Book: Raspberry Jam

C >> Carolyn Wells >> Raspberry Jam




Her black silk rustled and her old point lace fell yellowly round
her slender old hands, for on Sunday afternoon Miss Ames dressed
the part.

"How are you, Mason," she said, but with a preoccupied air.
"What time is Mr. Hanlon coming, Eunice?"

"Soon now, I think," and Eunice spoke with entire composure, her
angry excitement all subdued. It was characteristic of her that
after a fit of temper, she was more than usually soft and gentle.
More considerate of others and even, more roguishly merry.

"You know, Mason, that what we are to be told to-day is a most
inviolable secret--that is, it is a secret until tomorrow."

"Never put off till to-morrow what you can tell to-night,"
returned Elliott, but he listened attentively while Eunice and
Aunt Abby described the performance of the young man Hanlon.

"Of course," Elliott observed, a little disappointedly, "if he
says he hoaxed the crowd, of course he did; but in that case I've
no interest in the thing. I'd like it better if he were honest."

"Oh, he's honest enough," corrected Embury; "he owns right up
that it was a trick. Why, good heavens, man! if it hadn't been,
he couldn't have done it at all. I'm rather keen to know just
how he managed, though, for the yarn of Eunice and Aunt Abby is a
bit mystifying."

"Don't depend too much on the tale of interested spectators.
They're the worst possible witnesses! They see only what they
wish to see."

"Only what Hanlon wished us to see," corrected Eunice, gaily.
And then Hanlon, himself, and Alvord Hendricks arrived together.

"Met on the doorstep," said Hendricks as he came in. "Mr. Hanlon
is a little stage-struck, so it's lucky I happened along."

Willy Hanlon, as he was called in the papers, came shyly forward
and Eunice, with her ready tact, proceeded to put him at once at
his ease.

"You came just at the right minute to help me out," she said,
smiling at him. "They are saying women are no good at describing
a scene! They say that we can't be relied on for accuracy. So,
now you're here and you can tell what really happened."

"Yes, ma'am," and Hanlon swallowed, a little embarrassedly;
"that's what I came for, ma'am. But first, are you all straight
goods? Will you all promise not to tell what I tell you before
tomorrow morning?"

They all promised on their honor, and, satisfied, Hanlon began
his tale.

"You see, it's a game that can't be played too often or too close
together," he said; "I mean, if I put it over around here, I
can't risk it again nearer than some several states away. And
even then it's likely to get caught on to."

"Have you put it over often?" asked Hendricks, interestedly.

"Yes, sir--well, say, about a dozen times altogether. Now I'm
going to chuck it, for it's too risky. And so, I've sold the
story of how I do it to the newspaper syndicate for more than I'd
make out of it in a dozen performances. You can read it all in
to-morrow's papers, but Mrs, Embury, she asked me to tell it here
and I said yes--'cause-'cause--well, 'cause I wanted to!"

The boyish outburst was so unmistakably one of admiration, of
immediate capitulation to Eunice's charm, that she blushed
adorably, and the others 'laughed outright.

"One more scalp, Euny," said Elliott; "oh, you can't help it, I
know."

"Go on, Mr. Hanlon," said Eunice, and he went on.

"You see, to make you understand it rightly, I must go back a
ways. I've done all sorts of magic stunts and I'm kinda fond of
athletics. I've given exhibitions along both those lines in
athletic clubs and in ladies' parlors, too. Well, I had a
natural talent for making my ears move--lots of fellows do that,
I know; but I got pretty spry at it."

"What for?" asked Embury.

"Nothing particular, sir, only one thing led to another. One day
I read in an English magazine about somebody pulling off this
trick--this blindfold chase, and I said to myself I b'lieved I
could do it first rate and maybe make easy money. I don't deny
I'm out after the coin. I've got to get my living, and if I'd
rather do it by gulling the public, why, it's no more than many a
better man does."

"Right you are," said Elliott.

"So, 's I say, I read this piece that told just how to do it, and
I set to work. You may think it's funny, but the first step was
working my forehead muscles."

"Whatever for?" cried Aunt Abby, who was listening, perhaps most
intently of all.

"I'll tell you, in a jiffy, ma'am," and Hanlon smiled
respectfully at the eager old face.

"You see, if you'll take notice, the muscles of your forehead,
just above your eyebrows, work whenever you shut or open your
eyes. Yes, try it, ma'am," as Aunt Abby wrinkled her forehead
spasmodically. "Shut your eyes, ma'am. Now, cover them closely
with the palm of your left hand. Press it close--so. Now, with
your hand there, open your eyes slowly, and feel your forehead
muscles go up. They have to, you can't help it. Now, that's the
keynote of the whole thing."

