“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!”