“Of course!” cried Linden heartily. “Was the Duchess pleased?”
“Yes, I think she was very pleased. So was Mr. Atkinson, the surgeon. There was a new man there called Malone of the Press. Then Lord and Lady Montnoir got evidence and so did Sir James Smith and Mr. Mailey.”
“I wasn’t satisfied with the clairvoyance,” said the medium. “The silly idiots kept on putting things into my mind. ‘That’s surely my Uncle Sam,’ and so forth. It blurs me so that I can see nothing clear.”
“Yes, and they think they are helping! Helping to muddle you and deceive themselves. I know the kind.”
“But I went under nicely and I am glad there were some fine materialisations. It took it out of me, though. I’m a rag this morning.”
“They work you too hard, dear. I’ll take you to Margate and build you up.”
“Well, maybe at Easter we could do a week. It would be fine. I don’t mind readings and clairvoyance, but the physicals do try you. I’m not as bad as Hallows. They say he just lies white and gasping on the floor after them.”
“Yes,” cried the woman bitterly. “And then they run to him with whiskey, and so they teach him to rely on the bottle and you get another case of a drunken medium. I know them. You keep off it, Tom!”
“Yes, one of our trade should stick to soft drinks. If he can stick to vegetables, too, he’s all the better, but I can’t preach that while I am wolfin’ up ham and eggs. By Gosh, Mary! it’s past ten and I have a string of them comin’ this morning. I’m going to make a bit to-day.”
“You give it away as quick as you make it, Tom.”