"Clear as Erebus!" remarked Hendricks. "I don't get you, Steve."

"Nor I," and Eunice sat with her hand against her eyes, drawing
her lovely brows into contortions.

"Well, never mind trying; I'll just tell you about it." Hanlon
laughed good-naturedly at the frantic attempts of all of them to
open their eyes in accordance with his directions.

"Anyhow, you gentleman know, for I know you all belong to a big
athletic club, that if you exercise any set of muscles regularly
and for a long time, they will develop and expand and become
greatly increased in size and strength."

"Sure," said Hendricks. "I once developed my biceps--"

"Yes, that's what I mean. Well, sir, I worked at my forehead
muscles some hours a day for months and I kept at it until I had
those muscles not only developed and in fine working condition
but absolutely under my control. Look!"

They gazed, fascinated, while the strange visitor moved the skin
of his forehead up and down and sideways, and in strange circular
movements. He seemed distinctly proud of his accomplishment and
paused for approbation.

"Marvelous, Holmes, marvelous!" exclaimed Hendricks, who had
discovered that Hanlon did not resent jocularity, "but--what
for?"

"Can't you guess?" and the young man smiled mysteriously. "Try."

"Give it up," and Hendricks shook his head. "I think it's more
wonderful to get thought-transference by wiggling your forehead
than any other way I ever heard of, but I can't guess how it
helps."

"Can't any of you?" and Hanlon looked around the circle.

"Wait a minute," said Aunt Abby, who was thinking hard. "Let me
try. Is it because when the thought waves jump from the `guide'
to you they strike your forehead first--"

"And it acts as a wireless receiving station? No, ma'am,
that isn't it. And, too, ma'am, I owned up, you know, that
the whole thing was a fake, a trick. You see, there was no
'thought-transference,'--not any--none at all."

"Then what do you accomplish with your forehead muscles?" asked
Eunice, unable to restrain her impatience.




CHAPTER V

THE EXPLANATION


"Just this, Mrs. Embury, the impossibility of my being
blindfolded. As a matter of fact, it is practically impossible
to blindfold anybody, anyway."

"Why, what do you mean?" interrupted Hendricks. "Why is it?"

"Because the natural formation of most people's noses allows them
to see straight down beneath an ordinary bandage. I doubt if one
child out of a hundred who plays 'Blind Man's Buff' is really
unable to see at all."

"That's so," said Embury, "when I played it, as a kid, I could
always see straight down--though not, of course, laterally."

"And noses are different," went on Hanlon. "Some prominent beaks
could never be blindfolded, but some small, flat noses might be.
However, this refers to ordinary blindfolding with an ordinary
handkerchief. When it comes to putting fat cotton pads in one's
eye sockets, before the thick bandage is added, it necessitates
previous preparation. So, my powers of contracting and expanding
my forehead muscles allow me to push the pads out of the way, and
enable me to see straight down the sides of my nose from under
the bandage. Of course, I can see only the ground, and that but
in a circumscribed area around my feet, but it's enough."

"How?" asked Eunice, her piquant face eagerly turned to the
speaker. "How did you know which way to turn?"

"I don't like it," declared Aunt Abby. "I hate it--I'm
absolutely disgusted with the whole performance! I detest
practical jokes!"

"Oh, come now, Miss Ames," and Hendricks chuckled; "this isn't
exactly a joke--it's a hoax, and a new one, but it's a legitimate
game. From the Davenport Brothers and Herrmann, on down through
the line of lesser lights in the conjuring business--even our own
Houdini--we know there is a trick somewhere; the fun is in
finding it. Hanlon's is a new one and a gem--I don't even begin
to see through it yet."

"Neither do I," agreed Mason Eliott. "I think to do what he did
by a trick is really more of a feat than to be led by real
thought-transference."

"Except that the real thing isn't available--and trick-work is."
Hanlon smiled genially as he said this, and Embury, a little
impatiently, urged him to go on, and begged the others to cease
their interruptions.

"Well," Hanlon resumed, "understand, then, that I cannot be
really blindfolded. No committee of citizens, however
determined, can bandage my eyes in such a manner that I can't
wiggle my forehead about sufficiently to get the pads up or down
or one side or the other until I can see--all I want to." Hanlon
knotted up his frontal muscles to prove that a bandage tied
tightly would become loose when he relaxed the strain."
Understand that I can see the ground only for a few inches
directly at the front of me or very close to my sides. That is
all."

"O.K.," said Hendricks. "Now, with your sight assured for that
very limited space, what is next?"

