aunt. Good Lord, I guess I knew those boys all my
life, and I knew all their love affairs as well as they knew all
mine."

"You had others, then?" and Eunice opened her brown eyes in mock
amazement.

"Rather! How could I know you were the dearest girl in the world
if I had no one to compare you with?"

"Well, then I had a right to have other beaux."

"Of course you did! I never objected. But now, you're my wife,
and though all the men in Christendom may admire you, you are not
to give one of them a glance that belongs to me."

"No, sir; I won't," and Eunice's long lashes dropped on her
cheeks as she assumed an absurdly overdone meekness.

"I was surprised, though," pursued Aunt Abby, still reminiscent,
"when Eunice married you, Sanford. Mr. Mason is so much more
intellectual and Mr. Hendricks so much better looking."

"Thank you, lady!" and Embury bowed gravely. "But you see, I
have that--er--indescribable charm--that nobody can resist."

"You have, you rascal!" and Miss Ames beamed on him. "And I
think this a favorable moment to ask a favor of your Royal
Highness."

"Out with it. I'll grant it, to the half of my kingdom, but
don't dip into the other half."

"Well, it's a simple little favor, after all. I want to go out
to Newark to-morrow in the big car--"

"Newark, New Jersey?"

"Is there any other?"

"Yep; Ohio."

"Well, the New Jersey one will do me, this time. Oh, Sanford, do
let me go! A man is going to will another man--blindfolded, you
know--to find a thingumbob that he hid--nobody knows where--and
he can't see a thing, and he doesn't know anybody and the guide
man is Mr. Mortimer--don't you remember, his mother used to live
in Cambridge? she was an Emmins--well, anyway, it's the most
marvelous exhibition of thought transference, or mind-reading,
that has ever been shown--and I must go. Do let me?--please,
Sanford!"

"My Lord, Aunt Abby, you've got me all mixed up! I remember the
Mortimer boy, but what's he doing blindfolded?"

"No; it's the Hanlon man who's blindfolded, and I can go with
Ferdinand--and--"

"Go with Ferdinand! Is it a servants' ball--or what?"

"No, no; oh, if you'd only listen, Sanford!"

"Well, I will, in a minute, Aunt Abby. But wait till I tell
Eunice something. You see, dear, if Hendricks does show up, I
can pump him judiciously and find out where the Meredith brothers
stand. Then--"

"All right, San, I'll see that he stays. Now do settle Aunt Abby
on this crazy scheme of hers. She doesn't want to go to Newark
at all--"

"I do, I do!" cried the old lady.

"Between you and me, Eunice, I believe she does want to go," and
Embury chuckled. "Where's the paper, Aunt? Let me see what it's
all about."

"'A Fair Test,'" he read aloud. "'Positive evidence for or
against the theory of thought transference. The mysterious
Hanlon to perform a seeming miracle. Sponsored by the Editor of
the Newark Free Press, assisted by the prominent citizen, James
L. Mortimer, done in broad daylight in the sight of crowds of
people, tomorrow's performance will be a revelation to doubters
or a triumph indeed for those who believe in telepathy.' H'm
--h'm--but what's he going to do?"

"Read on, read on, Sanford," cried Aunt Abby, excitedly.

"'Starting from the Oberon Theatre at two o'clock, Hanlon will
undertake to find a penknife, previously hidden in a distant part
of the city, its whereabouts known only to the Editor of the Free
Press and to Mr. Mortimer. Hanlon is to be blindfolded by a
committee of citizens and is to be followed, not preceded by Mr.
Mortimer, who is to will Hanlon in the right direction, and to
"guide" him merely by mental will-power. There is to be no word
spoken between these two men, no personal contact, and no
possibility of a confederate or trickery of any sort.

"' Mr. Mortimer is not a psychic; indeed, he is not a student of
the occult or even a believer in telepathy, but he has promised
to obey the conditions laid down for him. These are merely and
only that he is to follow Hanlon, keeping a few steps behind him,
and mentally will the blindfolded man to go in the right
direction to find the hidden knife."'

"Isn't it wonderful, Sanford," breathed Miss Abby, her eyes
shining with the delight of the mystery.

"Poppycock!" and Embury smiled at her as a gullible child. "You
don't mean to say, aunt, that you believe there is no trickery
about this!"