"That, sir, is enough to explain the little game I put over in
the newspaper office, before trying the out-of-door test. You
remember, ladies, Mr. Mortimer told you how I followed a chalk
line, drawn on the floor, and which led me up and down stairs,
over chairs, under desks, and all that. Well, it was dead easy,
because I could see the line on the floor all the time. Their
confidence in their 'secure' blindfolding made them entirely
unsuspicious of my ability to see. So, that was easy."

"Clever, though," and Embury looked at young Hanlon with
admiration. "Simple, but most perfectly convincing."

"Yes, sir, it was the very simplicity of it that gulled 'em.
And, of course, I'm some actor. I groped around, and felt my way
by chairs and railings and door-frames, though I needn't have
touched one of 'em. My way was plainly marked, and I could see
the chalk line and all I had to do was to follow it. But it was
that preliminary test that fixed it in their minds about the
'willing' business. I kept asking the 'guide' to keep his mind
firmly on his efforts to 'will' me. I begged him to use all his
mental powers to keep me in the right direction--oh, I have that
poppycock all down fine--just as the mediums at the seances
have."

Aunt Abby sniffed disdainfully, and Embury chuckled at her
expression. Though not a 'spiritualist,' Miss Ames was greatly
interested in telepathy and kindred subjects and like all the
apostles of such cults she disliked to hear of frauds committed
in their names.

"Go on," said Eunice, her eyes dancing with anticipation. "I
love a hoax of this sort, but I can't imagine yet how you did it!
I understand about the blindfolding, though, and of course that
was half the battle."

"It was, ma'am, and the other half was--boots!"

"Boots!"

"Yes, ma'am. Do you know that you seldom see two pairs of boots
or shoes alike on men?"

"I thought they were all alike," exclaimed Eunice. "I mean all
street shoes alike, and all pumps alike, and so forth."

"No, not that," and Embury laughed; "but, I say, Hanlon, there
are thousands of duplicates!"

"Not so you'd notice it I But let me explain. First, however,
here are four men present. Let's compare our shoes."

Eight feet were extended, and it was surprising to note the
difference in the footgear. Naturally, Hanlon's were of a
cheaper grade than the others, but whereas it might have been
expected that the three society men would wear almost identical
boots, they were decidedly varied. Each pair was correct in
style, and the work of the best bootmakers, but the difference in
the design of tip, side cut, sole and fastening was quite
sufficient to prevent mistaking one for another.

"You see," said Hanlon. "Well, take a whole lot of your men
friends, even if they all go to the same bootmaker, and you'll
find as much difference. I don't mean that there are not
thousands of shoes turned out in the same factory, as alike as
peas, but there is small chance of striking two pairs alike in
any group of men. Then, too, there is the wear to be counted on.
Suppose two of you men had bought shoes exactly alike, you wear
them differently; one may run over his heel slightly, another may
stub out the toe. But, these things are observable only to a
trained eye. So--I trained my eye. I made a study of it, and
now, if I see a shoe once, I never forget it, and never connect
it with the wrong man. On the street, in the cars, everywhere I
go, I look at shoes--or, rather, I did when I was training for
this stunt. It was fascinating, really. Why, sometimes the only
identifying mark would be the places worn or rubbed by the bones
of the man's foot--but it was there, allee samee! I nailed 'm,
every one! Oh, I didn't remember them all--that was only
practice. But here's the application; when I started on that
trip in Newark, I was introduced to Mr. Mortimer. Mind you, it
was the first time I had ever laid eyes on the man. Well,
unnoticed by anybody, of course, I caught onto his shoes. They
were, probably, to other people, merely ordinary shoes, but to me
they were as a flaming beacon light! I stamped them on my
memory, every detail of them. They were not brand new, for, of
course, anybody would choose an easy old pair for that walk. So
there were scratches, bumps, and worn, rubbed places, that, with
their general make-up, rendered them unmistakable to yours truly!
Then I was ready. The earnest but easily-gulled committee
carefully adjusted their useless pads of cotton and their thick
bandage over my eyes, and I was led forth to the fray.

"Remember, I asked Mr. Mortimer not only to think of the hidden
penknife, and will me toward it, but also to look toward it
himself. Now, to look toward any object, a man usually turns his
whole body in that direction. So, groping about, clumsily, I
managed to get sight of the toes of those well-remembered boots.
Seeing which way they were pointed was all the information I
needed just then. So, with all sorts of hesitating movements and
false starts, I finally trotted off in the direction he had
faced. The rest is easy. Of course, coming to a corner, I was
absolutely in the dark as to whether I was to turn or to keep
straight ahead. This necessitated my turning back to Mr.
Mortimer to catch a glimpse of which way his feet were pointing.
I covered this by speaking to him, begging him to will me aright
--to will me more earnestly--or some such bunk. I could invent
many reasons for turning round; pretend I had lost my feeling of
'guidance,' or pretend I heard a sudden noise, as of danger, or
even pretend I felt I was going wrong. Well, I got a peek at
those feet as often as was necessary, and the rest was just
play-acting to mislead the people's minds. Of course, when I
stumbled over a stone or nearly fell into a coal hole or grating,
it was all pretense. I saw the pavements as well as anybody, and
my effort was to seem unaware of what was coming. Had I
carefully avoided obstacles, they would know I could see."

"And when you reached that vacant lot?" prompted Eunice.

"I saw friend Mortimer's feet were pointing toward the center of
the lot, and not in the direction of either street. So I turned
in, and when I got where I could see the burned-down house, I
guessed that was the hiding-place. So I circled around it,
urging my 'guide' to look toward the place, and then noting his
feet. I had to do a bit of scratching about; but remember, I
could see perfectly, and I felt sure the knife was in the charred
and blackened rubbish, so I just hunted till I found it. That's
all."

"Well, it does sound simple and easy as you tell it, but, believe
me, Hanlon, I appreciate the cleverness of the thing and the real
work you went through in preparation for it all," Hendricks said,
heartily, and the other men added words of admiration and
approval.

But Miss Ames was distinctly displeased.

"I wouldn't mind, if you'd advertised it as a trick," she said,
in an injured tone, "as, say, the conjurors do such tricks, but
everybody knows they're fooling their audience. It is expected."

"Yes, lady," Hanlon smiled, "but the fake mediums and
spirit-raisers, they don't say they're frauds--but they are."

"Sir, you don't know what you're talking about! Just because
there are some tricksters in that, as in all professions, you
must not denounce them all."

"They're all fakes, lady," and Hanlon's air of sincerity carried
conviction to all but Aunt Abby.

"How do you know?" she demanded angrily.

"I've looked into it--I've looked into all sorts of stunts like
these. It's in my nature, I guess. And all professional mediums
are frauds. You bank on that, ma'am! If you want to tip tables
or run a Ouija Board with some honest friends of yours, go ahead;
but any man or woman who takes your money for showing you
spiritual revelations of any sort, is a fraud and a charlatan."

"There's no exception?" asked Embury, quite surprised.

"Not among the professionals. They wouldn't keep on in their
profession if they didn't put up the goods. And to do that,
they've got to use the means."

"Why--why, young man--" cried Aunt Abby, explosively, "you just
read 'The Voice of Isis'! You read--"

"That's all right, they are plenty of fake books, more, prob'ly,
than fake mediums, but you read some books that I'll recommend.
You read 'Behind the Scenes With the Mediums,' or 'The Spirit
World Unveiled,' and see where you're at then! No, ma'am, the
only good spook is a dead spook, and they don't come joy-riding
back to earth."

"But," and Eunice gazed earnestly at her guest, "is there
nothing--nothing at all in telepathy?"

"Now you've asked a question, ma'am. I don't say there isn't,
but I do say there isn't two per cent of what the fakers claim
there is. I'll grant just about two per cent of real stuff in
this talk of telepathy and thought-transference, and even that is
mostly getting a letter the very day you were thinking about the
writer!"

Embury laughed. "That's as close as I've ever come to it," he
said.

"Yep, that's the commonest stunt. That and the ghostly good-by
appearance of a friend that's dyin' at the time in a distant
land."

"Aren't those cases ever true?" Eunice asked.

"'Bout two per cent of 'em. Most of those that have been traced
down to actual evidence have fizzled out. Well, I must be going.
You see, now, I've sold this whole spiel that I've just given you
folks to a big newspaper syndicate, and I got well paid. That
puts me on Easy Street, for the time bein', and I'm going to
practice up for a new stunt. When you hear again of Willy
Hanlon, it'll be in a very different line of goods!"

"What?" asked Eunice, interestedly.

"'Scuse me, ma'am. I'd tell you, if I'd tell anybody. But, you
see, it ain't good business. I just thought up a new line of
work and I'm going to take time to perfect myself in it, and then
spring it on a long-sufferin' public."

"No, I won't ask you to tell, of course," Eunice agreed, "but
when you give an exhibition, if it's near New York, let me know,
won't you?"

"Yes, ma'am, I sure will. And now I'll move on."

"Oh, no, you must wait for a cup of tea; we'll have it brought at
once."