"But how can there be? You know, Sanford, it's easy enough to
say 'poppycock' and 'fiddle-dee-dee!' and 'gammon' and
'spinach!' But just tell me how it's done--how it can be done by
trickery? Suggest a means however complicated or difficult--"

"Oh, of course, I can't. I'm no charlatan or prestidigitateur!
But you know as well as I do, that the thing is a trick--"

"I don't! And anyway, that isn't the point. I want to go to see
it. I'm not asking your opinion of the performance, I'm asking
you to let me go. May I?"

"No, indeed! Why, Aunt Abby, it will be a terrible crowd--a
horde of ragamuffins and ruffians. You'd be torn to pieces--"

"But I want to, Sanford," and the old lady was on the verge of
tears. "I want to see Hanlon--"

"Hanlon! Who wants to see Hanlon?"

The expected Hendricks came into the room, and shaking hands as
he talked, he repeated his question: "Who wants to see Hanlon?
Because I do, and I'll take any one here who is interested."

"Oh, you angel man!" exclaimed Aunt Abby, her face beaming. "I
want to go! Will you really take me, Alvord?"

"Sure I will! Anybody else? You want to see it, Eunice?"

"Why, I didn't, but as Sanford just read it, it sounded
interesting. How would we go?"

"I'll run you out in my touring car. It won't take more'n the
afternoon, and it'll be a jolly picnic. Go along, San?"

"No, not on your life! When did you go foolish, Alvord?"

"Oh, I always had a notion toward that sort of thing. I want to
see how he does it. Don't think I fall for the telepathy gag,
but I want to see where the little joker is,--and then, too, I'm
glad to please the ladies."

"I'll go," said Eunice; "that is, if you'll stay and dine now
--and we can talk it over and plan the trip."

"With all the pleasure in life," returned Hendricks.




CHAPTER II

A TRIP TO NEWARK


Perhaps no factor is more indicative of the type of a home life
than its breakfast atmosphere. For, in America, it is only a
small proportion, even among the wealthy who 'breakfast in their
rooms.' And a knowledge of the appointments and customs of the
breakfast are often data enough to stamp the status of the
household.

In the Embury home, breakfast was a pleasant send-off for the
day. Both Sanford and Eunice were of the sort who wake up
wide-awake, and their appearance in the dining-room was always an
occasion of merry banter and a leisurely enjoyment of the meal.
Aunt Abby, too, was at her best in the morning, and breakfast was
served sufficiently early to do away with any need for hurry on
Sanford's part.

The morning paper, save for its headlines, was not a component
part of the routine, and it was an exceptionally interesting
topic that caused it to be unfolded.

This morning, however, Miss Ames reached the dining-room before
the others and eagerly scanned the pages for some further notes
of the affair in Newark.

But with the total depravity of inanimate things and with the
invariable disappointingness of a newspaper, the columns offered
no other information than a mere announcement of the coming
event.

"Hunting for details of your wild-goose chase?" asked Embury, as
he paused on the way to his own chair to lean over Aunt Abby's
shoulder.

"Yes, and there's almost nothing! Why do you take this paper?"

"You'll see it all to-day, so why do you want to read about it?"
laughed a gay voice, and Eunice came in, all fluttering chiffon
and ribbon ends.

She took the chair Ferdinand placed for her, and picked up a
spoon as the attentive man set grapefruit at her plate.
The waitress was allowed to serve the others, but Ferdinand
reserved to himself the privilege of waiting on his beloved
mistress.

"Still of a mind to go?" she said, smiling at her aunt.

"More than ever! It's a perfectly heavenly day, and we'll have a
good ride, if nothing more."

"Good ride!" chaffed Embury. "Don't you fool yourself, Aunt
Abby! The ride from this burg to Newark, N.J., is just about the
most Godforsaken bit of scenery you ever passed through!"

"I don't mind that. Al Hendricks is good company, and, any way,
I'd go through fire and water to see that Hanlon show. Eunice,
can't you and Mr. Hendricks pick me up? I want to go to my
Psychic Class this morning, and there's no use coming way back
here again."

"Yes, certainly; we're going about noon, you know, and have lunch
in Newark."

"In Newark!" and Embury looked his amazement.

"Yes; Alvord said so last night. He says that new hotel there is
quite all right. We'll only have time for a bite, anyway."

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