Eunice left the room for a moment. Aunt Abby in dudgeon, refused
to talk to the disappointing visitor. But the three men quickly
engaged him in conversation and Hanlon told some anecdotes of his
past experiences that kept them interested.

Ferdinand brought in the tea things, and Eunice, with her
graceful hospitality, saw to it that her guest was in no way
embarrassed or bothered by unaccustomed service.

"I've had a right good time," he said in his boyish way, as he
rose to go. "Thank you, ma'am, for the tea and things. I liked
it all."

His comprehensive glance that swept the room and its occupants
was a sincere compliment and after he had gone there was only
kindly comment on his personality.

Except from Aunt Abby.

"He's an ignorant boor," she announced.

"Now, now," objected Eunice, "you only say that because he upset
your favorite delusions. He punctured your bubbles and pulled
down your air-castles. Give it up, Aunt Abby, there's nothing in
your' Voice of Isis' racket!"

"Permit me to be the judge of my own five senses, Eunice, if you
please."

"That's just it, Miss Ames," spoke up Hendricks. "Is your
psychic information, or whatever it is, discernible to your five
senses, or any of them?"

"Of course, or how could I realize the presence of the psychic
forces?"

"I don't know just what those things are, but I supposed they
were available only to a sort of sixth sense--or seventh! Why, I
have five senses, but I don't lay claim to any more than that."

"You're a trifler, and I decline to discuss the subject seriously
with you. You've always been a trifler, Alvord--remember, I've
known you from boyhood, and though you've a brilliant brain, you
have not utilized it to the best advantage."

"Sorry, ma'am," and the handsome face put on a mock penitence,
"but I'm too far advanced in years to pull up now."

"Nonsense! you're barely thirty! That's a young man."

"Not nowadays. They say, after thirty, a man begins to fall to
pieces, mentally."

"Oh, Al, what nonsense!" cried Eunice. "Why, thirty isn't even
far enough along to be called the prime of life!"

"Oh, yes, it is, Eunice, in this day and generation. Nobody
thinks a man can do any great creative work after thirty.
Inventing, you know, or art or literature--honestly, that's the
attitude now. Isn't it, Mason?"

Elliott looked serious. "It is an opinion recently expressed by
some big man," he admitted. "But I don't subscribe to it. Why,
I'd be sorry to think I'm a down-and-outer! And I'm in the class
with you and Embury."

"You're none of you in the sere and yellow," declared Eunice,
laughing at the idea. "Why, even Aunt Abby, in spite of the
family record, is about as young as any of us."

"I know I am," said the old lady, serenely. "And I know more
about my hobby of psychic lore in a minute than you young things
ever heard of in all your life! So, don't attempt to tell me
what's what!"

"That's right, Miss Ames, you do!" and Mason Elliott looked
earnestly at her. "I'm half inclined to go over to your side
myself. Will you take me some time to one of your seances--but
wait, I only, want to go to one where, as you said, the psychic
manifestations are perceptible to one or more of the five
well-known senses. I don't want any of this talk of a mysterious
sixth sense."

"Oh, Mason, I wish you would go with me! Madame Medora gives
wonderful readings!"

"Mason! I'm ashamed of you!" cried Eunice, laughing. "Don't let
him tease you, Aunt Abby; he doesn't mean a word he says!"

"Oh, but I do! I want to learn to read other people's thoughts
--not like our friend Hanlon, but really, by means of my senses
and brain."

"You prove you haven't any brain, when you talk like that!" put
in Hendricks, contemptuously.

"And you prove you haven't any sense," retorted Elliott "I say,
who's for a walk? I've got to sweep the cobwebs out of the place
where my brain ought to be--even if it is empty, as my learned
colleague avers."

"I'll go," and Eunice jumped up. "I want a breath of fresh air.
Come along, San?"

"Nixy I've got to look over some papers in connection with my
coming election as president of a big club."

"Your coming election may come when you're really in the prime of
life," Hendricks laughed, "or, perhaps, not till you strike the
sere and yellow, but if you refer to this year's campaign of the
Athletic Club, please speak of my coming election."

"Oh, you two deadly rivals!" exclaimed Eunice. "I'm glad to
be out of it, if you're going to talk about those eternal
prize-fights and club theatres! Come on, Mason, let's go for
a brisk walk in the park."

Eunice went to her room, and came back, looking unusually
beautiful in a new spring habit. The soft fawn color suited her
dark type and a sable scarf round her throat left exposed an
adorable triangle of creamy white flesh.

"Get through with your squabbling, little boys," she said, gaily,
with a saucy smile at Hendricks and a swift, perfunctory kiss on
Embury's cheek, and then she went away with Mason Elliott.

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